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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 months

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MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ farmhand!mingyu x farmer's daughter!reader

note ✭ this is very much inspired by the mingyu pictured above. (also i don't mention it explicitly, but girly's family is lowkey rich)

synopsis ✭ when your dad hires a hot new farm hand, you can't keep your hands off of him.

content/genre ✭ smut (18+ mdni)

word count ✭ 2.9k

warnings ✭ smut, mingyu and reader are horny af, outside sex (no one else sees them though), no prep, overall horny shenanigans i guess 🤷‍♀️, alcohol consumption, tipsy sex (they're not depicted as drunk, but they did have a couple drinks)

✭✭✭✭

Every time your father hired a new farmhand, they were always the same. While they never disappointed in the build department (they were always jacked, but that was kind of a requirement of the job), but they all looked identical. They wore the same brown scuffed boots. They had their hair in the same floppy cut with the same dirty blonde color.

For a couple of summers through your teens, it had been fun. Your father would hire him after the final school bell rang for the summer. You’d introduce yourself to him when your father was nowhere in sight, and you’d spend the rest of the summer sneaking around with him and having your fun. When summer finally ended and school began, you’d bid him farewell and never speak to him again, and your father was none the wiser.

And it was fun! The first two times. Then every summer turned the same, and every single farm hand looked indistinguishable from the last with no discernible personality whatsoever.

So, having just finished your second year of university, you were expecting more of the same. You’d have a gander, but you certainly weren’t expecting much from whoever your dad decided to hire this summer.

“God, why couldn’t you have invited me to stay over at your house this summer? I’d take whatever hunk your dad decided to keep,” your best friend from school, Jennifer, whined over the phone as you pulled your car up the long driveway to your house.

“I did invite you, but you’re spending you’re leaving today for Spain, remember?”

“Yes, but y/n!” she whined again, “I need more muscly men in my life. This would be the perfect opportunity.”

“You’re gonna be in Spain for two months. I’m sure you’ll find at least one man muscular enough to fit your standard.”

“Yeah, whatever. You better have fun with this man without me.”

“Like I told you earlier, they’re so fucking boring. It’s not gonna happen.”

You put your car in park and began to gather up your purse and phone when you glanced up out the windshield to see probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life walking out your front door and toward your car. It was as if your severe doubts had summoned him.

Ever the chatterbox, Jennifer kept talking, “Well I’m just saying maybe you should keep an open mind. You never know what could happen. One magical night in the woods and you could be locked down for life. It’s just–”

“Jennie shut the fuck up.”

“Woah,” she seemed mildly offended, “sorry?”

“He’s hot Jennie. Like really hot. Not even a ten. Probably a twelve.”

“Ugh, you lucky bitch! I told you to keep an open mind,” you could hear her mother yelling at her in the background, “Oh shit. Girl, I have to go, but send pics! Please! I need to see the hunk you’re railing this summer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you mumbled while she hung up on you.

This man was really throwing you for a loop. Just based on appearance alone you could tell he was not the type of guy your dad usually hired. First and foremost, he was massive. Well over 6 feet tall and far more muscular than any guy you’d ever seen (and that was saying something), and the skin-tight black t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide it. His hair was dark and cropped, a far cry from the endless supply of shaggy blonde hairstyles you’d seen over the years.

The cherry on top was when, after watching you stumble out of the car, he’d asked, “Where’s your luggage? I thought I’d help you carry it inside.”

“Oh,” you let out an awkward laugh, “It’s in the trunk. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he followed you around the back of your car and popped open the trunk, “I’m Mingyu by the way.” He stuck out a hand for you to shake it.

You grabbed the hand and he shook it with a firm squeeze. Holy fuck he has nice hands. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you Mingyu.”

There was no hiding the way you gawked at the way his muscles flexed when he carried your stuff inside.

✭✭✭✭

The idea of returning to your old ways was honestly exciting for you. Last night over Facetime Jennifer had gotten the whole rundown of your brief interaction with Mingyu. You fawned over his muscles, his cute lisp and the way he’d been such a gentleman to help you carry your luggage after what you assumed was a long day of work.

She’d found his Instagram of course and found out that he was indeed just as attractive as you’d described (and he had cute friends too).

This morning you felt more than ready to kick off what you predicted to be a great summer. And you weren’t starting slow either. You knew the routine of your father’s farmhands enough to know that Mingyu would start the day mowing the lawn around your house. He’d usually start later on Saturdays (today), too. Meaning that if you got out there by 10 am, he’d probably still be working his way around the lawn. Hopeful by the pool.

Which, by complete coincidence, is where you were. Laid out in your favorite bikini by the water. The dark sunglasses covering your eyes meant that your eyes were completely hidden, but it was obvious where you were looking.

Not far from the pool, you could see Mingyu pushing the lawn mower through the grass of your backyard. The tight black t-shirt from yesterday was no more. Instead, he wore a white tank top that left his arms completely exposed. He glanced over at you a couple of times, but he never let his gaze linger long enough for you.

You watched him from your laid-out position in your pool chair for a good fifteen minutes before he disappeared into the shed, presumably to put the lawnmower away. While he was inside, you took a moment to stand and dip your toes in the water thoroughly enjoying the coolness of the water. It was nice, you had to admit, but you’d have to save that for later because, while you were distracted by the water, Mingyu had made his way to the fence that separated your pool from the rest of the yard.

It was only when he cleared his throat that you noticed him standing there, leaning against the fence smiling at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you normally spend your mornings checking out your dad’s employees?” God his voice.

You stepped out of the pool, “Only when I think they’re worth my time.” You slid your sunglasses off your face and onto the top of your head as you approached the fence where Mingyu was standing.

“Charming. I’m assuming he hasn’t the slightest idea what you get up to, then?”

You laughed, “Of course not. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“So…” you brushed his forearm with the tips of your fingers, “What time do you get done?” You knew the answer of course, but it felt polite to ask.

“Seven thirty. Why? Hoping to get me alone?” He smirked

“I wouldn’t mind it.” You bit your lip as you no-so-subtly checked him out for the millionth time, “Meet me behind the shed at seven forty-five, ok? Don’t be late. I’ll bring booze.”

✭✭✭✭

Part of you wondered if he’d be there when you snuck out of your house at eight-fifteen. Yes, you were late, but that was part of the game. Your parents always went to bed early, and you were an adult. So getting out of the house unnoticed was no issue at all. If your dad noticed the six-pack missing from the garage fridge, you could just tell him you drank it or you could feign complete innocence.

The weather was still warm despite it being completely dark outside, so your athletic shorts and oversized tee did just fine. You’d contemplated wearing a skirt but ultimately decided against it because you didn’t want him to think you’d give it up that easily. Even though you were already struggling greatly to contain your excitement.

He could hear the clinking of the glass beer bottles as you made your way to the shed through the freshly cut yard. As much as Mingyu would love to deny it, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you since this morning. Something about the way you were laid out in the sun this morning had left a permanent imprint on his mind. The secrecy of the situation was also incredibly appealing. It turned him on more than he’d like to admit, messing around with his boss’s incredibly hot daughter.

Mingyu wasn’t an idiot. He knew you were taking your sweet time on purpose. You’d made him wait half an hour just to see if he’d wait around for you that long. You wanted to see how bad he wanted it, and clearly, he wanted it pretty bad because you found him sitting on the bench behind the shed staring up at the stars.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

He laughed, “Sure you are.” He held out a hand.

You passed him a bottle as you sat down next to him.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, but it seems you just enjoy the idea of making people wait for you.”

“Maybe,” you turned so your knees just barely brushed his thigh, “But you waited for me didn’t you?”

“Hey, maybe I just wanted free beer.” He gestured to the bottle in his hand.

“I know for a fact my dad pays you enough for you to afford your own beer.”

He laughed and leaned his head back against the shed, giving you a full view of his neck. You couldn’t help but imagine kissing his neck, leaving plenty of marks in your wake. “He sure does. It’s one of the many benefits.”

“What else do you like about the job?” You were genuinely curious about what was so appealing about doing nothing but manual labor for an entire summer. Even if the paycheck was really good.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Gets me off my ass. Gives me something to do with my hands.”

“Oh? You good with your hands?”

“You just don’t let up do you?” He really did enjoy how insistent you were despite your attempts to make him pine after you by making him wait for you so long.

“Not unless I’m asked to.”

You ended up talking with Mingyu for two hours. The two of you drank and talked about your lives, school, home, past flings, and relationships. By the time you two of you had finished off the six-pack you’d brought out, you felt as if you’d been out there forever.

At some point, you’d put your legs over his lap. He caressed one of your calves with one hand while you played with the fingers of his other hand.

As much as you’d enjoyed this little conversation, the more you drank, the hotter he got, and you were hardly holding it together anymore. With every move of his hand on your calf, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter.

You took the hand that was already in yours and placed it on your cheek, “Mingyu…” you whined looking up at him.

“What, baby?” his thumb stroked your cheek.

You straddled his lap, sitting back on his thighs and moving down his neck and to his chest, “can we stop talking for a little bit?”

“Oh?” he questioned, lightly placing his hand on your lower back under your shirt, “What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked leaning further into him so that your chests were touching.

“You can do whatever you want, baby.”

That was all the confirmation you needed to lean completely into him and kiss him. The kiss was long and more passionate than any kiss you’d experienced from your past summer flings. His hands were on your ass, pulling you to hover over his crotch where you could obviously tell he was hard. And that would have made you smug if you hadn’t been sitting in your own arousal for at least an hour.

You kissed down his neck just like you had previously imagined. He let out a deep moan with every mark and bite you made. You had failed to realize that one of his hands had left your ass until you felt a hand brush over your completely clothed pussy.

“Baby, as much as I love these cute little shorts, can I take them off of you?”

Nodding furiously, you leaned back, pulled yourself off of his lap and pulled off your shorts and shirt, setting them on the bench beside him. Of course, you weren’t wearing a bra, something Mingyu had noticed almost immediately when you’d sat down beside him. Before you made your way back to his lap, you reached for the hem of that stupid, useless white tank top that covered virtually nothing. You pulled it over his head with ease.

“Wow–” you whispered.

He laughed and pulled you back into his lap, “As flattered as I am,” he ran a hand up your side, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Before you could even think about how to respond Mingyu’s face was in your chest, feverishly placing kisses on your tits. He grabbed one with his hand and rolled the nipple between his fingers.

You gripped onto his hair and moaned softly. Your hips rolled over his clothed dick multiple times before he finally shucked off his jeans which had become uncomfortably tight.

“Can I please fuck you now?” he asked.

“Please,” you begged completely forgoing the chance to tease him for his politeness.

You pulled down the waistband of his boxers and grabbed him. Running a thumb over the tip, you pulled his cock out and pumped it a couple of times. “God, baby. You better hurry up.”

He slid your panties to the side and ran a finger between your folds, “you sure you don’t want me to prep you?”

You shook your head. So much for making him wait. “I’ll be ok. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He nodded and reached to grab a condom from his pocket. Of course, he’d come prepared. When he failed to open it fast enough, you snatched it out of his hands and ripped it open with your own teeth. You rolled it onto him after what felt like an agonizingly long amount of time.

He positioned himself at your entrance and slid himself into you with relative ease. You threw your head back when he bottomed out. You covered your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself at least a little quiet.

“F-fuck, Mingyu!”

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he grunted out, “I’m gonna need you to move, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded and gripped onto his shoulder. As you started bouncing up and down on his cock, he buried his face back in your chest, kissing and biting at your tits, collarbone, and neck. He left plenty of marks on your chest that were identical to the ones you’d left on his neck, maybe even darker. You had brought your own hand to your clit. Desperately trying to find your release.

“Oh god Gyu, I’m so close,” you grabbed onto his hair.

He hissed from the stinging in his scalp, “Me too, angel, me too.” His face was in your neck when you’d finally reached your climax, and he followed immediately after.

You both sat there, chests heaving, for a couple of minutes, saying nothing.

“Wow,” was all he could say as he pulled you off his lap and helped you put your clothes back on, tossing the condom into the trash bin beside the bench. You made a mental note to take the trash out before your dad came out here tomorrow.

You laughed breathily, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him. Your hands found their way to his chest instinctively. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”

“Oh, was that not enough for you?”

“God, no, that was perfect. But I wanna take care of you for real next time.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have a truck,” he nodded toward the red pickup truck in your driveway, “I can drive it down to the creek. The bed of the truck is actually pretty comfy when you put blankets and pillows down.”

Laughing, you said, “You want to fuck me in the woods.” He shook his head, “I wanna eat you out in the woods.”

God, this was gonna be a fun summer.

✭✭✭✭

“Girl, what!? It’s only been a day?” Jennifer’s voice rang through the phone. “Was it good?’

“For outside bench sex? Yeah, it was great. We’re seeing each other tomorrow night.”

She groaned, “Ugh, you lucky bitch. I’m so jealous.”

“What? No Spanish hunks?”

She shook her head, “not yet. But I’m hopeful!”

“Do you still want updates, or are you gonna explode from jealousy?”

“No! Please keep me updated. I’m living vicariously through you.”

You laughed, “God you’re insufferable.”

“I know!” She batted her eyelashes at you, “You will keep me updated though, right.”

“Of course, how could I not.”

✭✭✭✭

thank you for reading! i knocked this shit out in two days (and you can probably tell 👀), but i'm genuinely surprised with myself.

anyway hope you enjoyed. reblog and like if you did! love hearing your thoughts

mwah~

#seventeen smut #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #kim mingyu smut #seventeen x reader #18+ mdni #mdni #everyonewooeverywhere

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roosterforme · 3 months

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Explicitly Yours | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: When Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most.

Warnings: Smut, oral, fluff, angst, misogyny, language, mentions of adult film industry

Length: 11k words (what have I done?)

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Former Pornstar!Female Reader

This was written for International Bob Floyd Fucks Month hosted by @attapullman. Check my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger

Bob was fresh off of a long deployment when he returned to work at North Island on Monday morning to find he would begin training as part of a new taskforce. He was tired and antsy, still overstimulated from being around so many people on the aircraft carrier, but he was also realizing how lonely he was.

He'd arrived back to a sterile, empty, dusty apartment, slept for two days, and now he was back to work. He couldn't even have a cat or a houseplant. He really would like to have a cat or a houseplant. Mostly he thought about how nice it would be to have a girlfriend. A sweet one who would wait for him to return home so his apartment didn't feel so sad. One who didn't mind that sometimes he preferred it to be quiet. One who would let him dote on her a little bit when he was home.

When he was told to report to Classroom Six in his uniform instead of the tarmac in his flight suit, Bob knew it was going to be a long day. That idea only grew as soon as he walked in and was accosted by his friends. "You're back!" Natasha screeched, streaking across the room like a brunette cannonball and slamming into his arms. "It's not even fair that we weren't deployed together. I missed you!"

"Missed you too, Nat. Thanks for all the emails."

Then he felt Bradley, Jake and Javy all jostling him around until his glasses were crooked on his face. That's probably why he did a double take when he saw you. There was no way you were that beautiful. His glasses must need to be adjusted on his face. But he was wrong. You looked the same after he pushed his wire frames back into place.

He swallowed hard and whispered, "Who's that?"

The guys all looked at him with matching smirks, and Javy told him your name. "Civilian. She's Warlock's new assistant. Got reassigned from a different department last week."

"She's real cute," Jake added. "And she looks so familiar."

"Why does she look so familiar?" Bradley asked, and Bob realized that the whole group was staring at you where you were conversing quietly with Warlock. "We've been trying to figure it out for a week."

You didn't look familiar to Bob. You just looked pretty with bright eyes and a friendly smile, both of which were trained on him now. Of course you were looking his way now, because everyone had mussed up his hair and wrinkled his uniform. He didn't mind so much that you caught him staring, because you were the kind of woman who must get that a lot.

"Lieutenant Floyd," Admiral Bates said as he stood, and Bob saluted his superior officer immediately. "Welcome back."

"Sir," Bob replied, doing his best not to let his gaze drift back to you. "Thank you."

Then Warlock called the room to order, and Bob ended up sitting in the front row, directly across from you. Barely six feet away. You were so pretty, it wasn't even funny. The curve of your face and your neck and the way you moved were mesmerizing. Smooth and fluid. Confident. Beautiful. You kept Warlock on task and seemed to have all the pertinent information about the class memorized. But all of it was lost on Bob, because he was way too distracted.

By lunchtime, he had sweat through his undershirt, and he was sure his uniform shirt wasn't looking much better. The way you turned to look directly at him with a slightly guarded expression when you stood made him blush. It must be obvious to you that Bob couldn't keep his eyes off your face.

"Hi," you greeted. "Lieutenant Floyd."

Bob swallowed hard before something that sounded vaguely like Hello came out of his mouth.

Your smile was tinged with a little sadness as you stuck out your hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting the last team member. Welcome back from deployment, Lieutenant."

And then you were walking away, but Bob was still sweating.

--------------------------

For the next four days, Bob got there early to ensure he had that same front row seat. He had a full blown crush. Heart pounding, palms damp, unable to focus on anything other than his crush on you. When he wasn't at work looking right at you, he was daydreaming about you. When he wasn't daydreaming about you, he was asleep and having actual dreams where you were his girlfriend. In one of them, you gave him a back massage, and he woke up with an erection.

He could barely even look at you for the nauseous feeling that took up residence just below his pounding heart, but he couldn't look anywhere else. He'd never been like this before. Sure, he'd been attracted to many women in the past, but this was something else entirely.

"But why is she so familiar looking?" Jake asked Bradley at lunch. "You sure you didn't fuck her?"

"Oh, I think I'd remember fucking someone that looked like that," Bradley replied with a chuckle. "Wait... did you fuck her?"

"I don't think so?" Jake replied, looking a little panicked. "She's not the one I went home with on my birthday, is she? Because you know I can't remember that night. And if I fucked her and can't remember it, then I deserve to be executed."

They both erupted into laughter with Javy, and Bob felt deflated. One of the three of them was definitely going to ask you out sooner rather than later, and instead of getting an occasional guarded glance in his direction, Bob would have nothing.

That night at the bar, he sat with his cup of peanuts and talked with Nat about work while everyone else played pool. "I guess we have another week or two of lectures ahead of us, but I can't wait to get back in the air."

"Yeah," Bob replied, glancing around the room in case the Hard Deck was your Friday night scene. It wasn't really his, but he came for his friends. And if he got to spend another week or two in the classroom, he wasn't going to complain; there would be no way for him to look at you when he was in the cockpit.

"Bob!" Javy called as if he'd been trying to get his attention for a few minutes. He was waving a pool cue. "Take over for me. I need to go shoot my shot."

As Bob stood, he watched Javy head off into the crowd toward a woman who looked like you. He did a double take, his heart leaping up into his throat as Bradley started to push him closer to the pool table. Javy saw you. He was going to ask you out. A feeling of devastation filled his lungs, but then the woman turned around, and it wasn't you. Her smile wasn't nearly as pretty, and she didn't have the same eyes.

Relieved, Bob sank the seven ball before running the table like he was some sort of pro. But he knew deep inside that he was going to have to ask you out himself or miss out on even having a chance with you.

Every day the following week, he tried to give himself a pep talk. He could do this. Even if you said no, it would be fine. It would be good practice for him. But he knew it would not be okay. He liked the sound of your voice and the way you moved, and he thought about you in every room of his apartment doing a wide variety of things. Some of them made him blush.

He couldn't tell if it would be worse to never even try or to have to live with himself after you looked at him and said you weren't interested. At least if he kept things quiet, the guys couldn't find a way to make fun of him. And although they all liked to talk about you at lunch, to his knowledge, none of them had asked you on a date. Maybe they were as intimidated as him.

On Wednesday, you dropped your pen, and Bob picked it up for you. He got a "Thanks, Lieutenant Floyd," in response along with a cautious smile. Then on Thursday, he helped you move the projector before class started, and you said, "Thanks. You're a lot stronger than I am." He felt like he floated to his seat after that.

On Friday, disaster struck. You were organizing your stack of notes at the end of the day when Bob stood. But then Bradley was there, leaning on the table in front of you after everyone had been dismissed. "Hey, so the guys and I were wondering if you ever made it out to the Hard Deck on Friday nights? I'd love to buy you a drink."

Bob nearly collapsed back into his seat as he watched your eyes searching Bradley's face like you were trying to tell if he was lying. "No, actually. I play Dungeons & Dragons most Friday nights."

A strangled sound escaped Bob. "You play D&D?" he asked before he could think better of it.

"Yeah," you replied easily, giving him a little smile. "Been into it for years."

"Me too," he added, and you set down everything you'd been holding.

"It must be hard to be part of a campaign when you deploy on occasion?" you asked, and Bob was convinced he wouldn't notice if a freight train was about to hit him.

He nodded and took a step closer, watching you stand up. "It can be, yeah. But I've been in the same campaign for a few years, so I'd like to think I'm an integral enough part of it that everyone else doesn't mind waiting for me."

You laughed. It was so pretty. "I'm sure they don't mind one bit, Lieutenant Floyd."

"You can call me Bob," he blurted out, eyes going wide as you licked your lips and grinned.

"Okay. Bob."

He could do this. He was already part way there, he thought. Just a little further. "Maybe you and I could get coffee this weekend and talk about our characters?"

When he was met with silence and your softly parted lips, he wanted to disappear. But your expression was trained on his face, and even though you still seemed a little hesitant, you asked, "Like a date? Because I'm free on Sunday."

-------------------------

You were laughing so hard, you had to set your coffee cup down next to your scone, and Bob was basking in the sound of it. "No, Bob! That's why I made my character a Rogue! Because I could never be such a scoundrel in real life!" He just listened to your laughter taper off while he grinned in the middle of the crowded cafe where you only seemed to be focused on him.

"Well, that's why I made mine a Sorcerer. I don't know if you knew this about me, but I can't actually cast spells."

You started to laugh again. "Could have fooled me." But he must have been looking at you for too long, because you brought your hand up to your lips and asked, "Do I have crumbs on my face or something?"

"No, your face is perfect," he replied without considering his words, but your look of slightly embarrassed delight outweighed the tinge of mortification he felt.

You searched his eyes, seemingly always trying to gauge his sincerity. Then you surprised him when you said, "You're really sweet. It's refreshing."

Bob looked down at his hands, unsure how to respond but pleased nonetheless. "Will you let me take you to a movie? Or dinner? Or both?"

"Yes."

The following morning at work, you were as focused on Bob as he was on you. The sweaty palms and erratically beating heart were back, only exacerbated by your alluring gaze and the promise of a second date on Thursday night. You agreed to dinner at an Italian restaurant, and Bob was already excited.

"Why are you acting so strange?" Nat asked at lunchtime. "You're like both weirdly quiet and also talking so much?"

Bob laughed and said, "I went out on a date yesterday." And when he said it was with you, her eyes went wide. "We're going out again on Thursday."

"Bob!" she gasped, and now all of the guys were looking at him, and there was no way he would ever recover from this as Nat told them he got coffee with you.

"Welcome to the big leagues, buddy," Jake drawled, while Bradley glared at him. "Just wish I could figure out why she seems so familiar. Like it's just stuck in the back of my mind somehow. Like I know her."

"None of you know her as well as Bob does," Nat said with a laugh that made him smile. Before you and he parted ways at the coffee shop, you'd squeezed his hand in your smaller one, and it was already one of the sexiest moments of his life.

"Fuck you, Bob," Bradley grumbled.

But it didn't matter. Bob really liked you and the fact that you talked about your Dungeons & Dragons character for a full hour. And your pretty face and your laugh. And the way you seemed interested in what he had to say. You were checking off all of the boxes for him. Smart, funny, kind of nerdy, interesting. He wondered how many dates he should take you on before asking you to be his girlfriend.

On Wednesday, as soon as Warlock dismissed everyone, you handed Bob a folded up note.

I can't wait for dinner tomorrow night. Here's my number.

He waited until he was home and sitting on his couch before he texted you. Less than a minute later, you responded. And that's how he spent the rest of his night. He didn't even eat until after nine, too wrapped up in what you had to say. Those intrusive thoughts and daydreams and real dreams about you in his apartment were starting to seem like they could be a reality. That's what he wanted. He could already picture you on the couch, wrapped up in the afghan his mom made, watching a movie with him. Or in his kitchen, helping him make dinner.

He fell asleep on the couch in his uniform, too absorbed in this conversation to even go to bed properly. But that was fine, because suddenly it was Thursday, and not only would he see you all day at work, he'd get to eat with you and learn more about you.

Once again, Bob slid into that front row seat, and you had to work at keeping the smile from your face all morning. When you did look his way, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He was sure he'd pass out if you kissed him, and suddenly that was the only thing he could think about. Warlock talked about aggressive maneuvering, and Bob thought about your lips. Warlock talked about safety protocols, and Bob thought about your lips touching his.

It would be a miracle if he made it through dinner, but he had to try. You stood and started walking out of the classroom at the end of the day, but you turned back and said, "I'll meet you there at 7:30."

Bob offered to pick you up, but you said you'd drive yourself, and now he had more than two hours to kill. He took a long shower and fixed his hair before dressing in the outfit that Nat had pre-approved for him. He made sure his glasses were straight and that he had his credit card. The only other thing he could do was hope the conversation would come as easily for him this time, as it had over coffee.

He shouldn't have been worried about that. What he should have been worried about was the way his heart stopped when you walked through the front doors of the restaurant and directly for him, wearing a pretty blue dress with your face all made up like he was someone to impress.

"Hi, Bob," you whispered. Then you kissed his cheek at the same time that he started to turn his head, and his lips nudged yours. He stood there shocked as you slipped your hand into his, and you started to tug him toward the waiting table when his name was called.

His ears didn't stop burning the whole night. His brain kept circling back to the idea of another kiss. An intentional one. A kiss after a second date was not something he'd ever attempted before, but he was going to do it tonight. Based on the way you were looking at him, he had to.

"Do you want more wine?" you asked, holding up the bottle.

"Yes, please," he replied, because that would definitely help his cause.

You smiled as you poured him some. "You have lovely manners." When you set the bottle down, you added, "And really pretty eyes."

Bob counted to three and then said, "I know we didn't even eat dessert yet, but I really like you. And tomorrow is your D&D night, but maybe you'll let me take you to a movie on Saturday?"

After dinner, in the parking lot next to your car, Bob kissed you. Intentionally. The first tilt of his head was hesitant, and when his lips met yours, he started to get nervous and pull away. But you let your fingers tangle in his hair, and you chased him for another kiss. "Which movie are we seeing?" you asked as you rubbed your nose gently along his.

"You can pick," he replied before kissing you again. "I just want to be around you." And then his hands found the small of your back and you inched yourself closer until your chest was touching his and your knee was bumping his leg.

You were smiling when he finally pulled his face away from yours. "I'll text you my address and the movie I want to see."

Bob smiled, too. "And then I'll pick you up, and we can go to the theater."

This was probably the best week of his life. He watched you pull out of the parking lot, and you waved to him through your window after you blew him a kiss. He went home and thought about what he might be able to cook for date number four. Perhaps you'd want to do the movie on Saturday and then have dinner at his place on Sunday? He'd figure it out. Either way, he was excited for more.

"A third date?" Nat asked on Friday when everyone was taking a break in the classroom. "Damn, Bob."

He eyed you where you stood talking quietly with Warlock, and you glanced his way, a soft smile on your lips. "I really like her. She's different. In a good way. And she makes me feel comfortable."

Nat rubbed his back in slow circles. "Make sure you put your arm around her during the movie. She might be expecting it. But if she doesn't snuggle against you, then you should remove it."

He nodded and swallowed. "Right. I can do that. Is it too soon to invite her over to my apartment for dinner?"

"I don't think so," she replied softly. "And maybe you should buy some condoms."

Bob's cheeks immediately flushed, but he didn't mind too much, since it was just Nat. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"She seems sweet. Just tell her what you're feeling when the time comes."

Now everything was making Bob a little nervous as he drove through your neighborhood on Saturday night. He passed modern beachfront house after modern beachfront house, and then his GPS told him he had arrived. He saw your car in the driveway, but the house was gorgeous and must be worth a ton of money. Maybe you had a roommate?

He parked his old truck and headed up the sidewalk with butterflies in his stomach and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You opened the door before he even knocked, and then you were in his arms and invading his senses. "Are those for me?" you asked, kissing his cheek and poking the flowers.

"Yes," he whispered, silently begging you to let him hold you for a few more seconds while he caught his breath and got himself under control. You turned him on in every way, and he'd never encountered this before.

Your soft voice next to his ear as you chuckled and said, "Thanks, Bob," was not helping. You led him inside, and your house was incredible. There were no signs of a roommate, but there was a view of the ocean from the windows along the back of the house. He watched you bend in your little dress to find a vase for the flowers, and he felt completely overwhelmed.

"Ready to go?" you asked, reaching for his hand a minute later. Your eyes were eager and sincere as you gazed up at him. Your fingers were laced with his, and Bob realized if he wanted to get to the next step with you, he needed to get through tonight.

"Yes." He kissed your lips softly, and you leaned against his arm as he walked you out to his truck.

You spent the drive to the movie theater telling him all about your Friday night playing Dungeons & Dragons, and of course Bob felt more relaxed. He bought the tickets, and you got the popcorn, and when he put his arm around your shoulders, you snuggled against him, so he kept it there. By the end of the movie, the empty popcorn bucket was on the floor, and you had your palm resting on his thigh.

"Did you like it?" you asked softly while the end credits scrolled.

"Yes, I liked it," he promised, accepting another of your kisses.

"It's still early. Want to grab a drink somewhere?"

Bob really only knew one place, because he spent an awful lot of his free time there. "Should we hit up the Hard Deck? And then I can take you home and hopefully get another goodnight kiss?"

You had one eyebrow raised as you considered him. "Even after the third date? You're not going to try to make a move?"

Embarrassment flooded his cheeks as he muttered, "Not yet." And then your lips were all over his like he'd answered your questions correctly, even though he felt like his thoughts on the matter were actually probably wrong according to most people.

Eventually the two of you made your way to the bar, but visiting the Hard Deck was a mistake that he didn't see coming. You were tucked perfectly against his side as Bob walked across the parking lot and listened to you tell him how much you liked working for Admiral Bates. Then you ordered two vodka sodas, and Bob had to pluck your credit card from your hand to keep you from paying for them.

"Hey!" you complained, but he just smiled.

"I'll give it back later." He was rewarded with another kiss on the cheek, this one very close to his lips.

"Well, look who's here," Jake drawled obnoxiously over the music from the jukebox and the noise from the crowd. "Bob and his friend."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, but you kept one hand linked with his as the drinks were set down. "Should we say hi to your friends?" you asked, and Bob nodded even though he really wanted to just find a small table on the other side of the room. But Nat looked excited, and the other guys looked annoyed, so Bob thought a short detour might be fun.

"Hey," Bob greeted everyone as you sipped your drink.

"How was the movie?" Nat asked, elbowing Bradley in the side before he could say anything.

"Pretty good," you replied. "You know, for one of those Academy Award bait films."

Bob laughed and looked at you. "I liked it a lot, actually." Or maybe he just liked sitting with his arm around you for two hours at a time, but he wasn't going to say that in front of everyone else.

Javy tapped a pool cue on the ground and asked, "Do you like to see a lot of movies?"

You nodded with a bit of an apprehensive look on your face that had Bob just about ready to pull you over to the table that another couple was vacating. "Yeah... I like films," you replied softly.

And then Jake's jaw dropped open and he slapped the edge of the pool table. "Oh my god!" His green eyes were wide as he looked you up and down from head to toe with a smirk that made Bob want to stand in front of you. "That's why you look so familiar! You're Roxy Luxxe."

"Oh, fuck," Javy said as he dropped the pool cue on Nat's foot, and Bradley choked on his beer.

But Bob just stood there and watched your posture stiffen and the look of apprehension on your face grow. "Who?" he asked softly, but you wouldn't meet his eyes.

"She's a porn star, Bob!" Jake said a little too loudly as he hooted. "A very memorable one, too. Played up different movie genres. Everyone I Did Last Summer. Sisterhood of the Traveling Sluts. Laid in Manhattan. Some real classics!"

"I retired," you said firmly, holding eye contact with Jake even though your voice sounded strained. "I left the industry five years ago."

"Guys," Nat said with a warning tone as she looked at Bob who was frozen in place, his head swarming with wild thoughts. An adult film star? You? But you worked at Top Gun and played D&D and liked scones. You went on three dates with Bob of all people.

Now Nat was physically moving Javy, Bradley and Jake back toward the game of pool, snapping her fingers at them as they continued to ogle you in your pretty dress. "So..." you whispered, turning toward Bob, looking anywhere but at his face. "That was... yeah..."

He had no idea what to say right now, and the longer he went without saying anything, the worse he felt inside. You used to have a job making adult films? Bob couldn't even handle watching those without blushing and stuttering. You must have had sex with dozens and dozens of different men and probably women too, and Bob suddenly realized he could go home and watch them for himself if he really wanted.

"Right," you said, finally looking at him as your eyes started to fill with tears. "Well... no hard feelings, Bob. I'll see you at work on Monday." Then you set your drink down, covered your mouth with one hand and made a beeline for the door.

Bob looked at the drink in his hand, and then at the one you set down. He left his on the table next to yours and followed you out to the parking lot. He looked around, calling your name and checking to see if you were by his truck, but you didn't respond. You were gone.

Roxy Luxxe. That name was made up, and he didn't think it suited you as well as your real name. That one was perfect, and he liked it. He liked you. He could drive back to your house, but if you didn't want to talk to him, then what was the point? He'd already embarrassed himself by clamming up. But even worse, he thought he might have embarrassed you.

"Damn it," he muttered, angry at Jake and all of them for making you feel small, and angry at himself, too. He got in his truck and drove himself home.

----------------------------

Well. You got three perfect dates before it all blew up in your face. Three amazing dates with Bob who was going to look at you like you were no longer worthy of his time now. Sure, you would have told him eventually. After another date or two, you would have brought it up in such a way that perhaps could have been a little bit more flattering or at least slightly tasteful. But of course you should have been expecting this. It wasn't the first time. Getting older only did so much for your face, and it didn't matter how much you changed your hair and makeup: Once Roxy Luxxe, always Roxy Luxxe.

You really thought none of them recognized you. It was almost refreshing that Bob had never heard of your alter ego. He probably never saw a single video of you having sex with Sam Slick or Dickie Divine. He didn't know exactly what your tits looked like, because you'd never taken your shirt off for him in person. He didn't know how you sounded when you faked an orgasm. As you ran down the block and got an Uber, you could hear Bob calling for you.

You weren't ashamed or embarrassed. You were not. This was your life, and you made every decision along the way for yourself. Nobody else. You put yourself through school. You bought the house of your dreams. You had an amazing job at Top Gun now for fuck's sake. But Bob was the first guy you met in a long time who made you think you could have a relationship with someone who wouldn't judge you for your past.

You walked from your Uber into your house and kicked your shoes across the entryway. More tears were filling your eyes, but you didn't want to cry again. Not over this. "But he was sweet," you whispered to your reflection in the hall mirror. His friends were kind of assholes, but he wasn't. Even if he didn't want to be with you now, which was understandable, those three dates were something else. Dungeons & Dragons discussions and coffee and pasta.

You sighed wistfully at the flowers in your kitchen. Maybe a few more years and you'd look even less like Roxy Luxxe. That might make things easier to navigate. You made yourself a cup of tea and grabbed some crackers and sat out on your back deck where the moonlight reflected off of the ocean. The way Bob had wrapped his arm around you during the movie made it easy to imagine him here with you, keeping you warm. Instead you grabbed a blanket and snuggled in as you thought about how he would have been an excellent boyfriend.

"You win some, you lose some," you told the night sky. If he was bothered by your past which you had designed so you could have a future, then he wasn't the one for you. You fell asleep outside in your dress, and the rising sun eventually woke you up. When you stretched and stood, the chilly air sent you running inside and toward your shower.

The memories of last night were hanging out in the periphery of your mind. Going to work tomorrow was going to be awful. If you didn't like Admiral Bates so much, you'd request to work under someone else. But then again, why should you have to go to work feeling bad? Yeah, it was going to sting to see Bob, but it was still your job, and you deserved to be happy.

You showered and took your time until all of your skin felt fresh and new, and then you threw on some oversized sweats after you moisturized. After breakfast, you could see if one of your friends from D&D was free to hang out. You were finally just about to check your phone to see if Bob had attempted to reach you when you heard a knock at your door.

Bob's truck was parked in your driveway just behind your car. You could see it through the front window. According to your phone, he tried to call you twice, and he'd send you a handful of texts. But now he was here and knocking again. It was obvious you were home, so you wrenched your front door open and stood before him with your chin held high.

"What do you need?" you asked, already feeling weak at the sight of his pretty blue eyes and his glasses.

"Hi," he said softly, just staring at you. He looked exhausted, like maybe he hadn't slept. Then he fumbled around in his jeans pocket and pulled out your credit card. "This is yours."

You plucked it from his hand and started to close the door. "Thanks for returning it. I'll see you at work."

Then he said your name. Your real name. "Wait. Please?"

You pressed your lips together. "What do you want, Bob?"

The soft rise and fall of his solid chest held your attention while he started stuttering. "L-Look. I'm really sorry about last night."

You nodded. "Me too." It wasn't like you wanted to know, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "I take it you went home and looked up my videos?"

His eyes went wide as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I didn't."

You actually believed him, but you felt like making yourself hurt anyway. "Your friends have all seen me naked. Watched me getting fucked."

He seemed surprisingly calm as he half shrugged and kind of nodded. "So what?"

As you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you said, "I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done, okay? And I would have told you about it after another date or two... before we slept together." When he remained silent you added, "I started out in the adult film industry when I was eighteen. I quit when I was twenty five. I just turned thirty last month, and I guess I was silly for thinking enough time had passed. But last night was a prime example of why I haven't even tried to date anyone. Ever, really."

Bob was gaping at you now. "Not ever? But you're... you're so..."

"I know," you said, cutting him off before he could finish. "I'm hot enough to do porn, but nobody wants to date me."

You started to close the door again, but he scrambled. "N-No, that's not what I was going to say. I was going to say you're flawless. A-And I shouldn't have let you leave the bar like that last night."

Your fingers loosened on the door, and soon it was drifting away from you, opening wider for Bob as he stood there with an eager expression. God, you just really liked him. And he seemed like he was being sincere. "What would you have done differently last night?" you whispered.

He started to reach for you before tucking his fingers in his jeans pocket. "I would have taken your hand in mine as soon as I saw tears in your eyes." You bit your lips as he added, "And I would have told you that I like you so much. And if you wanted to leave, then I would have driven you home right away and walked you to your door."

He liked you so much. If there was a chance that Bob could be the kind of guy who still liked you with your past as Roxy Luxxe but also wasn't just trying to get in your pants and meet her for himself, then you wanted to give him a shot. "What would you have done after you walked me to my door?"

He was breathing deeper like he was nervous, and you wanted to touch him. "I would have asked you for that goodnight kiss that I'd been hoping for all day."

You were rushing for his arms, clearly surprising him in the process, but he held onto you as you gave him just the softest kiss. "I would have let you have it." Bob's hands found their way to the most respectful spot on your back, and you kissed him a little deeper.

As soon as you broke the kiss, his fingers flexed against your back, and he said, "I want to go on another date with you. A bunch more. But I want you to be sure about me. I don't really care about Roxy Luxxe. I'm sure she was lovely, but I like you." You laughed. You couldn't help it. And he smiled as he asked, "Maybe you can think about it today and let me know at work tomorrow?"

"Okay."

He nodded and let out the breath he was holding. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

Your back felt cold where his hands used to be as you watched him walk back to his truck. He waved to you as he pulled out of your driveway, and you waved back with a different feeling in your heart than you had twenty minutes ago.

---------------------------

Bob was disappointed to find he would be in the air on Monday. When he arrived on base, he changed into his flight suit instead of his khaki uniform, wondering what that would mean when it came to seeing you. He'd slept poorly, wondering what your answer would be, hoping you'd say yes to another date.

"Hey, Bob," Jake drawled as Bob zipped up his flight suit. "How was your night with Roxy Luxxe?" He had a devilish smirk on his face, and Bob's skin was crawling. All of the other guys were looking at him now, and he knew his face was beet red.

"I guess she was as good as she looks on film if she rendered you speechless," Jake added with a laugh.

"Whoa, no," Javy said, shaking his head at Jake before looking at Bob. "Cut it out, man."

Bob counted to five, took a deep breath and then raised his forearm, and at least Jake had the decency to look panicked. Bradley stepped into the fray as Bob used his arm on Jake's chest to push him back against the lockers. Sure, Jake was more muscular, but Bob was no slouch, and he had a couple inches on him. "Don't call her that again. Don't even talk about her. While you're at it, don't look at her either."

Jake raised one eyebrow and nodded slightly, and Bob released him, walking right out of the locker room and making a quick detour to the classroom. But you weren't there. He ran his hands through his hair before he headed outside to find Nat.

"Hey, there you are," she said gently. "You okay? After the bar and everything?"

"I'm fine," he replied, still looking around. "Have you seen her?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, pointing behind Bob, and he whirled around in time to see you walk out of the tower with Warlock and Cyclone. You looked as pretty as you always did, and Bob found himself wanting you the same way today as he had last week. All of the daydreams about making breakfast together after holding you in his arms all night were still there. So were the thoughts about you snuggled up, laughing on his couch. But now he could also imagine taking walks on the beach where you lived.

Your gaze met his, and he watched you excuse yourself from the admirals before heading his way. Nat squeezed his bicep, and muttered good luck before making herself scarce, and then Bob was standing there with you a respectable three feet in front of him.

"Lieutenant Floyd."

He smiled softly. "Good morning."

"So..." you began, looking down at his boots and pressing your lips together. "I'm free on Wednesday night. Or pretty much all day Saturday." Your eyes trailed up his body until you were nervously examining his face. "What did you have in mind for our fourth date?"

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He'd been so apprehensive, afraid you were going to tell him to beat it, he hadn't bothered to come up with an actual date idea. "Cooking dinner at my place?" he blurted out.

You nodded like that sounded good to you. "Wednesday night then?"

He couldn't remember if he already had plans, but if he did, he'd cancel them immediately. "Yes. Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. Wednesday."

Your soft laughter filled him up as you turned and started to walk away, giving him just one word. "Wednesday."

--------------------------

You showed up to Bob's place with just a bottle of wine. He promised to take care of the rest. An hour later, a completely homemade pizza with fresh mozzarella and herbs was baking in the oven, and you had your arms draped around his neck. His lips tasted like the pinot noir the two of you had started drinking while you made the pizza, and his body felt strong and sure. As of right now, you thought you'd made the right choice by coming here.

"I really like you," he whispered for the third time this evening, and you believed him. You liked yourself. Why shouldn't he?

"I like you, too, Bob." You reached up and adjusted his glasses before letting your fingers trail back through his hair. As his hands slid slowly down to your hips, it was easy to imagine how he might be in bed. Authentic. Meticulous. Earnest. Just like he was at work. The thought thrilled you to no end, but you were also afraid of the way you'd feel afterwards if you rushed it just to get the first one out of your system. So you let him hold you like you were important.

The timer buzzed, and Bob laughed as you jumped further into his arms. You buried your face against his neck. "It's not funny." But you were laughing, too, and his lips met your hair. "Okay, it's kind of funny."

His stomach was growling, so you slowly pulled yourself free of his arms so he could put on his oven mitts. "Looks good," he remarked, but your gaze was fixed on him. "What do you think, Honey?"

Bob's eyes went wide as he set the tray down, like he couldn't believe what he'd said. Your heart was absolutely thundering in your chest. "Looks good," you whispered in agreement. You hadn't looked at it. You were sure it was fine. You'd eat anything anyway. But he called you Honey, and you didn't mind it one bit.

You shared the pizza side by side on his couch along with the rest of the bottle of wine, and Bob listened to you tell him about your friends you meet up with on Fridays. And then he told you about his deployment as he finished the last few drops of wine.

"I never really talk about this with anyone but Nat. This is nice," he said softly.

"Is it lonely?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as he set down his glass and looked at you.

You didn't want to rush him, because you could tell what he was going to say was important. And it was. His voice was a little rough as he looked at you and said, "Somehow it's lonelier when I come home. It's worse than being on an aircraft carrier in that I can't really have anything for myself here. There's nothing waiting for me. And a lot of the time, I feel like it would be too much to ask someone to do that. To wait for me. It would be a lot for someone to accept."

When you crawled onto his lap, he didn't stop you. And when you tilted his face up to make him look at you, his cheeks flushed pink, but his hands found your hips again. "I understand exactly how you feel."

Then you kissed him, and you didn't stop for probably hours or maybe days. It felt that good. When you ended up beneath his warm body, you were so happy he came to your house on Sunday morning with your credit card. "Bob," you whimpered, and that seemed to bring him back from wherever his head was while he kissed his way down your neck and along your chest. His hair was a mess from your fingers, and his lips were a little puffy from the kisses, and you were pretty sure he wouldn't let you down again even if his friends were idiots.

You'd broken the spell, but he didn't seem to mind as he stood and pulled you to your feet. "It's getting late. We have work in the morning. Let me walk you to your car?"

At this rate, you were afraid you'd let him do anything he wanted, because he held your hand the whole way there. And he kissed you just right and told you he'd love to spend part of Saturday with you.

"Come over," you told him, and he promised he would.

----------------------------

It was chilly as Bob watched the sunset over the ocean from your back deck, but his body was warm from the combination of having you and your fleece blanket wrapped around him. You fit perfectly in his arms. Frankly, you seemed to fit pretty perfectly in his life. He wouldn't mind spending all of his Saturdays like this, listening to your gaming recap from the night before while you occasionally kissed the side of his neck. Your fingers were laced with his, and when you asked if he wanted to share a bottle of wine you got when you were in Napa Valley, he responded with a different question.

"Is there any chance you'd want to be my girlfriend?" You shivered in his arms, so he wrapped you up a little tighter. "I can't stop thinking about you being the one waiting for me to get home from a deployment."

You didn't speak right away which made him apprehensive. He'd somehow been the one to push things too fast. This was something he'd never managed to do before. You tightened your grip on his hand as you said, "Bob... people are going to recognize me. It's going to happen sometimes, no matter what I try to do about it, and I-"

He cut you off with a kiss. "I don't care about that, Honey." Then more kisses. The bottle of wine in your kitchen was left forgotten as you carefully slipped one leg over Bob's lap and sat straddling him. You kept the blanket wrapped snug around both of you, your body nestled against his as your foreheads met. "I just really like you."

The sun had disappeared below the horizon. Everything was pink and purple and dusky and dreamy as your cheek nudged his glasses making him smile. "If you think you can handle being my boyfriend, then I'm not going to try to stop you."

Heart pounding, he asked, "So is that a yes?"

"Yes." Your kisses were slow and soft, and Bob kept chasing the smile on your lips, because he couldn't get enough. With his eyes closed, all he could hear was the ocean below and the soft sounds you made. All he could feel was your body everywhere. You smelled familiar. You tasted good.

As you ran your fingers through his hair, your other hand trailed down to his shoulder, along his bicep and then across his chest. When Bob dared to let his hands dip from your waist to your hips and butt, you scooted a little bit closer. He realized when your fingers skimmed his abs that he had an erection.

Embarrassed, he tried to break the kiss and move his hands, but as soon as he started to move, you pulled away first. In the dying light, he could see your wide eyes and the alluring rise and fall of your chest. Part of your lace bra strap was showing, and your nipples were obviously hard. His cock throbbed in his jeans as you asked, "Do you want to stop?"

He knew you could read the desire on his face. When he started to shake his head, you rubbed yourself against his jeans where he was hard for you. "No," he grunted, head tipping back as he panted. "I don't want to stop."

"Good," you whispered next to his ear, lips barely grazing him. "Neither do I." You took his hands in both of yours and brought them back up to your body, encouraging him to touch every curve.

He gasped your name as he watched you slowly rolling your hips against him, seemingly in no hurry as you bit your lip. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you didn't stop him, and he tossed it aside. Your body looked magical in the twilight, and as he reached for your bra clasp, realization hit him.

You were used to a certain caliber of partner for these kinds of activities. Standards he probably couldn't meet. "You're hesitating again," you whispered, voice breaking a little bit on the last word. "If you don't think you want to do this with me, I completely understand, Bob."

It was getting difficult to read your expression in the darkness, but when you stopped touching him and pulled your arms to your sides, he started to panic. "It's not that," he promised. "But you've been with... p-professionals. Guys who know what they're... doing." He ran his hands through his own hair. "And I'm not the most experienced. I've only had two partners."

"Oh, Bob," you moaned, and his cock ached at the sound. He wanted you. His whole body was screaming for it, and then he watched as you unhooked your own bra and let it slide down your arms and fall from your fingers. Your body was flawless, back arched, every curve designed to make him crazy. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine as you leaned in closer and kissed him. "You'll be so much better."

Your bare skin was everywhere as the blanket slipped from around you. Bob's hands splayed across your back to keep you warm, but the supple feel of you had him thrusting against your core as he gingerly ran his thumb along the side of your breast. "So much better!" you whispered before pulling his bottom lip between yours.

He was still a little nervous, throbbing against you in his pants like a teenager as he cupped your breast in his rough palm. When you trailed your lips down his neck, he said, "I just want to be good enough for you."

Bob was thankful it was dark and you couldn't see him blushing as you nipped his earlobe and giggled. "Bob. You're better, because you're real. And you're turning me on, because we're not faking anything." You moved your right hand down between your bodies and squeezed his cock through his jeans as you sucked on his neck. "There's nothing fake about this."

He was gasping as he reached for your hand. "Honey." He couldn't take too much more teasing, or at this rate, he'd finish before his pants were off. "Can we go inside?"

You were off his lap and reaching for him with both hands, pulling him to his feet and closer to you. "My bedroom sound good?"

"Yes."

It was honestly difficult to walk. You led him through the sliding glass door and inside where the soft lighting somehow made your topless body look even more stunning. You brought him down the short hallway to your room, walking backwards and looking up at him with a smirk as you unzipped his jeans. He made another unintelligible noise as he watched the way your breasts swayed and bounced with each movement.

Your bedside lamp provided the only light, and Bob was still looking around, trying to get his bearings, when you pulled his shirt and undershirt off. "Oh," you gasped, running your palms up his flat stomach to his slightly broader chest. "God." He couldn't fathom that you liked what you saw and felt enough to leave you panting his name, but you definitely were. Then your hand was down the front of his unzipped jeans, and he grinned as you tried your best to wrap your hand around his length, your eyes growing wide. "Bob."

And now he wasn't really nervous, because this actually felt really easy and good with you. You were giving him all the queues that you wanted more. You were kissing him as you stumbled to the bed. You were trying your best to get your hand around his cock, but you couldn't. He picked you up and hauled you up to the pillows, and you squealed. All he could see was your beautiful smile as you kissed him over and over, only pulling away to run your nose along his cheek and whisper his name.

He watched you shimmy out of your yoga pants and underwear and push them aside, and it was no wonder you were able to make a career out of using your body the way you did. But if most of that was just acting, then he wasn't going to let you down now. He watched as your head tipped back, and you pressed yourself up against his hands when he gently squeezed your breasts. Mesmerized by all of this, he let his hands drift down over your ribs and along your sides until he was met by your hips.

Bob worked his hands slowly back up your body and down again, pausing to press his lips to your breasts as you arched for him again. You felt soft, and you were sensitive, running your bare foot up and down his leg as you whimpered. When he squeezed your hips again, he let his gaze fall below your belly button.

His voice was soft and deep as he asked, "Is it okay if I taste you, Honey?"

You instantly spread your legs a little wider, grabbed him by his hair, and said, "Please."

---------------------------

Bob's hands were huge, with thick veins and graceful, calloused fingers. All he was doing was touching you and kissing you, and you were very fucking worked up. This was already a treat, just being with a guy who wasn't grabbing at you and trying to shove his cock in your mouth. But it was more than that. It was the soft tone he used when he said your name and the way he was looking at you.

Gentle but strong. That was how you'd describe your newly minted boyfriend. You smiled at him as he stroked his fingers down your sides. You hadn't had a boyfriend in years, and Bob was so sweet and handsome, it was absolutely outrageous.

"Is it okay if I taste you?"

All of that and he wanted to go down on you? "Please." Your voice was needy, and your body was so ready for him. You eased your thighs further apart so he could see all of you, and you let your fingers tangle in his soft hair. You were so excited, and when the wire rim of his glasses brushed the inside of your thigh, you shivered with pleasure.

Then his lips met your pussy, and you almost went through the fucking ceiling. Those big hands were at your waist, holding you in place on the bed as he licked up along your slit, slowly tasting every inch before he hummed softly. You wanted to watch, but you could barely lift your head off of the pillow as he licked up again and again before kissing your clit.

When you managed to prop yourself up on one elbow, you got a great view of his big cock hanging out of his unzipped jeans when he lifted his head away from your body. "Does it feel good?" he asked, and you laughed. He pulled away from you further, concern on his face as you started to reach for him.

Your nails scraped along the day's worth of stubble on his cheek as you sat up and kissed him, tasting yourself. You licked at his lips and chin, cleaning up the wetness before you whispered. "It feels better than good."

A few seconds later, you were on your back again, legs over his shoulders as he ate your pussy with fervor. All of your nerve endings were singing his praises. He had you spread with his rough thumbs, and when he looked up at you, even his nose was wet. Your hands were fisted at your sides while you gently rolled your hips against his mouth and whined at the perfect feel of him. "Shit. Fuck," you gasped. He sucked on you with just the right amount of pressure, and your toes were literally starting to curl. "Bob!"

All you got in response was another hum of pleasure that made you squeal followed by some seriously lewd, wet sounds. His broad shoulders pushed against the backs of your thighs, and you felt him teasing at your opening with the tip of one finger. Tongue circling your clit, he glanced up at you over his crooked glasses. His cheeks were pink, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead as you reached for his hair again. "I want you to fuck me."

"Okay," he agreed, nodding his head like he hadn't brought you close with his mouth. He looked a little dazed and pussy drunk, and you thought you could fall in love with that expression on his handsome face.

"Come here," you whispered, kneeling so you could kiss him. "You taste like me," you added, licking his cheek and chin. "And I love it."

"Honey," he growled, and when you looked down, you could tell he was aching. You pushed him onto his butt and helped him the rest of the way out of his jeans and snug briefs, his thick cock bouncing for you. Then you looked at him there in just his socks and glasses, and your entire body clenched with a need you'd never known before.

You took his cock in both hands, leaned down and kissed away all of his precum while every muscle in his abs and both legs tensed up. "Holy shit," he gasped. When you tugged on his shoulders, he moved with you, covering your body with his own. His weight and warmth against your bare skin felt essential to your happiness, and when you kissed him, he said, "And you taste like me."

His cheeks flushed a pretty pink as you ran your tongue along his lips. You couldn't get enough. He shifted his body slightly, and his cock came to rest on your slick clit, making you moan into his mouth. You arched away from him, moving your hips back and forth a few inches at a time, using his body to bring yourself pleasure as you clung to his arms. "God, Bob. You haven't even been inside me yet, and I'm a mess."

The veins in his neck and forehead were more prominent as he panted, a bead of his sweat rolling down to the tip of his nose. You licked it away as you shifted your hips so he was positioned at your entrance. He was thick, and even though you were soaking wet now, you had to use one hand to help guide him. You shook your head from side to side, your body taking him slowly. He buried his forehead to your neck, and the bite of his glasses against your collar bone kept you grounded.

"Honey," he moaned, clutching at your hips as he finally, finally bottomed out. You were completely full, already clenching around him softly and enjoying the rough feel of his trimmed hairs against your clit. He thrusted a few times like he couldn't help himself, and you kissed his forehead. "Am I hurting you?"

His neck was a little slick against your fingertips. You'd been fucked too rough or without enough lubrication to the point of it being painful several times before, but this was the exact opposite. "Bob, you feel incredible." He lifted his head and kissed your lips, rewarding you with another thrust. Your legs tangled with his as you pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him harder.

His lips found their way to your neck and breasts, and his thrusts started coming quicker, but every smooth movement left you gripping at him, your body begging for more as you whimpered and whined. He murmured your name against your skin, sucking on your nipples until you were seeing stars. And each thrust filled you somehow better than the last. And every movement left you grinding your clit up for more.

You were going to come. You were going to come so hard. You could feel it. The buildup was delicious. Lips and stubble and glasses on your breasts. Hands on your hips. Bob everywhere.

"I'm not wearing a condom. Honey," he panted. "I'm not wearing a condom."

"It's okay," you whined loudly, suddenly gasping and clawing at his shoulders for leverage. "You can come wherever you want."

He chose inside you. And you came, hard and long and loud, hands on his face while you kissed him. You knew he was going to be so much better. You called it from the start. From when he surprised you by asking you out for coffee. He was immediately better than anything else you anticipated for yourself, and even when he fumbled, he recovered. You ran your lips along his cheek and back to his ear and whispered, "You're so much better than faking it."

He rolled both of you onto your sides, facing each other while he was still deep inside you. "Please don't ever do that. Fake it," he said, voice deep and raspy as he ran his rough palm along your cheek. "I want to know I'm good enough for my girlfriend."

You smiled and tucked your head under his chin, and he wrapped his arm around you. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and his words were soft and gentle. When he climbed out of bed, he asked where he could find a washcloth, and he came back with it a minute later, ready to help you get cleaned up. He even held your robe out for you and waited while you used the bathroom, but you did that quickly, finding you wanted to be right next to him as much as possible.

Bob looked delicious in his briefs and undershirt, and you wrapped your arms around his waist as you asked, "Do you want to go back out under the blanket? With the bottle of wine? We could look at the stars. Listen to the ocean before bed."

He kissed your forehead. "As long as I'm with you."

-------------------------

Six months later...

After eight weeks away, Bob was excited to get home. He really hoped this was the start of his deployments feeling lonelier than the time between them did. Especially since he was going home to you and the house where he moved all of his stuff as soon as you asked him to live with you. He couldn't wait to hold you all night and hear all about your Dungeons & Dragons campaign and ask how you'd been enjoying work.

As soon as the aircraft carrier started docking in San Diego, he was at one of the lower railings along with the other aviators, and he spotted you immediately. You were bouncing around at the front of the crowd shouting his name and waving like a lunatic, and he had missed you so much. "Hey, Honey!" he shouted, and you just jumped higher.

"Damn, Floyd. That's your girl?" asked one of the guys he'd flown with.

"Yeah," he replied, never taking his eyes off you. "That's my girl."

Six and a half minutes later, he was practically running down the long ramp with his duffle on one shoulder to the spot where you were waiting for him.

"Bob!" you screeched as he scooped you up in your tiny dress and kissed you until you were as breathless as he was. "I missed you. I love you so much, and I missed you."

"I want to go home, Honey," he said, kissing you again. "Take me home."

"Gladly," you gushed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his own truck. "I have big plans for your big cock," you announced to everyone around you, and Bob felt his cheeks warm up. "Well, and the rest of you, too. We can make a pizza together and eat out on the deck."

"Anything you want," he promised, tossing his bag in the truck bed and pushing you against the door. "And I love you, too."

You only let him kiss you for a few seconds, before you were pushing him away. "I know you do. Let's go home." You held his hand on the short ride, and when he pulled in the driveway, you yanked him right out and led him inside the house.

This felt incredible, knowing you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, running hand in hand to the bedroom. Then you stopped short and turned to face him as he bumped into you with a laugh. "You know how you're kind of your alter ego right now when you're in your uniform? Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yeah?" he whispered, leaning down to kiss you, but your lips curled into a smile as you backed away.

"Well... I thought you might like to meet my alter ego?" you asked softly, easing that little dress up to your hips and along your torso before pulling it over your head. You were standing there in the tiniest black thong and bra set known to mankind. "Do you want to meet Roxy Luxxe?"

Bob just nodded and reached down to palm himself through his khaki pants as he gaped at you and grunted, "Uh huh." If Roxy was just a playful extension of his girlfriend, then yes, he wanted to meet her.

You bit your lip and coaxed him toward the bed, running your hands down your body to your hips where you played with your underwear. "Good. Because she wants to meet you, too. And she wants you to know she's only going to be available exclusively for Bob Floyd's enjoyment."

---------------------------

Thanks for reading this long one-shot! I wanted Bob to get to fuck a former pornstar, because nobody deserves such a treat the way Bob does! But then I got attached to them and had to make it special. Bob and the artist formerly known as Roxy Luxxe are adorable together. Thanks to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger and @sylviebell for your help!

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babygirlhouse · 1 month

Text

house md 2024 headcanons 🫡

hi loves!! jumping on this trend :^) i don't think any of these make sense but they made me laugh soooo here u go

House has a very bad pain day and (when pushed) says that he strained the muscle while riding his bike. Obviously nobody believes him, so the ducklings + Wilson spend the day trying to figure out what he did and end up finding security footage of him attempting to hit the griddy in the morgue

Kutner has a very generic inspirational quotes tumblr blog (he’s so proud of it) and House finds it and just starts dropping quotes from it in DDXs to mess with him & then acting all innocent

Thirteen has a secret thirst trap tiktok acc that doesn’t explicitly show her face but has her lab coat & maybe stethoscope. When Chase suggests that it’s her she doesn’t confirm or deny it and just keeps winking. Cameron definitely follows the account after this. Thirteen pretends not to realise.

Wilson takes a uquiz to find out what sort of cheese he is and is devastated when it says he’s cheddar. He then has an identity crisis because he thinks he’s too bland and tries to reinvent his aesthetic, leading to one infected eyebrow piercing and a tramp stamp that’s never mentioned again. Potential there for a sappy scene where House tells him he's anything but bland.

Cuddy starts a momblog style podcast. House sends anonymous hate. Taub guest stars.

I think Taub would get deeply into ASMR. Like it’d start with him finding and playing a video of ASMR triggers for his daughters, then he tries it himself to see if that calms them down even more, etc etc. He starts a youtube channel and it blows up. He gets recognised by patients at the hospital. It goes to his head just a little. He unironically uses the term 'ASMRtist'

A cosplayer has a mysterious illness and the team has to go to a convention to test for environmental factors. Chase is apprehensive but House forces him to go. He’s quickly recognised at the convention and it turns out that he has a cosplay instagram account and they get stopped every 10 mins to take pictures. No one lets him live it down

Thirteen and Cameron kiss & fall in love & babysit Taub's kids. House makes relentless jokes but is quietly very fond of them and their relationship. Pls i need this

Foreman has a twitter/X account where he posts a combination of work out tips/inspirational quotes (not as sweet as Kutner's blog, more grindset vibes yknow) but he gets mixed up in a pyramid scheme for protein powders and gets cancelled. Also potential for a sappy scene here where Foreman says he admires Kutner for not letting House's teasing about his blog get to him. They're besties now and make each other better.

Cuddy forces all of them to go on a wellness retreat. House and Wilson make a bet to see who can go the longest without speaking. It's not even a silent retreat, they're just like that. Also someone convinces Chase that the utility shed on the retreat is haunted.

The wellness retreat no speaking bet also def has potential for gay chicken. Like Wilson kisses House to see if that will get him to lose the bet. By the next morning neither of them know or care who lost the bet, they leave their room looking Extremely disheveled and return to the hospital very much together. Cuddy is not at all surprised. She planned this. Each of the ducklings hand her $100.

PPTH minecraft server. yeah

#im so tired #i have an assessment due in 6 days #time to speed read all of inferno #house md #gregory house #headcanon #hatecrimes md #house md headcanons #hilson #mouse bites #james wilson

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wandasgf · 7 months

Text

THERE'S JUST ONE THING I WANT (your blood all over me)

pairings: final girl!reader + slashers!wandanat, pre-established bucky + reader

summary: movie night at your boyfriend bucky's on friday the 13th, what could go wrong?

warnings: depictions of violence and murder, cult dynamics (cult leader wanda), character death (not reader), cheating, manipulation, patriarchal ideals, misogyny, power dynamics, pet names, mommy kink, dom!natasha, sub!reader, dom!wanda, fingering, groping

wc: 5.7k~

A/N: sorry bucky...

Friday the 13th, a universal day of bad luck and bad omens. You were never one to be overly superstitious, you did have a black cat, Liho, after all, but something about this just felt like a bad idea. Bucky had proposed the idea of having a movie night of sorts to celebrate the unofficial holiday, wanting to invite some friends over and watch a few horror movies. He explicitly wanted to ‘watch Parker piss his pants over a little movie,’ which you rolled your eyes at.

“I don't know if this is a good idea, Buck…” You sigh, looking up at the taller man through your lashes, your arms wrapped around yourself. “Oh, come on, it'll be fun. Who doesn't love a good horror movie?” He laughs, though he knows you don't, “besides, I'll keep you safe. Don't worry.” He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You know I don't like those kinds of movies,” you huff, “and your friends are always… weird.” You mumble, burying your face in his chest. He sighs above you, starting to run his fingers through your hair, “I know, I know, but it'll just be one movie. And it's just the guys! They're harmless, come on, you know that!” His tone is lighthearted, but he tugs a little on your hair at the last part. “You can invite some of your friends,” he offers, “who've you been hanging out with lately? Wanda? Natasha? Carol?” and then he quickly changes his mind, he doesn't like her attitude towards either of you, “Ugh, no, don't invite Carol… How about that Kate girl? You can invite the redheads and Kate?”

“...okay, but promise you won't pick one that's too scary?”

“Promise, scaredy cat.”

Friday comes quickly and you're currently preparing for Bucky’s friends to come over, making sure there's cold beer in the fridge and snacks for them to eat. Your boyfriend was setting up the television apparently, telling you that you were always better in the kitchen than he was and then disappearing into the living room. Some of your friends were coming too, which you were grateful for. You had debated inviting Carol even though Bucky said not to, but decided against it. Wanda and Kate would be here soon, but Natasha said she had something she needed to do with Yelena tonight and wouldn’t be able to make it.

You play with the ring around your finger before you start to put bowls and dishes on the island’s countertop in front of you, humming softly to yourself as you make sure it looks presentable. You were never one to like an ugly spread. Bucky chooses this time to come into the kitchen and wrap his arms around your waist from behind, “see? Told you, you’re so much better in the kitchen than I am.”

“You’re just saying that because I cut up some plums for you.”

“You got me.” He chuckles, reaching forward to grab a slice of the fruit, “the boys should be here soon, you should get changed.” He pats your bare thigh, the shorts you’re wearing are decidedly too short for him, and then pulls away from you and starts to walk away.

“You didn’t seem to mind my outfit earlier!” You call out after him teasingly, and he just turns around to give you a pointed look, opening his mouth to speak before promptly closing it when he hears a car pull into the driveway. “That must be Steve. Go get changed.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

It did turn out to be Steve, and you greet him after you’ve come back downstairs. This time dressed in a pair of jeans and a brown sweater. Bucky’s friends arrive in quick succession after that: Steve, Sam, Tony, Peter (Quill, not Parker. Parker couldn’t make it), and even Rhodey showed up which was apparently something of a miracle. Wanda’s friend Vision was away for work, otherwise you might have asked her to bring him too. You sip on a drink in the kitchen with Wanda while you wait for Kate, it was far too loud in the living room with all the boys. Especially because Tony had started drinking. You don’t envy Pepper, the man could be loud while sober, so this was almost unbearable. You remind yourself that they’re Bucky’s friends and it’s just one evening, he’ll make it up to you tomorrow.

“You know, you could have just told him we were going out and you wouldn’t have had to deal with all of this,” Wanda hums, lifting her glass up to her lips and taking a sip of wine, “I know how much you hate these kinds of movies.”

“I know, but he seemed excited about it, and you know him… I don’t want to be down on something he’s actually excited about.” You lean against the counter, holding your glass in both hands against your chest. “He said he’d pick a movie that wasn’t too scary, but we can probably get away with just being in here for the whole night. It’s not like they’ll really notice.”

“You don’t think Bucky will notice if you’re not within two feet of him at all times? You must have forgotten who you’re talking about.” Wanda laughs humorlessly, a tight smile on her lips. None of your friends were particularly… fond of your boyfriend. It’s not that they hated him, he could be a nice guy, it’s just that sometimes the way he treated you was more like the way you’d treat a child or a trophy than a girlfriend.

Just then Bucky’s voice interrupts the two of you with a ‘babe!’ and you excuse yourself from the kitchen. You’re semi-grateful for it, not wanting to get into this Wanda right now, but you wanted to avoid the guys for longer than you were able to.

It turns out he had just wanted another beer, which you brought him and he accepted with a kiss to your cheek. You’re certain that Peter was going to ask for one too until he and Bucky had some sort of silent conversation, so you slipped out of the room to avoid whatever the outcome might have been. Things between the two of them could get tense.

Wanda gives you a look when you re-enter the kitchen and you shrug, “he was having some sort of debate with Steve, he didn’t want to lose his train of thought.”

“Uh huh…” The strawberry blonde opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s cut off when she hears a sharp, feminine scream pierce her ears. A scream that she knows doesn’t belong to the horror movie everyone is supposed to be watching tonight. She gives you an indecipherable look, and you look back at her with wide eyes, frightened. “Was that… the movie? Buck didn’t say he was starting it yet…”

She doesn’t answer you, waiting to see if maybe she can hear the background noise of a movie coming from the living room, maybe they decided on a different movie. But when she doesn’t hear anything besides confused chatter she can’t quite decipher she shakes her head, “I don’t think so.”

You’re soon joined by Bucky and the rest of the guys in the kitchen when he rushes in to make sure the scream he heard wasn’t, in fact, his girlfriend. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?” He holds you at arm’s length to inspect you, making sure you weren’t hurt. You could be a little clumsy, and he knows you’ve been drinking some wine, so he thought maybe you had decided to cut up some fruit and dropped the knife, accidentally cutting yourself. But after a quick once over, he realizes that you’re fine.

“I-I don’t know. Wanda and I were just talking in here and then we heard a scream. I thought maybe you started the movie without us. Do you think someone’s hurt somewhere? Oh God, this is exactly how those horror movies you like so much start out. I told you doing something like this today was a bad idea, Buck–”

The back door opens and you barely hear it, still rambling until Bucky puts his hand over your mouth. You furrow your eyebrows, and you’re about to move his hand to tell him off, who cares that his friends are here, until you hear a set of footsteps and realize that everyone is standing still and tense. Bucky’s house had a bit of an odd layout. Whereas other houses kitchen’s were in the back of the house, his was near the front.

Your boyfriend was always hyper vigilant, even when there was no reason to be, but when he brings his finger up to his lips to signal you to be quiet, you think that maybe there is a reason this time. Even Tony seems to have shut up, looking slightly concerned. Maybe all your talk about bad omens was getting to everyone.

There’s a tension in the air and everything is silent for a moment until the footsteps continue, getting closer and closer…

Your breath gets caught in your throat when a masked figure steps through the doorway. They have a long, sharp, knife-like blade in one hand, the front of their shirt and mask splattered with blood. In the other hand, you see a coat you recognize, one you know belongs to Kate, splattered and stained with blood. Wordlessly, they hold it up and tilt their head, their green eyes sparkling at the recognition and horror on your face. A scream rips through your throat before you can stop it.

Bucky turns and he’s quick to push you behind him as soon as you scream while everyone else is frozen in place, eyes wide with shock. “Very funny guys, love that you hired an actor to scare the shit out of my girlfriend, very clever. When I said I wanted to scare her, I meant with the movie. So she would be extra clingy tonight, so we could– not the point. This isn’t cool.” His tone hardens with the last three words, feeling the way you’re shaking slightly behind him from fear.

“Buck, we didn’t… this isn’t us.” Sam speaks up and the masked stranger decides that this is enough talking for now before they surge towards Peter, who’s drunk enough to move just a bit too slowly. Their knife plunges into his stomach and he lets out a loud yell, drink dropping from his hand and glass shattering against the floor, doubling over when the knife is taken out and then plunged into his flesh again and again and again.

The action is enough to snap everyone out of their frozen states and send everyone running in a panic. You vaguely hear a ‘holy fuck!’ before Bucky grabs your hand and drags you out of the room, planning to circle around the killer and then exit the house. He lives at the end of a relatively secluded street, but he has his car and if he can get to it, he knows he could get the both of you away from danger quite quickly. He’d be sorry about his friends, but he can always make new ones.

“B-Buck, wait! We can’t just leave Wanda, what if she’s next? Please, we can't just leave. That was Kate’s coat, they got Kate. We can’t leave everyone.”

“We might get killed and you're worried about that redheaded b– fine, we can make sure Wanda’s okay.” He concedes when he sees your face, pulling you into the bathroom with him and shutting the door. He takes a breath and then locks it. If all else fails, the two of you can stay in here until morning, but right now he apparently needs a new plan.

He pats his pockets to try and find his phone, if nothing at all he needs to call the police. He groans when he realizes he left it on the couch. “Fuck.”

At some point you and Bucky get separated, it's hard to stay together in chaos like this. Maybe going back for Wanda was a bad idea, but you just couldn't leave her to fend for herself, especially after what you can only assume happened to Kate. And seeing what happened to Peter, you couldn’t let that happen to her. Stupid, maybe, but she was one of your closest friends.

You don't know how long it's been until you find yourself in a group again. Except now you're missing Peter, Tony, Steve and Rhodey. By the look on Bucky’s face, you know they all must have suffered the same fate as Peter.

“What do we do, man? We could try to leave, but that only got Steve killed. Did anyone call the cops? I can't find my phone.” Sam paces the room.

Steve’s body lays limp and slightly cold on the stone path leading from Bucky’s porch to the driveway. He didn’t get very far.

“I did.” Wanda speaks up from the doorway, keeping watch in the one on the left and scanning the whole room, paying particular attention to the doorway across from her. “I hope they'll be here soon. They might have already been here if James didn't live so far from town.”

“Oh, are you blaming this on me? Are you saying this is my fault?” Bucky shoots a glare towards Wanda. The tension between the two of them was always thick, but right now you think even a knife wouldn’t be able to cut through it.

“If the shoe fits.”

“Listen here, you–”

“Watch your tone.” Wanda's accent slips out and your eyes flit over towards her.

“Please don't fight, it won't make things better.” Your voice is quiet, scared, as you speak. You stand close to Bucky, arms wrapped around your torso. You're shaking slightly, the image of both Peter and Steve making you nauseous. You hadn’t expected to see him when you walked out the front door, and the image was enough to have you running back into the house.

Bucky grunts in response and Wanda doesn't say anything, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and looking towards the other entrance of the room you were all in again.

Perhaps she should have been paying more attention to what's behind her, though, because the masked stranger is suddenly right there. Your eyes widen and you don't have time to warn her before she shrieks as they force her hands behind her back and press a knife against her throat. It's a bit of a struggle, but the masked assailant is clearly strong as they manhandle Wanda into the room.

“Wanda!”

“Fuck!”

“Man, fuck this!”

You, Bucky, and Sam all stand alarmed near the center of the room, looking with widened eyes at the scene in front of you. A beat of silence passes, all that can be heard is labored breathing. And then the knife falls from her throat and Wanda starts to laugh, bent over from the force of it. “Oh, you should have seen your faces!” She laughs like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to her before she stops abruptly and stands up, a gun suddenly in her hand, pointed straight towards you. “Come here.” Her accent is back now, the fake American one dropped.

“W-Wanda, I don’t… what’s going on?” You sniffle, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

“W-Wanda,” she mocks, faux pout on her lips, “Come here.”

“Don’t listen to her. Stay right behind me.” Bucky steps in front of you, shielding you with his body.

“What a gentleman.” Wanda sneers, gun steadily pointed at Bucky’s chest now.

“Wanda, sweetheart, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Natasha speaks up, taking the now bloody hockey mask off and revealing herself. It had been so hard for her to keep her comments to herself and remain a mystery this whole time. Usually it wouldn’t be, but today was just so exciting. And it was personal.

Oh, she had been the one to give Wanda the handgun.

“Now what the fuck?” Sam makes the mistake of making himself known again and Wanda rolls her eyes, turning and aiming the gun at him instead. “Oh, shut up.” She pulls the trigger and a bullet goes straight through the man’s skull, blood splattering onto the floor and the wall behind him. He drops to the floor with a thud.

“Jesus Christ! You’re both fucking insane!” Bucky takes a glance towards Sam’s body on the floor, feeling bile rise up in his throat.

“Buck, I-I’m scared.” You whimper, and he pulls your body against his, hoping to bring you some comfort by running his fingers through your hair. This is not something he ever thought before, but maybe he should have listened to you when you said this was a bad idea.

Wanda takes a deep breath, her head jerking involuntarily at the sight, like she’d just seen something horrible. “I won’t ask again. Come. Here.” The gun is pointed at you again and her hand shakes slightly. Her eyes flash and you look up at Bucky, afraid she might actually shoot you. “Buck, I-I maybe I should go over. T-To calm her down… I don’t want her to hurt you.”

You sniffle again and he takes five seconds before giving a small nod. “It’ll be okay, baby. They won’t get away with this, I promise, I won’t let them.” He says in a way that he hopes is comforting to you. You hesitate before pulling away from him and slowly walking over to Wanda.

“Hi, Wands,” you smile up at her sweetly, “did I do good?”

“You would have done better if you didn’t let him put his hands on you like that,” she spits. You pout up at her and she softens slightly, leaning down to kiss you. She knows you were only playing a role, but that didn’t make it better, “you did great, baby.”

“What the fuck is going on!”

You spin around, eyes wild, no longer hiding anything now that the charade has been dropped, angry that your moments with Wanda are still being interrupted. “Will you shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds?! We are trying to have a conversation here.”

Bucky, poor guy, looks the most shocked you’ve ever seen him. He never would have seen this coming, he never could have. This wasn’t like you, you were sweet and quiet and would never speak to him like that. You couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this, not voluntarily. The way you were acting wasn’t making any sense.

“Baby… Come on, this isn’t like you. Whatever they said to you, whatever they did to you, you can tell me. I can help, I’ll get you out of this, you don’t have to worry.” He chooses almost the exact wrong thing to say, and you grab the gun from Wanda, pointing it towards him. Wanda and Natasha look toward each other, this wasn’t part of the plan. Not exactly, anyway.

"Oh, you can help me?! You'll help me!" You think of these past couple of months, years really, that you’ve spent with Bucky, stuck with Bucky. You did it to yourself upon the request of Natasha, but that doesn’t make it any better. You're practically hysterical at this point, waving the gun in your hand around with your finger on the trigger, "because you're a big strong military man, you can help me! Oh, and I bet you’ll save me too!" You're laughing now, shaking as adrenaline pumps through your veins. "That's what I am to you, isn't it? Proof of your ability as a man to save a woman? Your little trophy to prove that you're a good guy." You point the gun steadily at Bucky now, looking him directly in the eyes, "unfortunately for you, I've never been yours to save."

The thing about your and Bucky’s relationship is that it was never built on anything good. It would have been better, for him mostly, but the both of you, if you had just stayed friends like you wanted to, but he just kept pushing. He loves you, don’t you love him too? He knows you do, he can tell. He’s loved you since middle school and he’s never found the right time to tell you, but now that you’re both starting university, he couldn’t take the chance that you’d find someone else. (Unfortunately for him, you already had. The extra 10 years of friendship Bucky had, had nothing on the connection you had with Wanda and Natasha).

Bucky watched you grow up, watched you turn to him when your parents fought, watched you take your father’s mistreatment of you and your mother, and watched your little fear of abandonment grow when your father up and left one night. Watched the way you hoped he wouldn’t leave too, took advantage of it, really. And you watched him, watched the cracks in his nice guy persona get bigger, watched as they became canyons when you wedged yourself into them, watched as he hoped, God he hoped that you were your mother’s daughter.

And Wanda and Natasha watched you both, content to keep your relationship a secret as you explored the ways in which you could exploit Bucky, expose his true colors. They didn’t do very much pushing on your part, they wanted you to be free to make your own decisions. They may be in charge, but this was your idea, they just gave it the green light. Well, Wanda may have planted a few seeds, but that’s what she does. You were free to ignore them if you wanted, but she knew you didn’t. She knew you’d make her plans blossom.

The switch from hysterics to calm and collected has your boyfriend's head spinning. He doesn't know what part of this is real and what isn't, still half hoping this is some sick prank. Because this isn't like you, it's just not. The first time Bucky had ever shown you one of his guns, you were like a deer in headlights. You'd refused to even touch it, scared of such a weapon, a monster of human creation, you'd called it. That's who his girlfriend was, not this person standing in front of him. This mad woman, this crazy bitch. So this had to be fake, it had to be a prank.

It's not, of course, because what Bucky doesn't understand is that nothing with him had ever been anything but fake. What Bucky doesn't understand is that even though he's your boyfriend, you've never been his girlfriend, you've been Natasha and Wanda's. You've always been Natasha and Wanda's.

Natasha comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek, "go on, pretty girl, you can do it," she whispers encouragingly. This may not be a part of the original plan, but the sooner they get this done, the sooner she can take you back to her and Wanda’s apartment. And the sooner Wanda can stop obsessing over this. "Remember how he treated you. Remember how we treat you."

“Be a good girl, we’re so close.” Wanda’s voice hits your ears and it’s like you can’t help but listen to anything she says. You take the shot without a second thought, the bullet going straight through Bucky’s chest as your own chest heaves, your breathing slightly labored. You’re still holding the gun towards him as his eyes widen and he drops to the ground, touching the wound like he can’t believe what just happened. He chokes slightly, coughing, as blood starts to spill past his lips and you shut your eyes. If only he hadn’t turned into such a rotten guy, he would have survived.

You feel Wanda’s soft hand slide up the length of your arm as she slots herself behind you now, Natasha going to check around the house to make sure no one has miraculously survived being slain. A smile graces the Sokovian’s lips and she envelopes your hand in her own, gently transferring the gun into her own grip instead, letting your arm drop to your side before lowering the weapon and tucking it into her back pocket, “you did such a good job, baby. I’m so proud of you.” Her voice is so sweet and loving that your bottom lip trembles involuntarily.

You love Natasha, but Wanda has always had an affect on you, and you know that if the Russian had said the same thing instead, you wouldn’t react this same way. The overwhelming feelings that loomed over tonight come back in full force as you let out the first sob. “Oh, sweet girl,” Wanda coos, turning you in her arms and bringing you against her, holding you tight, “such a big night for you, huh? But you know that what you’ve done is for the greater good, right? You know that, don’t you?”

You nod and she kisses the top of your head. “B-But Tasha came early, and I didn’t know that Katie– I thought– Tasha was too early, and I couldn’t tell if–” You can’t get your thoughts together anymore, your mind racing with everything that’s been going through your head since the beginning of the night. The fear for Kate, the confusion when Natasha showed up before 10:02pm, the very specific time she was supposed to, the way Wanda had looked just as confused as you had.

“Oh no, did she scare you?” Wanda laughs lightly, endeared and a little amused, “I’ll have to give Tasha a little talking to. She was a little early, huh?” She smooths her hand along your hair, petting you, “don’t worry about Katie, darling, she’s just fine. You know how Yelena would react if she wasn’t.”

“I-I know, but–”

“Shhh, I know, sweetheart. It’s okay, you didn’t know. Now, why don’t you give me a kiss, hm? Don’t I deserve a thank you?”

A ‘thank you’ for what, you didn’t know, but Wanda clearly thought she was deserving of one and who were you to question her? You lean up to give her a kiss, your arms wrapping around her shoulders as she grips your waist. You sigh against her lips, feeling yourself relax a little just from the comfort any amount of affection from Wanda gives you.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re pretending like I don’t exist.” Natasha stands from where she was leaning against the doorframe as she looks at you and Wanda, “do you have any idea how long I was standing there?” It had only been long enough to catch Wanda’s ‘don’t I deserve a thank you?’ and watch the two of you kiss, but still.

You pull away from Wanda and huff, your tears now forgotten, “I’m mad at you!” You glare at Natasha and she raises an eyebrow, walking towards you now, “mad at me, зайка?” She furrows her eyebrows slightly, as if she’s confused, and there’s an annoyingly attractive little smirk on her lips as she gets closer.

She grabs your hips and pulls you away from Wanda and the Sokovian would usually protest against the Russian’s audacity to steal her girl away, but she’s content to watch the two of you bicker for a few minutes. Natasha pulls you against her, “now what did I do to deserve that?” She squeezes your hips softly, looking down at you. “You were early!” You push against her chest before resting your hands there, playing with the fabric of her sweatshirt, “we had a plan!”

“Well, we didn’t exactly stick to the plan anyway, did we, baby? Huh? I don’t think the past 15 minutes were part of the plan. How about you, Wands?” Natasha turns her head slightly and makes eye contact with her girlfriend, to which the strawberry blonde just rolls her eyes, “this is not my problem. She’s not mad at me.”

“We might have if you showed up on time! You scared me, you asshole!”

Natasha is perfectly happy to humor when you’re ‘mad’ at her and even when you play fight against her or hit her, but she is not happy to hear you speak to her like that. Her movement is swift as she reaches up to grab your jaw, her grip harsh as her fingertips dig into your cheeks, “watch your tone and your language, yeah?”

You whine quietly, nodding. Natasha hums, releasing your jaw in favor of patting your cheek, “good girl. Now, why don’t you tell me properly why you’re ‘mad’ at me?” Her next actions contradict her words as she slips her hands underneath your shirt, sliding her palms up your stomach and then back down again.

“You were…” you trail off, distracted by Natasha's hands on you. She slides her hands back up and gropes your covered breasts, “I was?” There’s a smug look on her face as she looks down at you, pleased with how easily she can distract you. “You were early and… and you scared me, I didn’t know it was you.”

“My sincerest apologies, princess,” Natasha slides her hands back down and grabs your waist, squeezing roughly, and then she grins, “I didn’t realize you were so easily scared.” You’re about to curse her out, but she leans down to capture your lips in a kiss before you get the chance. The kiss is sloppy and rough as your hands grip her sweatshirt, tugging her as close as possible.

Wanda, never one to like being left out, takes her place behind you, sandwiching you between her and Natasha. Her hands slip under your shirt and replace where Natasha’s used to be, cupping your breasts and groping them softly, “let us make it up to you, ангел.”

The sound of Wanda’s soft voice in your ear relaxes you in their arms and you make a noise of agreeance against Natasha’s lips. “My poor little angel,” Wanda murmurs, “my divine little lamb. You didn’t deserve to be scared like that, did you?” Wanda’s questions are almost always rhetorical and you’re glad for that right now.

One of Natasha’s hands moves from your waist to unbutton your jeans and then slides into your panties. You grip her sweater tighter to try and urge her to move her hand further down, but she leaves it splayed just above your cunt. She pulls away from your lips, the both of you panting as you catch your breath, a string of spit connecting your lips and then dripping down.

“Say please, зайка. Just because I’ve upset you doesn’t mean you lose your manners, does it?”

“Please, Tasha. Please touch me.”

“Tell me thank you for what I did today.” She’s trying to stay in control of herself, but you can tell from her labored breathing and the flush of her neck that you’ve affected her.

“I’m so happy you freed me, Tasha. Thank you. I’m so grateful I can be yours forever now. Thank you, thank you.”

Natasha surges forward and crashes her lips against yours, a moan escaping your lips at the contact. Wanda hums in approval and it lights a fire in both yours and Natasha’s stomachs. You both know, this time, Wanda is only here to watch over the two of you, and to know what you’re doing has her approval means more to the both of you than anything you’ve ever done.

Natasha swallows your gasp when you feel her fingers beginning to rub at your clit, slow circles that work you up at just the right pace. Wanda places small kisses on your neck as Natasha works, groping and squeezing at your breasts as she does. She knows she’ll have you to herself later while Natasha works on cleaning up today’s mess, so she’s content in watching her prized possession feel good.

When Natasha moves her hand further down and sinks two fingers into your cunt, you pull away from her lips and let out a little whimper. Usually, she’d work you up, but she knew the three of you shouldn’t linger in the house longer than necessary. “Shhh, that’s it baby, you can take it.” She lets you bury your face against her chest as she pumps her fingers in and out, grinding the heel of her palm against your clit.

“There you go, that’s a good girl.” Natasha coos. She’s being uncharacteristically gentle and you think it’s because Wanda is watching or maybe she really does feel bad for scaring you like she did. She holds you tight against her as she leans over you to kiss Wanda. You feel your knees get weak when you realize what’s happening and you clench around Natasha’s fingers.

They both pay you no mind except for the fact that Natasha’s skilled fingers are still working against your cunt. She curls them just right and you bite down on her collarbone. She gasps and pulls away from Wanda’s lips, her other hand gripping your waist tighter, her blunt nails digging into your skin and leaving little crescent marks.

“Forgot our little зайка was a biter.” She grunts.

It’s not long before Natasha’s fingers work you up and push you over the edge, cumming with both her and Wanda’s permission. When Natasha pulls her fingers out you let out a little whine, sensitive from cumming. “Open up, pretty girl.” She brings her fingers up to your lips and you let her push them inside, cleaning your cum from her fingers, your cheeks hot at the action.

Natasha pulls away from you and pushes you to your knees, your shaky legs doing very little to hold you up anyway. Wanda’s fingertips drag across your cheek as she moves in front of you, standing next to Natasha. “What do you say, маленький ангел?” Wanda speaks as she uses her middle and ring finger to tilt your chin up.

You peer up at them, adoration swimming in your eyes, “Thank you Mommy. Thank you Tasha.”

#alice's fics !#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch smut

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i-made-a-bg3-blog · 4 months

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Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one.

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand?

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by.

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely.

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

#i love the idea of jaheira and astarion being best friends because they are both incredibly sincere people who are allergic to sincerity #also I imagine that astarion's filing system is like 'i was wearing a purple scarf when these files came in so they go in that pile'#this is just a silly little headcanon i had #jaheira #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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uncommon-etc · 2 years

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Important distinction for Sandman fans who’ve only watched the show...

Morpheus in the comics:

- 100% dtf

- Nada fell for him so fast she saw him in a dream once and was prepared to give up her kingdom and break the laws of the universe for him, Calliope provides a detailed and totally unprompted description of how of all her many lovers he was the best, Alianora’s very much dead but still thirsting for him, Thessaly hated him at first but very much still wanted to tap that, has such power over the collective unconscious of all sentient beings that he once got laid and gave every conscious lifeform the same sex-dream

- Can change his entire appearance at will to better his chances

- of all the endless, has only ever been out-hoed by Desire

Morpheus in the show:

- Has clearly never known the touch of a woman in his life

- Divorced

- Permanently looks like an 80s twink with full guy-liner or a bedraggled wet cat

- Divorced.

And let me tell you, as someone who grew up rooting for the trainwreck male-leads in nordic crime dramas and thus likes her men as pathetic as possible, I am loving the direction they’re going in. I guess Neil Gaiman has been immersed in fandom long enough to know how to give the people exactly what they want.

(Edit) This got a few more reblogs than I thought and I am very much here for some of the tags, so I just thought I’d add as a caveat; I absolutely ship Dreamling, however, I’m more than willing to believe it’s possible for two guys to have a centuries-old queer platonic relationship where they’ve never done anything more intimate than hold hands. And yes, Tom Sturridge was perfect for the role due to his inexplicable ability to have amazing chemistry with anyone on screen (even if they’re playing his immortal siblings) but also manage to seem asexual af, we need more like him.

Disclaimer: this post has no intention of slut-shaming anyone, least of all Morpheus, it’s merely an appreciation of the discrepancy between his many romantic sub-plots in the comics and his obvious lack of a prominent love-interest in the show. But to those claiming there were only six women in the comics; yes, six that we know of and are explicitly shown. Others are alluded to, or are you calling Mervyn a liar?

#the sandman #sandman comics #neil gaiman #dream of the endless #oneiros x calliope #tom sturridge #netflix sandman #ace representation

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milswrites · 2 months

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Hobbies Part 5.

~Azriel X Reader~

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Lots of fluff. Tiny bit of angst (I can’t even tell at this point). Very vague references to sex. Cliffhanger (Whoopsies)

Five hours later, once Azriel had planned out the date and bathed the sticky multicoloured icing from his skin, he had begun pacing his flat in anticipation of Y/N’s arrival. Shadows swirling around him, sensing their masters spiked anxiety. Should he have offered to pick her up from her own place? Does she even know this is a date? He had asked her to go out but he had never explicitly said the word date.

He was sweating profusely under the black dress shirt he had adorned for the occasion, glad he had one packed. Azriel had been with plenty of women over the years but taking one on a date? This would be the first.

It was only after she had left his flat that he realised he had never even given her a definite time to meet, just a vague promise of seeing her later. Azriel blames Y/N for this lack of communication, planting the kiss on his cheek and leaving him speechless.

So here had been for the last hour, moon now high in the sky, waiting for her to arrive. Having far too much time to overthink about everything that could go wrong. He had to stop himself from anxiously walking over to the mirror in his bathroom for a sixth time to make sure his hair was in place and question whether he should wear other clothes than all black, not wanting to look like death personified next to Y/N’s radiant self. No, he would stick with what he was comfortable with, Y/N wasn’t one to judge. That and Azriel didn’t own anything other than black clothes and he was sure if he ran to the shop now he would miss Y/N.

Finally, a soft knock at his door broke his pacing. His shadows all flew to the door whispering in excitement, waiting for it to be opened so they could be blessed by her presence. Straightening the collar of his shirt, Azriel took in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let his fluctuating attitudes ruin tonight. He would allow himself to have fun.

He grabbed the handle of the door, looking up to the ceiling and praying to the Mother that tonight would run smoothly, and slowly pulled it open.

~~~~~

If Azriel was the personification of death, Y/N must have been that of life. As she stood there in his entryway, mouth slightly open as her eyes drifted over Azriel’s form, he couldn’t help but think that everything in his life just felt like it now made sense.

He looked from her dress, a soft pink which Azriel thought complimented her oh so beautifully, the entirety of which was patterned with hand embroidered flowers of a deeper shade of pink, and forced his gaze to move to her face where a nervous smile was resting.

“You look…wow” he finally spoke, gulping as he took in the sight of her. A rosy blush that matched her dress crossed her face, “Thank you. You clean up nicely too”. A matching tint formed on his own cheeks.

“So what’s the plan?” She asked curiously, looking up into his eyes which were still trailing the length of her body.

“Uh well I realised I don’t actually know anywhere nice to eat in this Court so I’ve kind of planned something else” Azriel tried to keep it vague, hoping to keep the true plan somewhat of a surprise.

“Sounds perfect! Lead the way!” She grinned, before stepping to the side to allow Azriel and his wings to fit through the doorway. Before he could even step out, his shadows rushed towards Y/N twirling around the skirt of her dress. Fearful that his shadows would scare her, Azriel went to angrily call them back. But he was stopped in his tracks by a melodic laugh slipping from her lips as she began to spin round with them as if they were dancing.

It was at this point Azriel made the decision to not stand there stunned like he usually does in situations where Y/N makes his heart pound and he doesn’t know what to do. Instead, trying to find some semblance of confidence, he reaches out to take Y/N’s hand which was outstretched for balance as she spun. He grabbed it in his own scarred one, and raised them together, allowing her to twirl underneath him, shadows in tow.

Their surroundings forgotten, this little dance continued for a few minutes, smiles on their faces as they were absorbed into the moment. Spinning and moving together fluidly. Wanting to feel her even closer, Azriel reached out his other hand hoping to come into contact with her waist, only to be interrupted by a squeak from the end of the corridor which caused him to draw his hand back.

His head snapped towards the sound, eyes viciously landing on the neighbour who earlier that day had witnessed him standing there in his frilly yellow apron. A low growl came from Azriel’s throat as the neighbour awkwardly rushed forward to pass them in the corridor, Y/N’s hand leaving his to make space for the neighbour to get past with a high pitched “sorry” coming from them as they sped round to the other stairway.

Azriel’s shadows had stopped dancing, electing to disappear during the awkward moment. The moment was gone much to Azriel’s disappointment, the embarrassment of being caught creeping up his spine was testament to that.

Noticing his red ears, Y/N placed a calming hand onto his chest, which of course made them even redder. “Come on! I’m excited to see what you’ve planned!” Of course Y/N wouldn’t be phased after being caught dancing in the corridor.

“Yeah” Azriel sighs, dejected. Annoyed at the lack of control he had over his body prior to being caught, and so when the pair walked out of the building he made sure to leave some space between them, not wanting to do anything else rash that would undoubtedly lead to further embarrassment.

~~~~~

Azriel led the way, walking towards the location of the date. He wanted to talk, but after what had transpired outside the flat he was afraid to and so he had to put up with walking in silence. Y/N clearly wasn’t bothered as she hummed happily, either having not noticed the arm length of space between them or choosing not to comment on it.

Azriel was kicking himself, he was on a date with a beautiful woman and he couldn’t bring himself to find the words to speak. He wished he had his brothers with him. Cassian would have prepared him for the date, he would have made sure his friend was filled with confidence and prepped lots of things for Azriel to talk about. Rhysand would have fussed over his clothing and given him tips on how to flirt, how to complement a woman and make her blush until her knees wobble.

Yet his family had abandoned him here. But now weeks later after the fact, Azriel couldn’t help but feel grateful for the events that had transpired otherwise he would have never met Y/N.

Y/N who was walking next to him, eyes full of love and admiration as if she was taking in the moonlit surroundings for the first time even though she undoubtably walked these streets daily as she headed to and from work.

On and on they walked, Y/N’s humming being the one thing that kept Azriel earthed, preventing him from freaking out and flying off in fear that he couldn’t do this right. Fear that he didn’t know how to act on a date. Until finally they approached the garden Azriel had found during one of his nightly flights around the city.

Azriel had originally landed in this hidden piece of paradise because he was searching for a little trace of Elain, a reminder of what he was missing out on from being away from home. Only once he had entered the gates to be greeted by garishly bright sunflowers his thoughts were only on Y/N.

He had spent hours walking around the garden on the first night he had discovered it, appreciating the hundreds of plants and flowers that grew inside of the gates. It was only after his third visit here during his nightly outings that he pictured Y/N here with him, walking along the trailing path, smiling up at him as she smelt the flowers, admiring their beauty as he admired her. It only made sense to Azriel that he had to bring her here. See if Y/N reacted to it in the same way she did in his dreams.

Her reaction did not disappoint. Azriel held open the gate for her, allowing Y/N to enter with a gasp upon her lips.

“Oh Azriel it’s beautiful! However did you find this?” Y/N was whispering, her awe at where she was overwhelming. Azriel silently watched on as tears filled her eyes, trying to cement this moment into his mind forever. Y/N in her pretty pink dress, standing in the garden.

It was only after he was certain the picture of Y/N, surrounded by flowers as beautiful as she was, was permanently fixed into his brain did Azriel then allow himself to talk. “There’s more” Azriel too spoke in a quiet whisper, afraid of interrupting the perfect moment that was occurring.

Y/N’s eyes which were filled with an emotion Azriel couldn’t place, looked to his expectantly. Gently, Azriel placed his scarred hand onto her back and led her through the garden, allowing her to stop whenever she wanted to appreciate a flower she found particularly beautiful. Until finally the plants broke away, revealing a clearing in the middle of the garden where Azriel had set up a blanket, jars of faelight holding it down and twinkling under the light of the moon. A wicker basket was placed on top, filled with goods he had bought from the market earlier in the day.

“Oh Azriel!” Y/N cried out, taking a step towards the picnic. His hand moved from the small of her back, tentatively grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the blanket to sit down.

“I know it’s not fancy, I should have probably taken you for a meal out. And don’t worry I didn’t do any of the baking, wouldn’t want to poison you again.”

Y/N didn’t even laugh at Azriel’s joke, she just threw herself over the basket on the ground and latched her arms around his neck, pulling him in tightly for a hug. It took three deep breaths before Azriel responded, wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body which was pressed against his, whilst using the other hand to brush the hair that had fallen from behind her ear back.

She pulled away, wincing in pain from the basket that had been digging into her stomach. “It couldn’t be more perfect Az” she smiled, resting her hand over his.

The two ate the food Azriel had bought, making light conversation about the garden they were sitting in and the food they were consuming. Until finally, stomachs full, they both laid back onto the blanket in order to gaze at the stars shining above them.

“What’s it like? In the night Court I mean” Y/N shyly asked, as if afraid of talking about the spymasters home might set him off.

Azriel felt no spike of anger as she mentioned his home court. In fact he didn’t even feel the painful longing he usually did at the thought of it, wanting to be nowhere else but in the present with Y/N.

“It depends where you are. The Illyrian camps are no paradise. But there’s some places…a city that is so magnificent it still takes my breath away every time I see it. That’s where I live. Sometimes I spend hours flying above it and no matter how many times I do I always see something new.” Azriel said whilst closing his eyes, allowing himself to picture it.

“Ah Velaris, the secret city,” Y/N teased, causing Azriel’s eyes to snap open as he sat up and looked at her in shock, “Helion’s a talker” she shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

Azriel laughed and settled back down, head resting onto his hands behind his head, gaze once more returning to the stars. “I’ll take you one day” he confirmed, wanting nothing more than to share his home with Y/N.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling as she replied, “I’d like that.”

“Maybe you could make a dress just for the Night Court” Azriel mused, imagining what Y/N would look like in all black before deciding he wasn’t sure if he would want to see her with her colour taken away.

“I’d make you a matching tunic so we could wear them together, only I’m not too sure how to make clothes for Illyrains.” Y/N brushed his wing lightly with a finger as she said this, causing Azriel to stiffen as they twitched responsively.

Obviously he didn’t expect Y/N to know about the sensitivity of an Illyrians wings so he did his best to calm himself, nervously stuttering, “yeah the wings are really something.”

“It must be the best feeling ever, flying.” She said wistfully, staring at the night sky as if imagining she was up there. “I can think of some better feelings…but yeah it’s definitely up there” Azriel spoke, turning his head to admire Y/N. The moonlight making her skin shimmer.

“If I were born with wings I’d travel the whole world. I would see everything Prythian has to offer.”

Azriel wanted to burst her bubble, tell her most of Prythian wasn’t even worth visiting. Yet he held his tongue, not wanting to dampen her dreams. Instead he encouraged them, “where would you fly to first?”

“To Velaris,” she said, finally turning her head to meet his eyes, “I’d have to pick you up first before we go.” Her hand creeped over to Azriel’s which was laying on the blanket before entwining their fingers. “I have a big wingspan, what makes you think you’d be able to keep up?” Azriel warned, smirk on his face. “I think you’d wait for me” Y/N said knowingly, matching smirk on hers. “I’d wait forever for you if I had to” Azriel squeezed her hand as he said this.

“Just you and me and the whole world to explore. Sounds like a good dream.” Y/N smiled sadly, no doubt referring to the fact she didn’t have wings like Azriel’s and reminding him their planning was all based on fiction.

Adamant he didn’t want to see her sad, Azriel shot up onto his feet, hand held out to Y/N to pull her up, “Come on!” He ordered.

Y/N sat up on the blanket, eyebrows creased in confusion, “What?”

“Come on!” He pressed, pushing his outstretched arm even closer to her impatiently, “We’re going flying.”

Y/N released a sound of disbelief, grabbing onto his hand and jumping up from the ground excitedly, “Brilliant! So how do we do this?” She asked, referring to how she would be carried.

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, “uh well it would probably be easier if I just…” and with that he grabbed her and swept her into his arms, one going behind her back for support and the other holding up her legs.

Giggling in anticipation for the flight, Y/N once more ran her fingers down Azriel’s wings in admiration as he spread them wide and shook them ready for flight. He flinched abruptly, almost dropping her in shock before he stuttered, “It’s probably best you stop touching them or I don’t think we’ll ever get round to flying.”

This time instead of just her cheeks flaring red, her entire face flushed, clearly now understanding the implications of touching an Illyrians wings. Finding himself liking her response, Azriel bravely sent her a wink before shooting into the sky. Y/N’s arms flying around his neck and face pressing into his shoulder with a squeal at the speed he had launched from.

Azriel steadied out once high enough in the air, but Y/N still kept her face tucked into his neck in fear. “You can look now” he teased, urging her to lift her head but all he felt was the firm shaking of it against his shoulder so he continued, “We can’t go flying the world together if you won’t look at it? You won’t see much like this.”

That got her attention, Y/N’s head raising, but her eyes didn’t take in the view. Instead they found their home on Azriel’s face. “But I don’t have wings” she pouted up at him.

“But I do” he said with a laugh, batting his wings a little harder so they blew her hair into her face playfully.

“You mean it?” She asked in disbelief that he’d be willing to carry her just so she could see the world.

“Only if you take a look” he whispered into her ear, daring her to break eye contact and take in the view. And so she did and Azriel couldn’t have been more in love than he was in that moment.

Y/N beamed as she looked down on the city. “Look you can see the palace!” She pointed out the large building that towered over the rest of the city, “and my house! This is amazing!”

Azriel didn’t move his gaze to take in any of the sites, instead it stayed locked on Y/N as he replied, “yeah it is.”

“I’m going to want you to fly my everywhere!” She cheered excitedly.

“Wherever you need” Azriel replied, taking his focus off of where he was flying so he could rest his head against hers while she sat happily in his arms, “I would never put you down if you asked me not to.”

Azriel could see the struggle it took for Y/N to pull her eyes from the stunning sight of the twinkling city at night but she managed to, turning to Azriel and shifting slightly in his arms to face him better.

“And if I asked you to hold me forever?”

“Then nothing, no one, would stop me from holding you until the day the Mother takes me.”

Y/N released a small strangled cry at Azriel’s words before she leaned forward in his arms to softly place her lips onto his. Responsive, Azriel meets her halfway, their lips moving together in a passionate dance. Y/N went to deepen the kiss, drawing her tongue languidly against Azriel’s lower lip and in his surprise at her need to take control he completely forgot the two were in the air, relying on the beat of his wings to keep them afloat.

And so they fell.

Y/N releasing a scream as their lips tore apart and Azriel struggled to regain his grip on her flailing body as he turned his attention back to flying. Once she was secure in his arms one more he spread his wings out wide to level out, stopping their freefall.

Y/N panting slightly as her adrenaline at being dropped slowly evaporated, bravely placed her lips near Azriel’s until they brushed before pulling away as he eagerly tried to meet them once more. She shakily spoke against them “I think we’re going to need a rule about kissing while flying.”

Barking out a laugh, Azriel agreed before asking her which direction her home was in. He held her even tighter as he flew in the direction Y/N had pointed in, not wanting to permanently scar her so she never wanted to fly with him again.

He landed as gentle as he could, pulling her closer against him to make her feel safer as he did so, before he carefully placed her back onto the ground, a large hand around her back to ensure she didn’t stumble as she regained her footing.

“I think it’s safe to say this has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.” She grinned up at him, her hand finding his once more.

Azriel opened his mouth to reply but was interjected by one of his shadows moving up to frantically whisper in his ear, causing a frown to adorn his face. In her euphoria Y/N failed to notice this, instead she led him by their interlocked hands towards her front door.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked, dropping his hand to unlock the door. He cursed under his breath at the untimely appearance of his shadow. “I’d love to really but I’m sorry, I best go home. It’s getting late after all” he had to force the words out, throat closing tightly to try and stop him from saying them.

Y/N’s smile stayed on her face, Azriel knew if she was disappointed she wouldn’t let it show.

“That’s alright”, she said perhaps a bit too overly happy, “you’re right it’s late. Besides, I have something fun planned for us tomorrow, I should get that ready.” Azriel released the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the fact she wanted to meet him tomorrow, Y/N mustn’t be too hurt.

“Oh yeah”, he smiled back at her, batting away the shadow that was still whispering in his ear, “what fun things have you got planned?”

“That’s for you to discover tomorrow” she chided before her lips came to meet his once more. Azriel kissed her back, deeply breathing in her vanilla scent and gripping her waist tightly to avoid his hands wandering elsewhere. His shadow, annoyingly still chittering away into his ear, causing him to reluctantly pull back from the kiss.

“Tomorrow” he huffed, disappointed he had to leave and couldn’t come inside as he wished.

“Tomorrow” she confirmed before retreating into her house for the night.

~~~~~

Azriel was growling the whole flight home. His perfect night had been interrupted, he tried to brush away the thoughts of what could have happened if he had entered the house with Y/N. Best not to dwell on what he couldn’t have. He had tomorrow to make up for that.

Roughly landing outside his flat he stormed through the buildings corridor, where he had danced with Y/N, to his door, flinging it open in anger and stepping inside.

His shadows alerting him to the presence in the corner of the room.

“Hello brother,” Rhysand purred, “ready to go home?”

Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: (oh my there’s so many of you now! Thank you guys for all your continued support xx)

@minnieoo @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

(If I’ve missed any of you off I’m so sorry please let me know)

#acotar #fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel oneshot #azriel #azriel shadowsinger

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hatosaur · 4 months

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it's pretty implied that ellie never came out to joel in the proper sense. she lets him assume that she's into men, gives him the false satisfaction of "seeing" her "crush" on jesse, does not correct him. she's fairly confident in being gay in public for others to see and having others close to her know; so why not correct him? why dodge the topic?

was it out of fear? could it be that she never broached the topic despite being close to him in the early years because of the possibility of his reaction being negative? that she was afraid that out of all things that could force them apart (further apart after they split), him reacting badly to her being gay would be the worst?

what about at the dance? would she have been as wound up as she was if the moment hadn't been an encounter with a vicious homophobe? maybe she would've still snapped without this context, but why is she immediately on the defensive against joel after he sticks up for her?

what about the porch scene? why did she refute his question of dina being her girlfriend so insecurely, looking away, nervously and quietly stumbling over words? why isn't she mean about it? why doesn't she get defensive at the question? why did she lash out again when he expressed acceptance?

i think these scenes revolving around her queerness indicate it as such; that ellie never told joel for fear of a response, that she lets him think what he wants because that's the easiest way for it to be. then, when she's ready to face off against a homophobe, because that's the way things are, that's what she can expect, and joel defends her, she lashes out.

it's such a clear juxtaposition of support and hatred between joel and seth, and being faced with joel's acceptance is too much, makes her turn to the anger she'd been holding onto and reinforce what she thinks is true -- that she doesn't need him. and in the fallout, as her regret dawns on her, so too does the realization; he was protecting her, like always, without hesitation, over this thing she was always afraid he wouldn't accept her for.

in the porch scene, joel chooses his words wisely, and asks if dina is her girlfriend -- not "so you're gay?" or "why did you never tell me?" or "how long has this been a thing?" -- with such a casuality that it seems to throw her off. it's like ellie can hardly get the words out. she refutes the idea, fumbles for each following part of her response, is tense. she wasn't prepared for the question.

and when he finally asserts his support for her, in as explicit terms as he can, you can see ellie become emotional, touched for a moment but overcome, before she launches into the defensive again, exactly like at the dance scene -- meeting his kindness with hostility as a way to cope with her emotions.

and then, in response to her basically saying her life doesn't matter, he affirms that it does.

so he's now affirmed two things that ellie has doubted: that he accepts her being a lesbian, and that her life matters. a conflation of the two, in ellie's mind, may have come after; and after that, her olive branch.

and yeah, him affirming these things for her is fully in the context of his overwhelming parental love for her and her complex feelings about being the cure, but within a queer subtext, it means more. it's such a familiar thing to slink around loved ones and hide being gay/queer for fear of any type of response, and lying by omission in conversation just to keep that state of peace, of normalcy. ellie, with all her brutishness and bravery, falls into it like anyone else, because even while mad at him, she valued that response from him.

a lot of people seem to think that the approach to ellie's queerness is nonchalant, that it's just some unrelated thing about her, but i think that it holds more weight in the narrative that what is explicitly spelled out. it's subtle but it was a deliberate choice to place her queerness at the center of the confrontation. i think that's why ellie's relationship with dina took center stage in the story, and why so much time is devoted to just them -- because her being queer matters to her character, but in a way that perhaps only a queer person can see, analyze, and appreciate (without being blatant enough to anger certain other fans).

#i've been re-evaluating my long-conflicting feelings on the concept of coming out #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #this isn't an internet breaking take #i'm sure someone has said this before #but i'm just...thinking.#the meta of us #talkies #ellie williams #joel miller

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 7.

Summary: A chance to look through Oliver Quick's eyes as he watches through windows, decides he wants to be loved, and finally takes a chance with the reader. Until it comes crashing down because Michael Gavey called Felix a slag, and it's made Oliver's problem.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT (we see reader topping felix from last chapter but through oliver's perspective, cockwarming, vague somnophilia because of that i guess??, reader getting head and reader giving head but reader's AGAB is not specified), also some vaguely unsettling imagery i guess, and the scene in felix's room with the cleaning is made even more tense and uncomfortable

A/N: 7084 words. POV shift to Oliver! Also this chapter is FUCKING HUGE, i tried to find a good place to maybe split it, but couldn't find one. so you're stuck with 7k, eat up friends! also i would really appreciate if anyone has any thoughts about how i've written oliver, id love to hear them, i don't want him to 100% like the reader, and i think ive managed to have him come across more uh, cerebral i guess im going with? yeah thoughts good, would love some. holy shit this chapter goes so many places.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Y/N's been rambling on about reading Anna Karenina for one of their classes ever since they'd met Oliver after his final class for the day, but he's barely able to focus on their words. Usually he likes to look like he's paying attention to their words, he knows it makes him seem attentive, and everybody loves to feel heard, but Oliver's mind is elsewhere. It's in the garden outside of Y/N's window. It's outside their door where he'd sat patiently, giving blithe smiles to your dormmates and telling them he was simply waiting for you to get dressed. The doors of the Oxford dormitories were thick, but not thick enough to hide sound on the other side from an ear pressed up against them when the hallway was empty.

It's not even close to the first time he'd seen you in these moments together; how no-one else in your group of friends, apart from Farleigh he suspected, believed you two were sleeping together was baffling. Wilful ignorance is a hell of a drug. He hopes the two of you never learn how to close your blinds.

But there was something different about yesterday.

"Any of youse seen Felix? Or Y/N?" He'd approached the group on the grass with the same kind of hesitancy he'd always put on for them, never wanting to seem too arrogant, to comfortable in their presence. He knew they didn't like him, but people like this liked feeling powerful over the 'lesser folk'. Anyways, it's not like he was particularly keen on befriending any of them, it was okay to hold them at arm's length.

Farleigh, beautiful, condescending Farleigh, looked up at him through his lashes; there was no sun in his eyes, the squint was more likely to be him half-pulling a face of contempt with plausible deniability.

"Maybe." Unhelpful.

"Y/N came through here like a fucking hurricane," Annabel told him; Oliver could only think of the irritating nasal in her voice as she'd listed off all the things she hadn't liked about him to Felix when they hadn't known he was around. Oliver fought not to make a face of his own.

"Took Felix and headed that way," a blonde boy -Rex? Reg? Oliver hadn't even bothered to retain his name - nods in the direction of the dorms.

"They're so co-dependent sometimes," India shakes her head, strange little expression on her face. Perhaps she did know and was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," laughed Annabel, "they could have at least tried meditating or something."

"I don't know," Farleigh shook his head, clicking his tongue, "I don't think they have any other coping mechanisms apart from their co-dependant shit."

"They've always been like this?" India actually sounds a little fond.

"It actually used to be worse," Farleigh snorted, and Annabel pitched herself back in the grass, claiming that it couldn't be true.

"I mean, with that kind of money I think Felix is allowed to be weirdly close to his cousin," India says with a shrug. What? Why was the group laughing like it was an in-joke.

"They're cousins?" Oliver asks; Farleigh he knew about, but no-one had ever really talked about how Felix and Y/N had gotten so close. Considering all he'd seen them do together -

"Kissing, codependent cousins," Annabel sighs, sitting up.

"Hot, kissing, codependent cousins," India wraps an arm around her in solidarity, and the girls share an exasperated chuckle, though from looking around it seemed that a lot of the group shared that sentiment.

"You're hot too, Farleigh -"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with just that for now, I'm happy being the non-kissing, non-codependent cousin," he chuckled, before turning his attention back to Oliver, still awkwardly by the edge of the group as everyone else continued to gossip. However, catching Farleigh's eye, for the barest moment, his wolfish grin, Oliver had total and complete confirmation that Felix and Y/N were in no way actually related.

Which, if he were to guess, meant that Farleigh definitely knew the two of you were sleeping together.

And judging from all the times Oliver had spoken to you both, neither of you were aware of this well established gossip in the group, Farleigh was never ever going to correct anyone, considering how damn funny he clearly thought the entire bit was. It at least explained how the rest of the group was so unphased by the closeness you and Felix shared, while still apparently - kind of - dating other people.

Eventually, tired of putting up his awkward façade, though he was grateful for the slim amount of information he'd learned, he clears his throat.

"So -"

"That way," Farleigh doesn't look at him this time, voice flat, thumb jerking towards Y/N's dorm.

Its the afternoon, grey, most people are at classes, so the courtyard outside of your dorm room is empty of any other living souls. Whenever he stops in, or even walks past, he checks in your window out of habit to see if you're in; you don't close your blinds often so it's an easy way to tell. Anyone passing by wouldn't be able to see anything, not unless they stopped and made an effort, but Oliver wasn't most people, and knew the layout of your room and how to search it when granted even a sliver to look through like today.

And today, not only are you in your dorm with Felix, as predicted, but the sight of you both makes his mouth go dry.

Felix Catton on his back, arching, perfect mouth open in some kind of wanton, whorish noise undoubtedly as you masterfully worked his cock with your hand. Fuck, Oliver knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this.

He steps forward into the bushes. They rustle, his heart jumps, but neither of you seem to notice.

He can't see your face with your back to him like this, but you must be saying something, because Felix's lips are moving and his chest is heaving as he's gasping out words. Oliver knows he's embarrassing flush, embarrassingly hard in these fucking slacks, but the courtyard is still empty, and he knows all too well how little the outside world matters to you and Felix in these moments.

He can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, painfully against his ribs as you slide one leg so smoothly over Felix's hips, hand between your own thighs as you hover yourself above him. You're toying with Felix, taking your time, taking full and total control in a way Oliver's never seen you do. He didn't know anyone could make Felix act like this, look like this; he never thought Felix would let anyone. But he shouldn't be surprised that it's you of all people.

When you lean down over Felix, your chest against his, like a proud lion over its prey, Oliver feels sick with himself, with how he wants to burn this fucking image into his brain, with how fucking perfectly he can watch from here as you take the entire length of Felix's cock. Its impressive, both his length, and how fucking easy you make it look. You're kissing him. You're fucking him. You're riding this Adonis in a way that makes him pliant and desperate beneath you.

Oliver steps back from the window, finally glancing around to double check his surroundings. No-one peeking out of windows, no-one around. He heads inside. He knows he shouldn't but he does, pulls out the sweater he'd loaned from Felix and folds it in his lap when he sits with his back against your door, both as an excuse should anyone walk past, and to hide the visible hardness in his pants.

Sometimes you're too quiet to hear, but the way the bed creaks and the two of you moan, it's some kind of debauched symphony. Oliver swears he's not a masochist, but it almost hurts to hear you both like this, like something out of a dream or a fantasy, and to remain stone-faced at your bedroom door -

"I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Oliver can't even begin to imagine the things this means, the things you want to do to Felix, but then he hears -

"Yes, fuck, yes- my Y/N, anything you want - please." Felix gasping, begging like Oliver's never heard before. Sounds he knows only you could have elicited from the man who makes people around him fall in love with him by accident.

Oliver Quick is never going to get these moments out of his head; he's never been so desperate to be wanted by anyone in his life, let alone two people. There is a shameless, lascivious kind of love between you both that he vows to get the chance to drink from the source.

It's again changed his perception of you, perhaps made him a little bolder once more. So the day after, walking to the pub after class, barely listening to you talk about your book, he's trying to see if anything's changed. As far as he was aware, your encounter with Felix the day before was unusual for you. Perhaps something's changed, and perhaps he's not subtle about looking.

It's something unspoken between you, it ebbs and flows depending on Oliver's mood, how bold he's feeling. A quiet, voyeuristic exchange you share, the pleasure of being watched, and the pleasure of watching. The roles reverse and your eyes are on him in the way eyes rarely are.

More the observant than the observed, he'd told you, yet he took pleasure in feeling your gaze upon him, taking the time that he knows is so precious to you to watch him. You are familiar to him in a way that is so foreign; you are watching and adapting and anticipating the desires around you. Not action, but reaction; a people-pleaser down to your bones, wrapped up Felix's brand of hedonism. You get off making people feel loved, but Oliver can't help but wonder about the desire you keep to yourself, just below the surface.

Neither of you have spoken about the night at the club; Oliver's desperate to see how long it will take you before you act, rather than get pushed into reacting. He doesn't know how long he can last.

Felix shows up to the pub with Annabel and a strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Which is better than Annabel's outright scowl. They sit in chairs across from the rounded bench that always took up half the table your group liked to tension filling the ample space between them. As the last to arrive, everyone else's attention was drawn to them, going quiet as everyone picked up the couple's sour mood.

There's a moment where Oliver catches the way Felix looks at you across the table. No-one else picks up on it, since in the next moment Felix raises his hands to cover a cough, and what Oliver suspects is a grin, but you've turned your head sharply, sniffing loudly and almost managing to press your face into Oliver's shoulder. After a beat you fake a sneeze, and apologise. Oliver brushes it off, and fights off a smile of his own. He doesn't have all the details, but clearly you made good on your promise to make Felix's other future fucks jealous.

"You know what? I'm desperate for a pint, anybody else -" Felix goes to stand, attempting to break the tension, but immediately Annabel scoffs.

"Desperate sounds about right." And she's not quiet with her scorn.

"Can you not do this now? We've been here two minutes, you want a drink?" He hissed, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the faint anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It doesn't last, of course, not with all eyes on the pair of them. It's Farleigh who speaks up first, not even bothering to hide his smug smile.

"You okay there, Felix?" He wears a grin that's all teeth.

"What?" Felix frowns, but Oliver can see exactly what Farleigh's talking about. When he brings it up, however, he does his best to sound genuinely innocent, concerned even.

"Have you got yourself hurt, Felix?" And when Felix meets his gaze he knows it's come across as intended, the conflict and frustration still somehow looking beautiful in his brown eyes.

"No, I'm fine," he tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping it sits a little higher, hides the hickey that's clearly there.

"Burn yourself on a curling iron, Felix?" India teases, matching Farleigh's earlier energy, and while it did nothing to help Annabel's mood, at least Felix no longer seemed conflicted.

"Had a run in with a particularly aggressive vacuum cleaner?" You piped up from beside Oliver, and the minute Felix sees your own triumphant grin he starts to go pink around the ears and has to duck his head.

"Try several vacuum cleaners," Annabel snapped to the table, "or one whorish townie girl!" For just a moment, the group is quiet, contemplating what she'd said, the upset in her voice, but it's short-lived.

"How many vacuum cleaners?" Farleigh leans forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands with a grin like the Cheshire cat. Felix tells him to fuck off, but his blush is still distinct.

"They're all over him," Annabel sticks her nose in the air, arms crossed and looking especially petulant. The lads at the table did actually cheer at that, much to her continued frustration.

"You spend entire nights hitting on other guys in front of me! You made eye contact while one latched himself onto your neck as I was trying to dance!" Felix argued back, and the jury of their peers began to shake their heads at this new information. Annabel pouted for a moment.

"That's different -"

"It kinda isn't," India tried to shoot for sympathetic, wincing as she said it, which was enough for Annabel to sigh dramatically, standing from the table.

"Fine, I do want a drink," and she immediately made a furious beeline for the bar. Felix, however, hesitated for a moment, watching her leave before he turned back to the group with a cocky smile, yanking down the collar of his shirt to show off several more bright, scandalous hickeys.

"Best vacuum cleaner I've ever had," he tells them all smugly, before standing up straight and righting his shirt, "okay, this round's on me." A cheer rises from the group, but as Felix walks off, Oliver catches the way he winks at Y/N. You snort a quiet laugh, but Oliver's pretty sure he's the only one who heard it.

Christ, you two weren't even trying to be subtle half the time.

Still, for all her apparent frustration at Felix's mystery partner, it seemed to only make Annabel cling to him further. No more flirting with strangers, no more sitting apart. She reeks of insecurity, but Oliver just watches you watching her. There's something in your eyes in these moments, like a lion too sated to be bothered with the hunt, but the instinct to pounce could resurface at any moment.

But Oliver's obsession with the intricacies of your lives still lead him outside of Felix's window after one of countless parties. Still watching with animal curiosity and a cigarette in hand, as Annabel works hard to stake her claim on a man she desperately wants to own.

Annabel is an unenthralling understudy, Oliver thinks.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the bushes, he can't bring himself to stay. He knows where he needs to go, knows what he needs to do; in his mind Annabel is a lithe and graceful performance of extasy, and Felix is all quiet focus and hard, gorgeous muscles shining with sweat from the exertion of it all. But there's no love. It's all performance, a pleasurable performance for them, he's sure, but it's just two beautiful people smashing their bodies together in sloppy ecstasy.

Fuck.

No only is a creep, and a pervert, but now he's a picky, creepy pervert.

But his thoughts stop in the courtyard outside of your dorm. You light is on. Your window is open all the way, and there you are, looking like a dream in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill and having a smoke.

"Ollie!" He'll never get sick of how you say his name, how you smile when you see his face. There's a split second where he has to make a decision, has to figure out how to approach you in this moment. At the club you'd all but folded on the spot at his bold approach, he knows he could have had you practically there and then if he'd been inclined, but part of him can't stop thinking about how you'd had Felix on his back, practically begging.

Oliver feels like every time he thinks he's close to figuring you out, he learns something knew about you that makes him rethink it all. He wants to know all of you, your hopes and dreams and the grotesque desires you will never tell the world, desperate to keep testing you and your reactions, and perhaps even your limits if it ever came to that, to figure out how to get underneath your beautiful skin the way Felix had. Part of him feels like you're never going to stop surprising him, one way or the other. You are intrigue and unexpected and he wants to carve a home for himself in your bones.

"Thought you'd still be out," you tell him, back flush with the frame of your window, one leg up on the ledge while the other dangled over the gardens he'd watched you from more times than he'd like to admit.

"'s not the same without you," he admits after a moment, hands in his pockets. Your endeared, bashful smile is predictable, but no less heart-warming to see. He loves the way you react to him.

"Is that why you're here," it sounds teasing, but he can hear a hint of something that almost sounds hopeful. When you look back at him again, there's that same look you've been giving him since he'd held you, kissed you, ghosted you at the club.

"I don't know," he lies softly, "I just started walking."

"Come on then," you grin, stubbing out your cigarette on the windowsill, "you came all this way, why not have a sleepover," and you swing your legs inside, hopping off the ledge. He moves automatically towards the window, but when you hear him moving, you frown over your shoulder, "door, Ollie."

He's never been inside your room at night.

It glows with the same gold light that all these old building with their old lamps glowed, casting all your knickknacks in shadow and sharp relief. Only your bed lamp was on, book open on your bed. Jane Austin's Emma.

"Sorry, I don't mean to impose," Oliver's voice matches the rest of how he wants to appear; small. Sitting on your soft, patterned duvet, he looks not at you, but around at the room you call home, cataloguing everything in this new light, trying not to think about Felix and Annabel fucking, Felix and Annabel laughing, Felix and Annabel joking about how -

He's a scholarship boy who buys his clothes from Oxfam; no-one wants to sit next to fucking Oliver.

"I love you Ollie," you tell him blithely, easily, truthfully, "you never impose."

Annabel grates on his ears and his nerves and his fucking memories. Your smile is like a balm for that the burn that snobby bitch leaves in the back of his mind when he thinks too hard about her.

You move with such ease around the space, not that he should be at all surprised at that. Perhaps it's more that he still feels like a stranger in his own room at times. Planting yourself against your headboard legs crossed and looking so at ease in your summer pyjamas, you ask, tone light, "you don't mind if I read for a bit, I'm not going to be up much longer, but like I said, you're always welcome to stay."

"What are you reading?" Oliver lets himself relax in your presence, lays himself back on the bed, looking up at the sculpted ceiling of the old building. He knows what you're reading, he just likes hearing your voice.

"Emma," he can hear the rustle of the pages, had seen the worn spine and yellowing paper, wonders if it's vintage, wonders how you got it if it is, "Jane Austen for my lit class."

"Finished Anna Karenina?" You make a quiet hum of acknowledgement. More silence and the warmth of company and lamp light, "it's been a while since I've read any Austen."

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Of course there's humour in your tone, but Oliver can hear it for the genuine offer that it is. When he looks at you, he can't help but smile. There's such fond affection in your eyes as you look at him over the top of the book.

"Please," he says it so softly, so sweetly, and it's enough to see you smile before you disappear behind the book again.

"I'm near the end, you won't get the context -"

"Doesn't matter," he sits back up, pulls off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and settles back beside you.

"Settled?" Your voice is a murmur, barely a whisper, and when he laughs quietly, he knows you can feel the way it rumbles within him.

When you start, your voice is soothing, halfway through a chapter, through a conversation between characters he has no clue about. He's never read Austen but he'd devour her books if you were the one reading them. It feels like an almost perfect moment.

"- Seldom, very seldom," his head is on your shoulder, eyes scanning the page, the words as you read them, "does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken, but-”

"I did come here for you," something about the line makes the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he can't keep quiet; there is want still simmering beneath his skin, and each time his mind drifts to Felix and Annabel, something furious and desperate coils in his gut. You fall silent, book still open and aloft, cheek still resting against his head where he's kept it on your shoulder. When you take a deep breath, he feels it, both of you move in sync, "of course I came here for you."

This time, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch you more than he is. Every time he's reached out, he's gone against the pattern you've observed of him, he's always made a connection with you where you know he holds back from others. This time, he waits with bated breath.

"If there's nothing more you want from me than moments like this, I'll never say another word about it," he assures, as if trying not to spook or pressure you. But still he waits.

"What do you want, Ollie?" To pick you apart like a vulture, to see the desires you keep so close they're written on your bones.

"You," he says instead, all gentle words and just as gentle breathing, "if you'll have me." Tell me what it is you want. Tell me you can want. Tell me you know you can want things for yourself, want things beyond a reaction to the wants and needs of everyone around you -

Carefully, you reach over to your bedside table, trying not to jostle either of you too much, and keep your place with a bookmark before you put the book down.

But you do make the first move. You take his face in your hands, holding him like he's fragile and perfect and porcelain, shuffling to face him properly. This kiss tastes almost like home, like finally from you both, until his tongue runs along your lips and you part willingly for him, the kiss turning quickly more passionate. Oliver's not even sure how he came to be straddling your lap, nor how he didn't notice you undoing half of his shirt buttons already, but when the kiss breaks he takes your hands in his.

"Of course I want you," tumbles from your lips, sounding heady, needy, and for just a moment, Oliver breath stutters in his chest. But he slows things down again, leans in to kiss you sweetly once more, before he's pulling off your pyjama shirt.

"I want to know what you want," he murmurs against your lips, kissing his way down your jaw slowly as he speaks, "wanna know how to make you feel good."

"Anything you do -" you try, but he looks up after pressing a kiss to your sternum.

"You need to be needed," he says softly, punctuating each statement with a kiss, refusing to break eye contact with you, "and you want to be wanted," his warm lips on your belly, he sees the conflict in your eyes, the desire and embarrassment all at once, "and you're very good at those things, one of the best, I'm sure." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he pauses, "is this okay?" You nod quickly, enthusiastically, and he gives a warm smile.

"You're like me, sweetheart," he says softly, resting his cheek on your inner thigh for a moment, watching you still. Reaching out, you card your fingers through his hair, fingers trailing down his jaw, and he turns his face to kiss your palm, "I know that if I gave you half a chance, you'll figure out how to be all I could ever want, but tonight I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good-" he doesn't realise he's quoting something he should not have heard from Felix until it's too late, but you cut him off. You didn't even seem to realise.

Then your other hand is in his hair, a new look in your eyes, a newfound determination, a nervous excitement. You grip on his hair tightens.

"Yes?" He gives a cheeky grin, and you finally smile like you mean it.

"I get it," you roll your eyes, but there's nothing malicious about it, especially since the gesture has Oliver pressing his own chuckle against your thigh, "now you have one guess as to how I'd like you to shut up." There's that confidence he'd heard the other day, the confidence that was burned into the back of his mind, the confidence that had been part of the reason he'd spent a good hour in the shower after hearing it.

"Only if you turn out your lamp," he smirks, though inside all he can think about is how bright the whole room is through the gap in the curtains. It doesn't seem to bother you, it never has, and though he was grateful for it when he was on the outside looking in, there's something about being the one potentially being watched that causes him a faint sense of unease.

You call the moonlight more romantic anyways, and Oliver doesn't need to be told twice to go down on you.

When Oliver wakes the next morning, still in your bed, still in you, he almost wants to pinch himself. It's a childish sentiment, but you're in his arms, wrapped up in him and this early morning light through your curtains. Though he tries not to jostle you too much, the arm beneath his head is asleep and getting more uncomfortable by the second. Except the movement just makes you mumble around a breathy moan, hips moving against his.

"Fucking hell," he groans into your ear, and he gets a sleepy, contented chuckle in return, turning your face a little more towards him to give an affectionate bump against his forehead.

"Ollie~"

For just a second, Oliver thinks about living in this moment for the rest of his life.

"You okay?" He murmurs, watching your smile grow. Everything about you looks so pleased, so content, so satisfied.

"Never done that before," you admit, wiggling your hips a little. Oliver swears under his breath again, but judging by the mischievous smile you wear and the twinkle in your eyes, you knew exactly what you were doing. Then, with all the casualness of any other conversation, you manage to catch him off guard again; "anyone who thinks you don't fit in has clearly never fucked you; you fit perfectly -" his teeth sink into your shoulder before he can even properly figure out how he should have reacted.

But instead of finding it strange or off-putting, you let out a breathy laugh, tension easing in your shoulders. Your hips begin to roll against his, consistent, deliberate. He wonders how many people you've let fuck you like this, like they love you, like they care about you. Oh he knows you fuck your friends with love on your tongue, treat them like they're your last meal, like they mean something, but Oliver gets the feeling you don't expect them to return the favour. He's seen the kind of company you keep, he's pretty sure they never do.

How many of them have seen you grateful the way you look now, bathed in the morning light of Summer, laughing and unable to stop talking with such casual fondness in your eyes and on your lips.

When you go down on him in the shower, Oliver thinks he sees hearts in your eyes.

There might just be something very fucking wrong with you, and he's grateful for it every day.

But it doesn't last.

It's on a Summer day that's too hot, less than a week since he'd spent the night with you. Summer days around here seem to always be too hot, but this might be the worst. Felix still doesn't close his blinds, sun painting him golden where he lay on the floor of his room with a cigarette. Oliver had perched himself on the windowsill as you'd taken up residence on Felix's bed, sitting with your back to his headboard, engrossed in what appeared to be notes, or some kind of file.

Oliver has no idea if you've told Felix, or what you would have told him. The dynamic between the three of you appears to have remained otherwise unchanged. Sometimes, however, Oliver catches Felix looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, head tipped, curious like he was about Oliver's past; his expression is always unreadable, but it's started pitting in Oliver's stomach whenever he catches it. Felix always looks away. Felix has been looking at him less lately, that too causes some kind of anxious feeling Oliver would rather not dwell on.

"I don't like Michael Gavey," you announced from your relatively dark corner of Felix's bed. How did you even know Michael Gavey?

"Who?" Felix makes a face in the sunlight, whole expression wrinkling up, as if trying to wrack his brains. But you're looking at Oliver. There's no affection in your eyes, manila folder in your hands.

"He's-" Oliver feels like he's on the back foot again. All the comfort and good will he'd built up around the two of you feels suddenly so far away, "he's in my year." There's no precedent, no road map in his mind for where this could be going.

"He likes you," it's accusatory coming from you. Oliver looks to Felix for a moment, if only to avoid the intensity of your gaze, but he's closed his eyes, staying out of it.

Oliver considers bailing out of the window, but thinks better of it.

"He, erm, kind of was my friend, I suppose."

"Kind of was your friend?" Felix's voice is almost cold, surprising Oliver, but apparently not you. It's clear you're both looking for some kind of elaboration. Why did this feel like an interrogation? What had Michael done? Why was Oliver on trial for it? Felix cracks his eyes open as he takes a long draught of his cigarette.

"Back at the start of the year," Oliver wets his lips, fidgeting, focusing his attention only on the folder you held, desperate to know what was in it.

"Nasty friend you had," you tell him. It's so cold it almost stings.

"Is he the one who got you all riled up the other week?" Felix finally appears to connect the dots, sitting up on his elbows. Thankfully, however, his amusement breaks the tension, and you have to hide your face behind the file as you opened it and began to read. Oliver could feel his heart in his throat, confused, anxious -

"Impressive mathematic record across the board for his first semester, as well all throughout sixth form," you rattled off, eyes narrowed as you look at the paper, "several documented attempts to contact the Head of Math, Phys-Ed, and Life Sciences to," you cleared your throat, shaking your head with surprising disdain, "beg to be exempt from any potentially mandatory Humanities or Social Sciences courses. Unsurprising," you rolled your eyes, "since he bombed his English and French GCSEs, and I think he's the kind of person who prides himself on a perfect GPA."

Every fact you list you do so with such casual cruelty, momentarily folding the file closed and leaning down to make sure you could see Felix.

"He went to high school with us apparently," so casual it actually hurts Oliver a little to hear, "year below us he said," and you wiggle the file in your hands, "looks to be true."

"Still don't know him," Felix shrugs, like he doesn't give any kind of a shit how you got your hands on all of this information. Sitting back, you continued;

"Applied for scholarships - didn't get them; turns out you have to play sports to get a sports scholarships," you click your tongue as you flip through the pages of Michael's file like you were reading the newspaper, "no clubs, no social life, and a notably arrogant prick." You snapped the file closed, levelling a look at Oliver that he'd never seen you make. It was nothing, like a void, demanding a reaction, a response from him. Accusatory yet without any hint of blame, there's something about this look of intense, demanding neutrality that makes him feel actually sick, like you'll be able to know when he lies, know all his secrets if you look at him long enough.

Felix settles back down on the ground, seemingly immune to the tension so thick Oliver felt like he was choking on it. Even if he looks away he can feel your eyes boring into him, like a spider watching a futile fly in it's web.

"What's your problem with him?" Oliver can only bring himself to look out the window, bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. Maybe if he covers his mouth he won't spill his guts under your gaze. Then, almost so fast it gives Oliver motion sickness, the tension drops.

You sit yourself back, kick your feet out in front of you, and toss the file to the end of the bed. That can't be legal.

"It's sweet that your friends are protective, but he knows you're your own person, right -?" God your light, flippant tone all but rings in his ears. Still, Oliver knows a warning when he hears it.

"He's not my friend; he was, but he's not," Oliver quickly insists, desperate to be on the other side of this deeply uncomfortable conversation. The tension eases in your shoulders when he looks over to you; the right answer. Something about the relief he feels doesn't sit quite right; why had you brought Michael up now of all times? Why had your gaze felt so constricting, even when he and Michael weren't even close; all you would have had to do was ask -

"Said some nasty things about us is all," your voice goes quiet, rueful even, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the bed to where you knew Felix lay, "called Fi a slag."

But there it was; the true audience for your show of force, and the blade that sliced so cleanly through any other attachment people think they have with Felix, all in one.

Its a simple nickname, the most basic nickname anyone could give to a guy named Felix, but no-one else calls him anything but Felix. No-one else calls him Fi the way you do, they wouldn't dare. He wears your nickname like a collar and he doesn't even realise.

"What a cunt," Felix groaned, so infuriatingly uncaring.

In the moments that follow, Oliver almost feels like his head's spinning from the interaction that had just been forced upon him. There's so many questions, new, anxiety-inducing implications for the information you've brought to them both today. Felix doesn't seem troubled by it, but that seems to be the point.

"So fucking hot," he sighs into the afternoon heat, finishing off his cigarette like none of what you'd said even mattered now.

"I know," Oliver finds his voice again, barely. He can't look at you, at the way you're lounging in what he could mistake for triumph. All he can see is Felix, the centre of the fucking universe.

There's something grotesque about you both in this moment, in this room, beautiful and terrible; the perfect picture of privilege and squalor.

"What's that smell?" Pizza, mostly empty drinks, plates and cups unwashed, dirty clothes -

"Uh," if Felix thinks about it, he isn't thinking too hard, clearly, "I don't know." Smoke rings from his pretty lips aren't enough of a distraction from the moment, from the filth of it all now that Oliver's starting to properly look around.

Again he finds himself realising that he has no idea about your background, how you came to find Felix. Sitting with your back to the headboard and eyes closed, even you seem to not care-

"Can't believe you let him live like this," Oliver actually scoffs, hopping from the windowsill, needing to do something with his hands, move, shake off the layer of moral grime that your verbal attack on Michael Gavey had showered him in.

"What?" Felix barely even props himself up, "what are you on about?"

"It's disgusting, Felix."

"It's fine."

"Right, I'm cleaning up -" Oliver moves without thinking, picking up a the waste paper basket and throwing out trash from every surface he can reach. He can't look at Felix, can't look at you, but you're both watching him, "only rich people can afford to be this filthy," he hears himself say. Then, after barking a laugh with no humour in it, he turns his shallow gaze on you, "and what's your excuse? Just picked the habit up after all those years?" For a moment you look at him with genuine confusion, but you give him no real response before Felix tells him to fuck off. But Oliver doesn't stop.

Even as Felix is growing more fed up, insisting he'll clean up later, Oliver's own frustration rises. Felix will never do anything for himself.

Except he doesn't mean to say that part out loud.

That's what gets Felix on his feet, gets him to grab the basket, irritation and resentment on his tongue. Oliver feels like he's touched a live wire, like he's pushed Felix too far, watching him tall, frustrated, glowing with sweat from the afternoon heat. It's the heat Felix complains about as he blows about him room, resentfully stuffing rubbish into the bin, complains about the building and it's age and it's wood fucking panelling that can't be ruined with an air conditioner.

In the moment Oliver chooses to glance to you, he's surprised. You only have eyes for Felix, watching him with an expression Oliver can't begin to fathom, curled up in the corner of his bed. You are waiting. You are holding yourself back. You are desperately trying to let Felix prove Oliver wrong.

"Stressing about the exams?" Oliver tries to pivot, tries to redirect the conversation to something he can claw his way back from, that will keep these relationships from being unsalvageable.

"I'm not stressed about the exams, Ol," Felix sounds like he could snap at any moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, wastebasket held on his knees while his other hand reaches out to you. Still half a foot of space between you, and you keep yourself compact, but the intention is clear; Oliver wonders if he even knows he does that, or if it's just instinct for the two of you these days. Felix, however, is looking at him, that same look he's been giving Oliver since you'd slept with him, "you're driving me fucking -"

Felix seems to realise what he's saying, however, with a sharp inhale as he looked away, moving his free hand from beside you to run through his hair. What is there to say now?

Felix says he's got revising to do, that he'll text later about going to the pub. Oliver desperately wants to believe it, but can hear that it's a lie. Felix can't even fucking look at him.

Oliver finally throws a helpless, hopeful glance to you. This time you are looking at him, but there's apology in your eyes. It's enough. It's the confirmation he'd dreaded, that makes his stomach drop.

"Ollie," even just a few hours ago he'd been in love with the way you said his name. Never like this.

"I'll catch you round," he can't look at either of you as he retreats, cant bare your eyes on him like that, and Felix's turned away.

A million thoughts, desperate ideas, all circle the drain that is quickly becoming his mind as the anxiety and the anguish sets in.

Unsalvageable. Past the point of no return. Irrevocably, awfully different.

With all he'd learned of you both, however, he couldn't just let it go to waste. Oliver had worked for all he had in this life, this prestigious place, among these self-important people. Despite his ongoing attempts to figure you out, he at least knew that if he was good to Felix, he was in good with you.

And Oliver knew exactly who Felix Catton wanted him to be.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #head heart hand fic #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #felix catton smut #oliver quick smut #saltburn smut

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st4rgzer · 4 months

Text

WHEN I NEED YOU matt sturniolo

summary: when things get too much, Matt is there for you when you most need it.

genre: angst and fluff

cw!: problems with food, anxiety, panic attack

a/n: requested!!

Matt was there when I needed him the most, that is why I love him.

I stared at the blank ceiling above me, surrounded by the tiles of the bathroom floor, which were cold on my legs, uncomfortably cold.

I clutched my phone as I was curled in a fetal position, scrolling down more comments, my heart clenching every time I saw any “somewhat” negative comment, I hate my sensibility, it’s not anybody’s fault, just mine.

I debated calling anyone, Matt explicitly told me to call him every time I felt down, any time I felt like I needed him. It became a habit to call him up when my mind felt crowded. But I felt like now wasn’t the time, I didn’t deserve to be comforted.

Short breaths started leaving my mouth, rapidly increasing their pace. Hot tears kept rolling down my cheeks, as sobs echoed through the empty bathroom. My hand fell onto my face in frustration, as I continued to fail at slowing my breathing, trying to reject the start of a panic I knew was coming, ones that weren’t rare, nevertheless, I hadn’t had one in months, I felt guilty about losing me streak, about failing myself and the people I promised i’d get better to.

My chest rose and fell, again and again, I clutched it in an attempt to get a hold of myself. I clumsily scrolled through my contacts and clicked on Matt’s, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Matt? Matt, are you there?” My voice broke almost immediately, covering my mouth to prevent another sob, to prevent him from knowing.

“Yes, baby, I’m here, what’s?- are you okay? are you crying” His tone instantly changed as soon as he put the puzzle pieces together in his mind. I could hear him grab the keys, ushering away from his brothers swiftly, as the door squeaked open.

“no, i- yes, yes, but nothings wrong, i’m not going to do anything stupid, I just needed to hear your voice” I managed to blurt out, my voice shaky as I tried to explain the situation to him, he could tell I was lying.

“okay baby, just stay on the line with me, tell me about what you did today, okay?” He consoled me. His car door clicked, I heard him start the engine, even though I didn’t want him to come, I know i needed him to do so.

“I- well, I had lunch with my friend, we went to a new diner near mine” The words came out of my mouth clumsily, trying to focus on forming sentences, helping my mind to distract itself and slowly, helping my breathing to fall back into rhythm.

“that’s great honey, what did you eat?” I could tell by his voice he was trying to sound relax, but I knew he was terrified, by the slight shake in his words, the fear of that, when he stopped talking, I wouldn’t respond.

“I ate- um, I ate pasta, butter pasta with shrimp, I didn’t get the alfredo cause I felt bad you couldn’t eat it with me” I sniffed, laughing slightly, the tears and the strain in my chest slowly stopping.

He laughed along with me, as if he wasn’t fucking terrified that when he came to mine, his favourite person wouldn’t be there. Still, he felt a tiny bit better hearing my laugh.

“that’s great, did you get any dessert?”

I remembered feeling guilty, I remembered that’s when this started. My friend got a salad, and she didn’t have any dessert, yet I picked a brownie. She stared at me, I could tell she was judging me, belittling me in her head. I felt sick all of the sudden, and a knot in my throat, the same one I felt when my mother asked if “that’s what you’re having? i could never.” The same knot I felt when the other kids got picked before me.

Matt felt a shift in my mood, a sudden pause and silence that indicated I was caught back into the trance.

“fuck” Matt muttered under his breath, cursing to himself for not being more aware of what he was saying. Luckily, he’d finally pulled up to my house, and parked in the driveway, practically running towards my door and pulling out the spare key I gave him for emergencies like these, well, not like these , but nonetheless, important.

I heard his footsteps stomp up my stairs, getting louder as he reached my bedroom, opening the door and looking around.

“y/n? y/n, where are you baby?” he spoke softly, trying not to startle me any more.

He peeked into the bathroom, I saw his face drop and soften as he saw me curled up on the bathroom floor with wet cheeks and frazzled hair. He’d always promised himself to take care of me, to hold me like nobody’s ever done before, to love me as if it were breathing, so it physically pained him to see me in such state.

He kneeled down and reached out to cradle me. I held onto him like my life depended on it, sobbing into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as the sounds he always dreaded the most left my mouth.

He did the only thing he knew I needed in that moment. To hold me, to hold me so close and dearly, until his heartbeat and our slow breaths were the only thing that could be heard through these four walls.

So he did. Until my crying ceased, until my heart didn’t ache anymore, until I fell asleep in his arms.

“I love you, so much” He whispered and kissed my forehead softly, running his fingers through my hair.

He picked me up and placed me on the bed, tucking me in, and laying right next to me, where I could feel him there, so I knew I wasn’t alone.

He sighed and kissed the top of my head, wrapping his arms around me, guarding me, gently, how I needed to be held.

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @iha8you @stvrni0lo @gabbylovesreading @lovelysturniolo @ssturniolo @strniolo @sturniolol @eyelessdemon

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo image #matt sturniolo fluff

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your-nanas-house · 1 month

Text

Be quick

(Credits to the owner @corodedcofin)

◇ Pairing: Perv Stepbrother!Neil Lewis X stepsister!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, pervy Neil, hanjob, dub-con but not really, indifference, age gap (both off age), shitty writing, curses

◇ Summary: Neil receiving a handjob on the sofa while his stepsister looks at her phone.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Been working on this things since weeks now... it's shit and I'm sorry. 🤷🏼‍♀️🙇🏼‍♀️

A small snort left Neil's lips, he was getting bored for the first time while watching one of the movies he usually liked to watch.

It had been a while since he broke up with Violet and he missed a bit... that thrill mixed with adrenaline. He certainly wasn't the Neil he once was, not even in the way he wished— especially when he thought at his step sister.

The young woman had been such a little tease lately.

The possibilities that she was it while Neil was in the relationship were pretty high but he was always too busy to actually notice and let his body react to it.... every day. Because it kept happening every single day since his eyes took her in, waking up his cock at the mere view of bit of skin.

He blamed it mostly on the lack of sex in his life and the urge of fisting his lenght to make time and stress go away.

Y/n, his mother's new boyfriend's daughter... aka his step-sister, was being a bother even though she was just sitting right besides him, her eyes locked on the phone rather than the TV.

His baby blue eyes couldn't stop wandering around her body, taking peeks at her cleavage and her short shorts she was wearing at home— and he was doing it again. Luckily they were all alone that day, no-one was around, so.... he could finally get what he craved so much.

The only issue that was stopping him from doing anything was the poor plan he had in mind... how could he start it all? he wondered silently.

A short mental battle and Neil shifted slightly closer, his face turned still towards the TV to pretend that he was watching the movie playing on it, as he spread slightly his thigh to brush it against Y/n's bare a couple of time to see if he received any reaction from her.

Receiving none he continued with the plan, taking her hand and placed it down on his lap casually, sending finally the message that he was trying to give her without murmuring it explicitly— he was so aroused, nearly thrilled... thrilled enough to twitch at the mere warmth of her hand.

Y/n not really, she was still cursing mentally for that drunk bet she had with him and her lost which causing her to fall in that absurd situation.

'That fucking perv' she thought while starting finally to move her hand, feeling his hard cock, pressing against his pajamas pants, with her little finger.

Her hand limited to only rub his thigh for the moment as she waited for him to lower his pants and free his lenght— her eyes never leaving the screen of her phone.

Neil glanced at her, his breath peaking up as he bit his bottom lip in anticipation too earger to actually move... just wanting her soft groomed hand to wrap around his thick long cock and lead the way to heaven.

She didn't even needed to glance in his direction to see what to do since her stepbrother's hand moved her own to wrap it around his leaking cock, allowing that way her eyes to stay glued to the screen.

His cock was hard, his skin soft and plesant to touch while his tip was of an angry red... as it let some pre-cum drip on her fingers as soon as she moved his foreskin.

"Oh fuck" Neil curses, biting harder his bottom lip as he watched her move her hand lazily, his hips jerking desperately up to meet her movements. The young girl had been able to give it just a couple of slow pumps before the older man wrapped his own big hand around her smaller one... so to guide her better and not allow her to tease him further.

His fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb caressed the back of her hand before he moved it off his cock, so that he could lean closer and spit on it as a lubricant to ease the handjob.

"Neil! You're fucking disgusting" Y/n cursed at his action, making a face at the odd feeling of his spit on the inside of her hand. He really was so gross sometimes.

"Fuck, say my name again" he breathed out overwhelmed by the situation, his hand guiding hers back around his lenght "Remember, squee—" he started, cursing softly as she interrupted him with her movements.

"Yes, yes... I know how you like it, now shut up" Y/n murmured, scrolling her phone while working his cock... her hand squeezing it teasingly while his rough action kept pleasuring him, her hand hitting his bases before moving fast back up to the tip... up and down, up.. and down.

His balls where already reacting, getting pulled up by the muscles as his breath got heavier, pathetic whines leaving his mouth.

"Don't stop, don't stop, fuck, Y/n!" Neil nearly cried, arching his back while fucking her hand faster, working on his balls with his own hand to reach faster his peak.

"Fucking hell, how much longer do you need?" Y/n's voice exclaimed making him shiver and whine while her other hand, which was previously holding her phone, slapped his hands away so that she could jerk him off faster and better... already without patience.

"Fucking pathetic" the younger woman murmured, cursing when his warm seed got shot... not only dirtying her hands but her face and top as well due to the bend over position she had been in.

"Neil!—"

#neil lewis x you #neil lewis oneshot #neil lewis smut #neil lewis cillian murphy #neil lewis x reader #neil lewis #neil lewis x y/n #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy one shot #cillian murphy smut

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pastanest · 4 months

Text

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: this just might be the steamiest thing I’ve written since I was a 14 year old on wattpad doing god’s work. anyway, merry christmas sluts x

warnings: suggestive but not outright smut, use of petnames, soft!dom Spencer

Orbit

Prison can have longterm effects on a person, regardless of the duration of time spent behind bars. If you were to ask Spencer Reid what aspect of him was impacted most greatly by his sentence, he would tell you it was his brain; more specifically, his ability to think. Now, he finds himself taking 60 minutes to make deductions that would have taken him 60 seconds. Time spent locked in a cage has left his mind feeling like it never left; his skull no longer feels metaphorically big enough for him to organize his thoughts, separate them for long enough to distinguish them. The incredibly open mind that Spencer has always had is most often a jumbled, frustrating mess, which only exacerbates the frustration already found there. That is, until you enter a room.

He hasn’t said it to you explicitly, but if anyone asked, Spencer would be unable to deny your innate ability to help him. It’s almost poetic, the way he views you, like you’re the moon to his planet of thoughts; you calm his tides simply by being in his orbit. By existing in his space, you soothe his mind enough to just think, and he’s incapable of ever taking that for granted.

While he can’t spell that out to you without risking mortification over your natural assistance to him with a brain function that should come naturally to him, you are a qualified profiler who has come to understand - in your own way - that Spencer just needs to be around you, sometimes. And he acknowledges that you have an understanding of this, of course. So, when there’s a knock at your hotel room door at 2am, and you scramble out of bed, throwing on an oversized t-shirt and running to the door to find him standing on your doorstep, the surprise that flashes across both of your faces is not something Spencer had predicted.

You are surprised because you can’t help wondering if your thoughts inadvertently summoned Spencer to your doorstep, still wearing his button-up shirt, tie and suit pants that you’d seen him in when working the case together today. On the other hand, Spencer is surprised to find you standing before him wearing nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, from what he can see, alongside the visible signs of you appearing to be…flustered? Your chest rises and falls with heavy pants, your cheeks are flushed, and your pupils are dilated in a way that perhaps only Spencer would notice, but he most definitely notices.

“Spencer! Wh- Come in!” You stumble over your own words, stepping aside to grant him passage into your hotel room.

He strides past you, a firm frown etched on his face. He had thoughts he needed to organize, hence his untimely arrival, but now you have presented him with an entirely new enigma that is his personal mission to crack.

Spencer takes a seat on an armchair in the corner of your hotel room, while you sit on the edge of the bed, notably turned almost completely away from him while you fight to regain some composure; a futile effort, because Spencer has already ruled out exercise (determining you wouldn’t be exercising at this hour or in this room), stress (because he’d have picked up on an irregularity when working alongside you at some point today), and a medical issue (much to your own present demise, you default to him for any questions regarding your health because you trust his expertise) as probable causes, which leads him to a particularly interesting conclusion, in two seconds flat.

“Is everything…okay?” You manage to ask him, and it’s as though you added that shy inflection to your voice just to tick another box on the list in Spencer’s mind, confirming his previous hypothesis without ever intending to.

“Yes, I just needed to think.” What he previously thought he needed to think about is entirely irrelevant now, but he digresses. “Are you…okay?” Spencer returns your question with the same wording, but without the shyness you so graciously included. He’s still making deductions, because he can’t risk acting on his current conclusion until he knows it to be true beyond reasonable doubt.

“Me? Oh, yeah! I’m fine!” You laugh lightly.

Overcompensating, Spencer makes a mental note, ticking another box on the list found in his mind.

A silence settles between you, one that he enforces with purpose. From where he sits in the corner of the room, he watches you like you’re the most fascinating study in human history. Which, he would argue, you are. The way you squirm, aware of Spencer’s gaze on you despite not even looking at him, has him fighting a smirk. There’s a shared awareness in the silence, an acknowledgement of the fact that you and your…chosen activities, are completely exposed to him in this moment, and he’s letting you simmer in that reality for a moment, allowing you time to adjust to that.

The next words Spencer speaks are very carefully chosen, and in that, they knock the air from your lungs.

“What were you thinking about?” The subtext is so clear he could have left the guise of a question out entirely, but there’s an air of respect in that he elects to ignore the access he has to completely embarrassing you. His voice is too quiet for anyone in the next rooms to overhear, so his respectfully tame phrasing is for your benefit, alone, but the answer he’s searching for is clear.

You swallow, hard.

There is no use in lying, not to a man currently counting the microseconds between every breath you take to accurately profile your body’s responses to this interrogation.

“You.”

And never before has Doctor Spencer Reid had a single word eradicate all 187 of his IQ points. It’s as though he can feel them stacking themselves back up in his brain in a frantic, trembling mess. Obviously, that was the answer he had hoped for, but to actually hear you say it goes far beyond any ability he has to accurately predict his own response, particularly when you spoke with a submissive tone that was not possible for him to miss.

5.7 seconds later, when Spencer has regained control over his motor functions, he clears his throat, grateful that you aren’t looking at him to have seen him lose his own composure momentarily.

“Is this the first time you’ve thought of me outside of a professional capacity?” And the award for least seductive means of phrasing an otherwise very hot question goes to…

In Spencer’s defense, it is much easier for him to speak so formally and from a more analytical standpoint. If he lets his emotions take hold now, he may miss a piece of information from you that could be crucial to maximizing this opportunity for you both.

“No.” You answer, your voice more timid now, barely above a whisper.

In your defense, you wouldn’t even regard it as thinking of Spencer ‘outside of a professional capacity’, because you have a running hypothesis that he’d be a professional in that area of life, too.

Still, Spencer hears the anxiety building in your words - or lack thereof - and what they confess to him. The last thing he wants is to overwhelm you. At least, not like this.

Rising from the armchair he’d been occupying, he takes the few strides necessary to stand in front of you, towering over you while you remain sitting on the edge of the bed, your head hanging in shame.

“How many times?” Spencer’s voice is also quieter now, softer, but it’s far from timid. He’s being gentle with you, but his question is a demand for an answer.

You shrug without meeting his gaze, and Spencer raises an eyebrow down at you.

“Words, baby.”

And those two words are enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“I-I don’t know, haven’t kept count.” You stammer, heart spluttering in your chest.

“Let me do the math for you, then.” Spencer muses, tucking his hands into his pockets as he observes you with a soft smile and darkened eyes. “When was the first time?”

You gulp.

“Do I have to ask for your words again?” That’s a warning.

“N-No, I’m just trying to think.” You try to defend yourself, your face feeling hot.

“You don’t need to do any thinking right now, baby, that’s my job.” Spencer soothes you. “Was it during your first week with the BAU?” He questions softly.

“…Yes.”

And that ignites Spencer’s synapses.

“From your first day, we were sent on a case that we worked tirelessly on. The first night was spent on the jet, second night you were so exhausted you slept on a couch in the office while I carried on working, third night I had to wake you in your hotel room at 3am due to a development on the case and I could tell you were in REM sleep by then, so you wouldn’t have had time that night, either. That means it was either the fourth night after we met, in your hotel room, or the fifth night after we arrived back home. Do you remember which?” Spencer asks gently, this time crouching down to be eye-level with you, looking at you with what you can only describe as puppy-dog eyes.

“…In the hotel.” You admit bashfully, meeting Spencer’s gaze for just long enough to see a flicker of his resolve crumbling.

You couldn’t even wait until you got back home? Bad girl. But he’ll keep such a notion to himself, for now.

“That’s good, thank you for telling me,” He praises instead, tucking your hair behind your ears from where he crouches in front of you, while you remain seated on the edge of the bed. “And since then, would you say it’s been once a week, or more?”

Your eyebrows furrow at this question, and Spencer is quick to amend it.

“Do those choices for answers not suit you, sweet girl?” He coo’s, watching you fall into a submissive headspace like it’s second nature for you.

“No…Once a week, but not just…one time.” You struggle to say, your voice sounding small, but you’re melting into the sensation of Spencer’s fingertips dancing over your cheek.

“I see,” He muses, trying his best not to reveal the fact that his brain is short circuiting over that information. See? Imagine if he’d rushed into this and missed out on hearing you admit that! He’d have rather been shot. Again.

“How many times is it usually?” This question has piqued Spencer’s interest more than he cares to admit, but he conceals that well.

“…Three.” You breathe.

“And how many times tonight?” His own voice is a whisper now, his fingertips trailing down your neck.

“Two,” You begin to say, and Spencer’s mind is already sounding like a casino with every machine hitting a jackpot in unison, before you add. “…and a half.”

It takes Spencer a solid second, and a second of being solid, to process that.

“I interrupted you?” There’s a huskiness to his voice that was not there before, and when you nod, he clears his throat. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Can I make it up to you?” And while he stands back up to his full height to lean over you, you instinctively fall back against the bed in what appears to be a practiced mating dance between you, despite it being the very first time.

“Can I?” It’s only when Spencer repeats his question that you realize you are yet to respond. In your defense, you had forgotten your own name because of the hazel in his eyes.

“Yes.” No sooner has the breathy word passed your lips, than his lips descended on the side of your neck.

Spencer’s stubble maps a trail down your throat, gently scratching at the skin while his lips leave tingling kisses in his wake. But if you think Spencer Reid’s mind has stopped working just yet, you are sorely mistaken.

“You said usually around three, implying that as your minimum,” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, his lips nipping at the shell of your ear. “-so that’s a minimum of three orgasms a week for the twenty weeks since we met, that’s a total of 60, but we should leave room for anomalies, so let’s round that up to 70, just to be as accurate as possible.” Spencer murmurs. “Is it always me you think of?” He’s incapable of masking the hope found in his own voice.

You nod frantically.

“Words, baby.” This time, that reminder is punctuated by a soft bite to your neck.

“Y-Yes, you, always you, every time.” You shudder. And who can blame you, when you’ve always known him to be capable of this?

“So I’m responsible for around 70 of your orgasms, without ever having touched you.” Spencer almost can’t believe it, but he can hear how smug he is in his own ears.

One of his hands presses into the sheets beside your head, holding himself up, but his other hand squeezes at your waist through the fabric of your oversized shirt, and he groans into the crook of your neck in approval.

“So soft.” He praises, wanting nothing more than to worship at the altar that is you.

Spencer’s fingertips trace the hem of your oversized shirt, the warm skin of your thighs tempting him beyond his previous ability to comprehend.

“May I?” He requests, ever the gentleman.

“Please.” You answer with the best synonym for ‘yes’ in this context that Spencer could have hoped for.

And he doesn’t hesitate. Long fingers slowly raise the hem of your shirt, bringing it up until it’s just above your belly button, and he lays his palm flat against your stomach, the skin fluttering under his touch. While his lips continue to lavish your neck, collarbone and ear, his free hand descends to the band of your panties, but doesn’t slip beneath it. A whine passes your lips when his hand continues its path south, and you feel him smirk against your neck, until his own breathing shudders.

“Oh, baby…” He groans, having never been more thrilled to feel a soaked piece of fabric in his life. “Look at you, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself. Poor little love.” Spencer coo’s.

But when you shake your head, he halts his movements completely.

“What is it, baby? You want to stop? That’s okay.” He immediately falls into a softness intended to comfort you, not wanting you to feel even remotely uncomfortable or upset. His kisses move to your cheek, each one an act of devotion. “It’s okay. Being in a submissive headspace can be incredibly overwhelming at times, and you can always tell me if it does. We don’t ever have to do anything that you don’t want to do, sweet girl. In fact-“

It’s only when you turn your head to meet Spencer’s lips with your own, that you manage to stop his ramble and his entire train of thought.

“It’s not that.” You’re quick to reassure him, not wanting him to overthink about having breached your boundaries.

“Then…what?” Spencer asks, looking into your eyes with the most sincere concern.

“I just wanted to correct you, because I didn’t make a mess of myself. You made a mess of me.” You smile up at him, and the sweetness with which you say something so sinful is enough to make Spencer’s heart drop right out of his chest.

In all his years, he has never understood the sensation of blood rushing away from his brain, more than he does right now.

His gaze softens with both relief and arousal, a sigh passing his lips that evolves into a light chuckle, before his lips fall to yours again, meeting you in a heated kiss. And when Spencer’s hand continues its previous path, he feels your thighs part, and a growl of some description rumbles in his throat.

“That’s my girl.”

That possessive title causes a delighted shudder to rock through you, which Spencer makes a prominent mental note of.

“70’s the number to beat.” He whispers in your ear seductively, and your jaw falls open.

“In one night?!” It’s more of a squeak than a question, but it makes Spencer laugh into the crook of your neck as his lips descend it.

“As much as I’d love to ruin your body for anyone other than me, I think that just might ruin you entirely, which isn’t my aim. But…” He bites at your neck. “I can promise you, you’re getting more than three.”

From where you lie, you can feel something pressing against your thigh that tells you it’s going to be a very, very long night.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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