Jax and Matt’s reactions to you asking them if you could order something in front of the waiter while out to dinner.
One Shots
The Reunion 🔥
After seven months apart, Jax is finally back home from prison, and even though you and he would never get that time back, he was determined to make you forget all about it.
Just Another Girl 💋
You’ve known Jax your whole life, and not once had he ever made you feel inferior or unimportant - just the exact opposite. You were on cloud 9 when you discover that your feelings for him were very much mutual, until you overhear a conversation with Clay that has you questioning every minute you’ve ever spent with him.
Where You Left Me 💕💋
When you suddenly start to distance yourself from Jax, he’s left wondering what he could’ve possibly done wrong that would make you not want to be around him. But after a party, Ope tells him something that has alarm bells going off in his head, and he finally starts to connect the dots.| Part 2 of JAG.
Thigh’s the Limit 🔥
After a pretty serious accident, Jax is left bedridden at home, where he is given excellent care from his wife. But when weeks go by and he still can’t give you the pounding you deserve for putting up with him, he gives you the next best thing.
Night With A Showgirl 🔥
Halloween was just another day to the guys of SAMCRO, though it meant the girls who frequent the clubhouse could dress up in the most revealing outfits and no one would question it. Luckily for Jax, you go all out, and luckily for you, Jax had never been able to keep his hands off you, especially when you dress up for him.
The Married Life 🔥
Jax never thought he could ever be a one woman kind of guy, much rather preferring to spend the night with girls that didn’t expect anything else from him. He never thought he’d get married, but then he met you, and his entire perspective changed almost instantly, and all he wanted to do now was be with his wife all the time.
Changed Like Midnight 💋🔥
Jax had been chasing after you for years, wanting nothing more than to be with you since the day he met you, and when you finally give him a chance to prove himself, someone from his past threatens to destroy it completely.
Life of The Party 🔥
During one of the clubhouse’s many parties, you and Jax sneak away after you can’t keep your hands off each other, and end up in the cramped bathroom. Despite the limited space, Jax still knows your body better than anything else, and he knows exactly what to do to make you fall apart.
Saved By The Biker 💕💋
After a very boring and lackluster date, you swallow your pride and call Jax, your ex, and ask him to pick you up. Instead of being obnoxious and mean about it, he surprises you by not only coming through and helping you out, but also revealing a few things that have you questioning how you and he ended up where you were before tonight.
At The Table 🔥
Not only is Jax your new husband, but he is also the new President of SAMCRO. Even though he’s busier now than ever before, he’d never deny his wife the thing he promised is yours forever, nor would he deny giving you a ride on the President’s chair.
It Won’t Break Us 💕💋
Jax has been so busy with the club lately, you feel like you hardly see your husband at all. When he comes home and barely says a word to you, the stress both of you had been feeling comes out in the form of a nasty fight that leaves you both sleeping alone. But, despite the harsh words you exchanged with each other, neither of you liked being too far away, especially in your own home.
The Kitchen Table 🔥
Your morning in bed with Jax gets interrupted by club business, and after a long day spent barely staying in control of himself, he finally gets to pick up where you and he left off, this time on the kitchen table.
Series/Multi-Parts
King Teller Series 💕💋🔥
Jax is the King of Charming, and you’re his Queen.
12 Days of Jaxmas 💕💋🔥
A collection of (mostly) Christmas themed fics.
Just Give Me A Reason Series 💕💋🔥
You and Jax are high school sweethearts and are given a second chance at love after spending the last eight years apart, but a lot can happen in eight years, and even though it’s clear you and he are meant to be together, it’s hard to let go of the past.
Crazy In Love Masterlist 💕💋🔥
A collection of fics about Jax Teller and you, his unhinged, care-free but also sweet old lady, who ensures there is never a dull moment in his life whenever you’re around.
RAYMOND SMITH
Middle of the Night 💋🔥
Yours and Ray’s relationship has always been complicated, right up from the moment you met, to each time you and he briefly see each other throughout the years. Though he wants more, yours and his lives are too different right now, but when you confide in him about your troubles, he suddenly doesn’t care about the very real consequences of having a more permanent place in each other’s lives.
WILLIAM MILLER
The Space Between a Rock and a Hard Place 💕💋
Will goes on one last mission with the guys, a seemingly simple one, but it turns out to be much worse than anything they’d ever done before. When everything you and he built together is suddenly threatened, Will does the last thing he thought he’d ever do.
Pairing: Raymond Smith x f!Reader
Word Count: 6k
Summary: Ray starts your birthday with his full attention, only for you to realize he has been planning far more than you expected.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! explicit sexual content, minors DNI; reader is described as having hair, established relationship, unprotected p in v sex - be responsible!, praise, romance, emotional intimacy, soft feels
A/N: another trip around the sun! 🥳 today is my birthday, so naturally I had to write something completely self-indulgent and make it everyone else’s problem. this one is soft, filthy, romantic, and entirely built around the kind of birthday morning I personally think we all deserve. Raymond Smith, the man that you are. 🥰 divider cred to the endlessly talented @saradika-graphics ✨All feedback (reblogs, comments, likes) is much appreciated and encouraged!!✨ Enjoy babes! 🩷
The first thing you felt was Ray’s mouth against your shoulder.
A press of lips to sleep-soft skin, the slight scrape of his beard as he lingered, just enough to make your body notice before your mind had fully caught up. You stirred beneath him, drifting somewhere between sleep and waking, still slow to understand anything beyond the weight of his hand at your waist and his mouth moving lazily along your neck.
A shiver went through you, starting right where his mouth touched and traveled outward, raising tiny bumps along your arms. Ray felt it. You knew he did in the way his hand settled more firmly at your waist, by the brief pause of his lips against your skin, as if that small betrayal of your body had pleased him more than any answer you could have given.
The room was still dim; the kind of grey-blue morning light that came before the city had fully woken. Too early for your birthday. Too early for anything that required being conscious, really, unless it involved staying exactly where you were, tangled in expensive sheets with Ray’s mouth at your neck.
“Mmm,” you breathed in protest, eyes still closed.
“I know,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Too early.”
His voice was lower than usual, softened at the edges in a way only you ever got to hear. No careful composure standing between him and the world. Just Ray, solid and bare behind you, his palm smoothing over your hip after what must have been a while spent awake, deciding that if he had to pull you from sleep before a civilized hour, he was going to make it worth waking for.
You smiled faintly into the pillow. “Is it?”
“For you?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Tragically.”
The sensation made you squirm before you could stop yourself, your chin tucking toward your shoulder as a tiny giggle slipped out of you, breathy and still half-asleep. Ray’s arm held you close, keeping you tucked against him while his mouth followed the movement, kissing along the side of your neck where he knew you were sensitive.
“So why are you waking me up?”
“Because we have somewhere to be.”
That should have made you suspicious. It would have, if his mouth hadn’t moved lower again, pulling a shallow breath from you while every other thought scattered before you could hold onto it.
“Somewhere can wait,” you mumbled.
Ray’s breath touched your neck, and you felt the faint curve of his mouth against your skin. “Not indefinitely.”
He kissed the spot where your pulse had quickened, trailing back toward your jaw as though he had all the time in the world, despite whatever plans he was keeping from you. His hand moved from your waist to your hip and back again, a steady, reassuring touch that made you relax against him.
“You sound like a man with plans.”
“I am a man with plans.”
“On my birthday?”
“For your birthday.”
You meant to open your eyes at that, but his touch, so gentle and deliberate, distracted you before you could. Ray had never been careless with you, not with his hands, not with his affection, not with the pieces of himself he gave so gradually—so carefully—that you sometimes forgot how much he had already handed over.
His fingers traced over of your stomach, lower now, possessive without being demanding. His mouth found the side of your throat again, lingering there while he drew you closer, your back fitting against his broad chest. The sound he made rumbled through him and into you, barely heard but impossible to miss. Your body answered before you were awake enough to pretend otherwise, hips shifting into the cradle of his palm as a sleepy little sound slipped from your throat.
Your eyes finally opened, though the world stayed small for one last breath, held between Ray’s hand on your body, his mouth at your skin, and the solid shape of him behind you. Slowly, your gaze drifted toward the nightstand, landing on the fresh bouquet waiting there in a simple glass vase.
Your favorite flowers, full and lovely without feeling staged, arranged with smaller blooms in colors you loved. The stems were gathered with a satin ribbon tied neatly around the middle, simple and exact in a way that felt unmistakably like him. He hadn’t chosen the biggest arrangement or the most expensive, only the right one.
His lips brushed your shoulder again, his voice low and close enough to send a swoop through your belly.
“Happy birthday, darling.”
The words settled over you, not an announcement so much as a touch all their own. You blinked at the bouquet, at the ribbon around the stems, at the exact colors he had chosen, and your chest gave a helpless little squeeze before you could stop it.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Ray’s hand stilled against your stomach.
You turned your head enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you, blue and unguarded without his glasses, clearer in the morning light as he watched for your reaction with the satisfaction of a man who had been looking forward to this moment far more than he would ever admit aloud.
“You got my favorite flowers.”
“Of course.”
The answer was so simple that it caught somewhere beneath your ribs. He said it so easily, remembering the shape of your joy as though it required no effort at all, because to Ray, there had never been any other option but to know you that well.
You blinked, emotion rising before you could stop it, and Ray’s expression shifted immediately. His hand came up to your face, knuckles brushing gently along your cheek.
“No tears yet,” he said softly. “It’s barely begun.”
“Yet?”
His mouth curved, pleased in the private way that made your chest ache. “You’ll need to pace yourself.”
You huffed a small laugh, but he caught it with his mouth before it could fully leave you, his lips gentle at first before turning firmer when you angled into him in an effort to get closer. The faint scrape of his beard brushed over your mouth as his tongue slid against yours, coaxing you open with that same careful intent he brought to everything else. The kiss deepened naturally, familiar and devastating all at once.
Your hands found him beneath the sheets, sliding over his shoulders, his chest, anywhere you could reach as he drew you in and settled over you. Bare skin met bare skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, the weight of him enough to make the rest of the room fall away.
He kissed you like he could feel every little place you gave in to him, the surrender of your mouth, the lift of your hips, the gasp you tried to swallow when his tongue moved deeper.
Ray had woken you with his mouth on your skin, with flowers waiting on the nightstand, and now he seemed intent on making this the first real gift of the day too, the thorough pleasure of being loved until there was nothing left in your head but him.
You sighed against his mouth as the hard length of him pressed between your thighs, and Ray drew back only enough to see you, close enough that his breath still touched your lips. His hair was mussed from your fingers, his eyes gone a shade deeper now, the blue sharpened by want as he looked over your face.
You could feel how badly he wanted you, the thick press of him against your slick skin, restrained only because he knew you liked the slow ruin of it all.
His palm pressed into your leg as he eased it higher over his hip, opening you to him more. Ray noticed the eager tilt of your hips, the way you opened wider around him, the involuntary pull of your breath when he dragged the blunt head of his cock through the needy wet of you.
He didn’t rush to give you what you wanted. Instead, he slid through your cunt with maddening control, brushing over your clit just enough to make your body tense beneath him before easing back, drawing the want out until it bloomed deep and aching.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, your mouth parting beneath his when the next pass stole the air from your lungs. Ray kissed you through it, lips plush, tongue coaxing, the faint shape of his smile brushing yours when your hips lifted to chase him.
He knew. And that was the infuriating part. He knew exactly what he was doing to you—from the tremor in your legss and the way your breath thinned when he teased the head of his cock against your entrance without pushing in. His hand settled at your hip, keeping you close as he gave you just enough pressure to make your body flutter around nothing, pulling back before you could take him.
“Ray,” you whined, half warning, half plea.
His mouth brushed the corner of yours, pleased and far too satisfied. “I know.”
His eyes stayed on your face while he teased you, the last of his composure held together by sheer will and the pleasure he took in watching yours unravel.
“You’re impatient this morning,” he noted, voice low against your mouth.
“You woke me up,” you protested, your bottom lip pushing out in a sleepy pout.
“I did.”
“So do something about it.”
That pulled a rough sound from him, more want than amusement. His fingers pressed into your hip as he kissed you again, stealing the rest of your complaint while he settled against your entrance.
Your pout vanished into a trembling exhale as he finally sank into you, and Ray stayed close enough to take the sound into his mouth. He watched you through it, eyes fixed on your face as your lips parted and your lashes fluttered as your body adjusted around him. He took his time, almost cruel in his patience, making sure you felt every inch of him.
“Christ,” he groaned, the word barely making it out.
Your legs locked around his hips as he pressed deeper, taking his time until he was fully inside you. His eyes shut while he steadied himself, the polished control he carried so easily everywhere else thinning to almost nothing at the wet, heated feel of you around him.
You shifted just enough to take him deeper, and his whole body went taut. Another rough sound caught in his throat, his mouth brushing yours without quite kissing you. He had teased you for so long, made you needy for him, but now that he had you, now that he was buried inside you and fighting himself for patience, the waiting was ruining him too.
Your hands slid over his back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your touch as he finally rolled his hips into you with enough purpose to sink you deeper into the sheets and pull a broken sound from your throat.
Ray did it again, finding a rhythm that narrowed the world to his body over yours and the delicious drag of his cock inside you. His chest pressed to yours, his mouth moved from your lips to your cheek, your jaw, your throat, kissing wherever he could reach as his composure started to fray.
You felt everything he gave—his weight over you, the flex of his hips and all the rough little sounds he made whenever you clenched around him. Each thrust reached deep enough to scatter whatever thoughts you had left, and when your nails dragged down his back, his pace faltering briefly before he caught himself.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed against your neck.
Your hips titled to meet him, and the change in angle made your mouth fall open, pleasure flashing brightly behind your eyes. Ray felt you tighten around him, felt the tremor move through you, your nails pressing into his back as you tried desperately to keep him right there.
His grip shifted lower on your thigh, guiding you into him while he did it again.
“There?” he asked, though the look on his face said he already knew.
You nodded, too far gone to make it graceful, begging him not to move away from that spot.
Ray pressed into you deeper this time, his control thinning with every sound he drew out of you. He’d always known how to make restraint feel filthy, how to make patience its own kind of indulgence.
His touch moved down your side, over the dip of your waist and the curve of your hip, fingers pressing there to pull you into the next thrust. His eyes stayed on you, hunger cutting through the last of his composure as your body drew around him again.
“Darling,” he groaned against your throat. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The praise went through you in a swirling rush, your cunt closing around him hard enough to pull the air from his chest. Ray’s hand flexed at your hip, his composure catching on a rough sound before his mouth found yours again, hungry and less careful than before.
“That’s it,” he breathed against your lips. “You take me so well.”
You turned your face into him, overwhelmed by the gentleness as much as the pleasure. Him inside you, the scrape of his beard along your skin, the devotion in the way he kept looking at you. It was too much and not enough, your body aching for more even as he gave you everything.
Ray shifted just enough to make you whimper, his hips still working into you as he slipped between your bodies and found your clit. Your back arched at the first touch, a sharp cry catching in your throat before his mouth covered yours, swallowing it down like he wanted to keep it for himself.
“That’s where you need me, isn’t it?”
All you could manage was another frantic nod, fingers curling at the back of his neck as the room filled with the sounds of your pleasure.
He moved with steady purpose, thumb circling your clit while he drove into you with the same focused restraint that had been ruining you all morning. Pleasure gathered heavy and insistent, swelling with every thrust. You held his gaze as long as you could, watching his composure slip in small, beautiful increments, until he angled his hips just right, pressing deeper, dragging against the spot that made your whole body seize beneath him.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice strained. “Come for me.”
The words pushed you right to the edge, your nails digging into his back as your body wound around him. For one desperate second, you hovered there, caught on the drag of his cock inside you, the steady pressure of his thumb, the sound of him losing control above you, and then it broke.
It hit you in a full-body rush, clamping around him as pleasure tore through you in waves. You cried out his name, and Ray groaned into your skin, his pace stuttering before he caught himself and gave you more, pushing you through it while your cunt fluttered around him.
You felt him start to slip, jaw clenched near your cheek, his control fraying with every pulse of your body around his. His mouth stayed on your skin, rough kisses pressed wherever he could reach, less careful with each one.
His hips drove deeper, rougher now, chasing what he had held back too long. A guttural groan dragged from his chest as he buried his face against your neck, body crowding yours with a need that felt almost frantic after so much restraint.
You were still shaking when his hand locked at your thigh, pulling you into him through one thrust, then the next, before he held himself as deep as your body would take him. His body went rigid over yours, shoulders tense beneath your hands, mouth open against your throat as he came with a broken sound. You felt him pulse inside you, the hot spill of his release filling your cunt as his hips pressed in with one last helpless grind, like even that deep, he still needed more.
“Fuck,” he breathed, your name following after, wrecked.
The sensation made you whimper, still too sensitive, still clenching around him in little aftershocks that dragged a rough sound from his chest. Ray’s mouth moved against your skin, not quite a kiss, more like he needed somewhere to put the force of it while his body shuddered once above yours.
He stayed buried inside you, his body covering yours as both of you came down in the gray morning light. Your fingers traced weakly over the back of his neck, feeling the damp heat of his skin, the uneven rise and fall of his breath. Ray pressed a kiss to your shoulder, lips lingering warm on your skin, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave you yet.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured against your skin, voice satisfied and ruined.
You laughed weakly, still trying to come back to yourself. “You’re very pleased with yourself.”
Ray’s eyes flicked to yours, gentled by something private. “No.”
“No?”
His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze moving over your face with the kind of attention that made you feel seen down to the smallest, most hidden parts of yourself. “I’m pleased I got to have you like that.”
Your heart did something stupid in your chest.
Before you could answer, he kissed you, lingering just long enough to ruin whatever clever thing you might have said. Eventually, he slipped from the bed and disappeared, returning a few moments later to get you cleaned up with the same tender care he gave everything that involved you.
When he left the room again, you heard movement beyond the bedroom, then the low clink of ceramic. He came back shortly with a fresh cup of coffee in your favorite mug, steam curling above the rim as he crossed the room in nothing but lounge trousers, his glasses back on now, the only real sign that the day had started when neither of you had quite left the bed.
You looked at the cup, then at him.
Ray settled beside you, body angled toward yours against the pillows, close enough that his fingers trailed absently over the ends of your hair while you drank your coffee and admired the bouquet again, bright and fresh against the rumpled mess of the room, your favorite flowers arranged with such precise care that it almost hurt to look at them.
You took a sip, the coffee rich and perfect on your tongue, exactly how you liked it. It settled something in you even as the rest of you remained a little undone from the way he had woken you. Ray’s fingers moved through your hair with an absent affection. Even after having you, even after coaxing every sleepy sound out of you, he still seemed to need some small point of contact.
Your gaze drifted lazily across the room, over the bouquet on the nightstand, to the clothes you had discarded the night before in your rush to get your hands on him. The memory tugged a smirk from you before your attention moved on, landing near the bedroom door, where both of your suitcases stood neatly against the wall.
The smirk faded into suspicion as you took another sip of coffee, because dignity felt important in the face of whatever he had clearly already done. With as much nonchalance as you could manage while sitting naked beneath the sheets after being loved senseless before breakfast, you lowered the mug.
“Ray?”
Beside you, his fingers paused in your hair for half a second.
“Darling?”
“Why is our luggage out?”
Ray remained relaxed against the pillows, his face calm in a way that only made you more suspicious. His fingers resumed their path through your hair, the touch so easy and affectionate you almost thought he could soothe the question right out of you.
“Oh,” he said, with the careful casualness of a man who had been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s part of your birthday surprise. I did tell you we had somewhere to be.”
Surprise flickered through you, cutting through the last haze of the morning. “I thought we were just going to brunch?”
“We are.”
You turned your head slowly and stared at him.
Ray finally glanced at you, and there it was, that infuriating little shift at the corner of his mouth. Just enough to tell you he had been waiting all morning for you to notice and enjoying himself far too much now that you had.
“Why do you sound like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like brunch has logistics.”
His expression softened, though the amusement stayed tucked in his eyes. “It does, in this case.”
“Raymond.”
He looked entirely too fond of you for a man currently refusing to explain the suitcases by the door.
You sat up a little straighter, the sheet shifting around your chest as you held your coffee with both hands. “What did you do?”
Ray reached over and took the mug from you before answering, setting it safely on the bedside table. Leaning in, he placed a kiss to your cheek before settling back against the pillows.
That made your suspicion deepen.
“Oh, absolutely not,” you protested. “You only take things out of my hands when you think I’m about to drop them.”
“I’ve known you long enough to know better.”
You gave him a look. “Long enough to know I need an explanation.”
He shifted toward you, one knee bending on the mattress as his hand found yours, his thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles, not to distract you this time, but to steady you before he gave you the truth.
“You once told me you wanted to have brunch on the Amalfi Coast.”
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. For a moment, the words just sat there between you, too lovely and impossible to make sense of.
Ray kept his eyes on you, voice soft and even, almost too gentle for the way your heart had suddenly started to beat.
“More specifically, you wanted a giant waffle with whipped cream and fresh strawberries,” he continued. “Mimosas. Blue water. Lemon trees. The sort of view that makes you feel insufferable for getting to sit in it.”
You blinked at him, still trying to make the words fit together. “I said that ages ago.”
“You did.”
“I was kidding.”
“No,” he said, thumb moving over the back of your hand. “You were wishing.”
You could only stare at him, trying to absorb the fact that he had taken one silly, impossible thing you said offhand, turning it into reality.
“Ray,” you breathed out, and something in his face changed at the sound of it.
“The bags are packed. The plane is ready. There will be a car here soon, and another waiting when we land.”
He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, holding your gaze over them. “You don’t have to think about a single thing today unless you want to.”
The words barely made it past the emotion in your throat. “You’re taking me to Italy today?”
“For brunch,” he answered, pleased enough with himself not to bother hiding it. “Among other things.”
A shaky laugh slipped out of you, full of wonder. “You are unbelievable.”
“I suppose I’ve been called worse.”
“Raymond.”
His fingers curled around yours, steadying without crowding, already there to meet the emotion gathering in your chest before it could overwhelm you.
“I wanted you to have it.”
You looked down at your joined hands because his face was suddenly too much. The life he had already given you, and now this, all of it gathered in your chest so quickly you barely had time to swallow it down.
When you looked up again, Ray was watching you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.
His thumb brushed beneath your eye before the tear could fall, his expression changing the second he caught it. Leaning in, he kissed the damp place his thumb had touched. “I wondered when this might happen.”
You gave a watery laugh, catching his wrist as tears gathered again. “Don’t.”
“I’m not making light of it.” His voice lost every trace of amusement, his mouth lingering close to your cheek. “Not when it matters this much.”
You looked at him, helpless beneath the weight of it all. The suitcases by the door, the flowers, the coffee, the certainty of him sitting beside you like flying you to Italy for brunch was simply a thing that happened when he loved someone.
“I just…” You shook your head, overwhelmed all over again. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
All you could do was look at him, your chest too full for anything else.
“I hear the things you wish for before you decide they’re too much.” His gaze held yours, calm and devastating. “They all matter to me.”
You had to swallow before you could say his name. “Ray.”
“I love you,” he said, as simple as it was ruinous. “And I have no interest in letting you spend your life pretending you don’t want things just because you’ve learned not to ask for them.”
That hit way too deep for you to even answer.
He kissed your forehead, lingering there. “So yes, darling. When you want something, even if it’s fleeting, I’m going to notice.” He stayed close, mouth still touching your skin as he spoke. “And when I can, I’m going to give it to you.”
That was the part that undid you most. Not the money, the planning, or the impossible ease with which Ray seemed to make entire countries available to him. It was the fact that he listened so closely. That he knew the difference between a throwaway joke and a want you never expected anyone to take seriously.
You tucked your face into the side of his neck, pressing closer as your eyes filled all over again. “This is extravagant.”
His hand moved over your back, steady and affectionate. “I prefer efficient.”
You pulled back enough to look at him. “You are not calling a surprise trip to Italy efficient.”
“It has been arranged with very little inconvenience to you.” He adjusted his glasses at the frame, the gesture so composed it nearly made the whole thing worse, though you could still hear the smile in his voice. “That does seem to qualify.”
The restrained amusement in his face nearly made you cry all over again. It was such a Ray answer, precise and dry and entirely too calm for a man who had just announced he was flying you across Europe for waffles.
Your gaze slid toward the luggage again. “When did you even pack?”
“This morning.”
“You packed my suitcase this morning?”
“I did.”
“Ray.”
“You have options.”
“That is not what I’m worried about.”
“I know what you like.”
You gave him a look, though the smile already tugging at your mouth made it difficult to look truly accusing. “You know what I like, or you know what you like seeing me in?”
His eyes moved over your face with open appreciation. “Both.”
The answer was too honest to be smug, too tender to be anything but devastating.
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile wider. “And what if I wanted to pack something else?”
“We’ll buy it there.”
“That is not a normal solution.”
“No,” he agreed, “but it is a solution.”
You laughed for real this time, the sound loosening the heaviness in your chest. Ray’s expression changed with visible satisfaction, that unmistakable pleasure he took in making you laugh, in watching the emotion ease out of you until it became something lighter.
He slid his fingers through your hair once more, then let his hand rest at the back of your neck. “We need to leave in an hour.”
“An hour?!” You looked down at yourself before giving him a pointed look. “I’m naked.”
“I had noticed.”
“Ray!” you chided, trying to sound scandalized and failing completely.
“I’m only saying it has not escaped my attention.”
You swatted his chest, but he caught your hand and kissed your palm before letting it go.
“You have time,” he said. “Shower. Dress. Panic a little, if you must.”
“I’m not panicking.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the luggage and back to you.
“I’m processing,” you corrected before he could say anything.
“Of course.”
“Don’t of course me.”
His mouth did that barely-there thing again, amusement tucked into one corner, trying to behave and failing only because he adored you too much.
You looked at him for a long second before reaching for your coffee. Ray handed it to you before you even had to lean, and the ease of that small gesture made your heart squeeze, almost as much as everything else he had done.
You took a sip, watching him over the rim of your mug. “You really planned a whole trip around waffles?”
“And mimosas,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “And the view.”
“Oh.” Your smile turned almost whimsical as the thought of it settled over you. “The insufferable one?”
“The very one.”
There was something about the way he said it that made the whole thing ache again. Not because of the plane or the coast waiting across the water, but because he had listened. He had remembered. He had taken one passing wish from your mouth and built a birthday gift around it, not because he needed to prove he could, but because loving you had made him want to.
You set the mug down carefully and moved into his lap.
Ray accepted you without hesitation, hands finding your hips as you settled over him beneath the loose tangle of sheets. His head tipped back against the headboard, eyes lifting to yours, and for a moment neither of you said anything. The bouquet breathed sweetness into the room, the morning sitting pale and still around you, his hands steady at your waist even before he drew you closer.
“You’re meant to be getting ready,” he reminded you.
“I know.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” you echoed, sliding your arms around his shoulders.
His hands moved up your sides, thumbs brushing your ribs. “Have I overwhelmed you?”
The question was gentle enough to make your heart somersault.
“A little,” you admitted, touching his face before concern could settle in. “In the good way. The way where I don’t know what to do with all of it yet.”
Ray’s hands settled more firmly around you. “You don’t have to do anything with it.”
“I do.”
“No.” He kissed you once, soft and brief. “You only have to let me give it to you.”
Your eyes held his before you dipped your lips to his, kissing him long enough that his hands drew you closer at the waist. When you pulled back, the emotion was still there, sitting high in your chest, but excitement had started breaking through it now, giddy and impossible to contain as the reality of what he had done finally sank in.
You took his face in both hands before he could retreat into all that careful composure, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as the coarse edge of his beard scratched softly against your palms. You looked at him like there was no possible way to love him more and still, somehow, you did.
“You extraordinary, gorgeous man,” you said, kissing him again, quick and happy this time, your smile ruining the shape of it before you could help yourself. “I love you. God, Ray, I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”
His smile came slowly before it broke wide enough to change his whole face. The corner of his mouth lifted, his beard shifting with it, blue eyes creasing at the edges as he looked up at you with helpless fondness. He looked almost bashful, pleased in a way he couldn’t hide.
And that only made it worse.
“Thank you. For all of it,” you told him, kissing him again because you couldn’t seem to stop. “For listening. For remembering. For being completely insane in the most romantic way possible. For making my life feel this beautiful.”
His thumb brushed along your side. “You haven’t seen all of it yet.”
Your exhale came out a little dazed. “There’s more?”
“It’s your birthday.”
You rested your forehead against his, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face even with all that emotion still caught behind your ribs. “One hour?”
He nodded, and your eyes fluttered shut for a second as you let yourself picture it: blue water, sunlight, drinks by the coast, Ray across from you in sunglasses, calm as anything, pretending this was a reasonable way to spend a morning simply because you had once wished for it.
When you opened your eyes, he was watching you.
“You’re doing that thing.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like that.”
His gaze held yours, unguarded and fond. “I like watching you receive things.”
Your breath caught a little, and he must have seen it, because his hand came up to touch your cheek.
“You spend a great deal of time convincing yourself you don’t need much,” he continued. “I don’t care for it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“No,” he agreed. “Because I love you.”
The simplicity of it stole the teasing right off your tongue.
Ray kissed you before the moment could turn too heavy, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. You melted into him for one breath, then two, before he pulled back with visible restraint.
“Shower,” he reminded you, though he didn’t sound especially pleased about it.
You pouted. “You’re sending me away?”
“I’m ensuring we make the flight.”
“You’re very committed to these waffles.”
He chuckled. “I’m committed to you having the exact birthday I promised myself I’d give you.”
You pointed at him, blinking quickly. “You have got to stop saying things like that.”
“I’ll try.”
“You won’t.”
“No,” he replied, kissing your fingertip. “I won’t.”
You climbed off his lap and out of bed reluctantly, Ray’s eyes following you across the room with enough interest to make you feel it down your spine. There was nothing subtle about the look on his face, no polite appreciation, no easy restraint. Just his dark, intent focus moving over you until he blinked hard, once, and again, reminding himself there was somewhere else to be. You made it halfway across the bedroom before glancing back, very aware that if you stood there naked for a minute longer, neither of you was making that flight.
“Ray.”
“Hm?” His brows lifted, innocent in a way that didn’t suit him at all.
“Stop looking at me like that. We have logistics.”
That got a real laugh out of him, fuller than you expected, and you were still smiling when you stepped into the en suite.
Behind you, the bed shifted, followed by the sound of him moving through the room, already turning the morning back toward the plan ahead. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, flushed, thoroughly loved, and still not entirely convinced you’d heard him right.
Your birthday had barely begun, yet somehow Ray had already made it feel like the kind of day you would remember for the rest of your life.
Raymond Smith x female reader; Dom!Raymond Smith x submissive female reader
summary: Raymond runs a an exclusive BDSM club, aside from certain other business. He cares deeply and firmly about the proper treatment of club's members and the rules. When you don't get what you need, he takes it into his hands to provide.
warnings: None in this chapter. BDSM. Risk aware consensual kink. Power exchange. D/s dynamics. Stern type of Dom. Each part of the story will get its own warnings.
word count: 1.2k
Author's Note: This is merely an intro to an expanded universe of the Ruby Garden. Raymond runs Black Diamond in England. He first co-owned it with Ari. For a change, the intro is all Raymond's pov, but future parts will be the typical Reader focused.
There's also guest appearance of another staple Dom at the Black Diamond - Simon "Ghost" Riley 🤭
Though Raymond valued the peace of his actual home, stepping through the ornate gates of the Black Diamond estate brought a similar sense of coming home.
The faint scent of leather, warm resins and cardamom that was a fragrance customized for the club and used in small amounts to entice rather than overwhelm. Surfaces were polished to perfection, allowing a near mirror reflection in the black marble and black glass. The same luxurious, dark aesthetic sprawled further into the club, with only the shades of members’ clothes bringing a splash of colour.
Raymond’s office was also dark, but less glamorous and more old fashioned with the oak wood, deep green suede of the armchairs, and rusty gold ornaments.
He didn’t expect Simon to change anything while he was gone, but it surprised him how not a single note of his trusted stand-in and friend’s persona could be felt in the office.
Simon was sitting behind the desk when Raymond entered. As usual, in all black: black t-shirt with sleeves stretched around his bulging biceps (which gave many submissives wet dreams), black cargo pants, heavy boots. And the skull-printed balaclava mask.
Simon might have been officially out of the military, but Raymond knew his team worked black ops still. It gave him much needed secrecy, while also adding to his brutal aura in the club.
“The place wasn’t blown up and Dicky Ricky’s body isn’t crucified at the gates,” Raymond gave a short round of slow claps. “Seems you weren’t as bad at minding the club as you threatened when I asked you to do it.”
“It was no fun. Everyone was scared and behaved themselves.” Simon shrugged, standing up.
Though Raymond didn’t ask him to, he moved out of the boss’ chair and took a seat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“Which is also ridiculous-” he stretched his legs out, hooking one ankle over the other- “You’re more dangerous than I am.”
“Our appearances serve the both of us, just in different capacities.” Raymond said, taking his place. It felt almost as good as sinking into his favorite wing chair at home.
Spending the last four months abroad, dealing with sensitive business and securing particular alliances, wasn’t all that bad. Food in some places was divine; Americans really knew how to properly make a steak. The thrill of balancing threats and diplomacy rejuvenated his bones. And some conversations were truly pleasant to have.
Like meeting with an old friend and former co-owner of the Black Diamond, Ari Levinson.
“Not that you ever needed additional oil to your fuckin’ Greek god glow, but what creamy subby sucked you this mornin’ that you’re relaxed like a trooper post a first fuck after years in the trenches?” Raymond snorted, glancing at Ari over the rim of his glass.
Ari laughed, that easy, booming laughter of his that dropped panties and somehow made other men feel like grinning for no damn reason.
“My sub.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, very pleased with himself for that revelation.
Raymond paused before taking another sip of whiskey. He studied Levinson for a second then shook his head.
“Levinson settled down with some good girl, huh?” Raymond smiled knowingly.
Ari wasn’t against relationships. He was far from a cynic who didn’t believe in love. But his charming, playful demeanor veiled a deep intensity of a merciless Dominant. Not many submissives could handle that beyond two consecutive scenes.
“Who said she’s a good girl?” Ari grinned, his eyes twinkling with delight.
Raymond burst out laughing at that.
“You got yourself a brat!”
“The brattiest of them all,” Ari’s smile didn’t cease, instead turning into unveiled smugness.
Figures that the submissive, who not only could survive Ari’s type of fun and punishments, but also provoked him to go hard on her, would be the one to catch his interest permanently.
Raymond himself didn’t allow bratting in scenes with him. He dealt with brats in the club, if it was needed, catering to their need of being tamed. However, he himself held harsh discipline. Without violence, too. There were elegant methods to teach a submissive to follow rules and scrape their throat from begging for mercy.
“Any issues?” Raymond’s gaze slid from Simon’s covered face to the single file on the desk, then back to the man again.
“No issues. No problems. A riddle.” Simon put his hands behind his head and lounged.
“A riddle?” Raymond arched a single brow, not impressed by his friend’s apparently happy mood now that he could push whatever dire situation on him.
Simon recited a name. Your name.
“A newbie submissive. You approved of her membership right before leaving.” He explained. “A good girl. Quite shy and not much confident at first, but bravely participated in anything I directed her to do. It’s clear she approaches every game at the club with fear, but she doesn’t back out. She’s determined.”
“What’s the riddle then?” Raymond opened the file and flipped through the first few pages with basic data and contracts you signed.
“Lack of response from the Doms.”
At Simon’s words, Raymond’s gaze flew up in surprise.
Usually, anyone fresh caused ripples through the club. Like a new, shiny toy the others could play with. Of course, it all depended on the person and their energy. Not every dominant had to be interested in a new submissive. Just like a submissive wouldn’t be interested in all the Doms.
“She doesn’t draw interest. When she approaches a Dom herself, which we’ve been practicing a few times, she gets politely declined. Or, on occasions, politely welcomed, but the scene lacks what she needs.”
“And she’s fucking smart.” Simon continued, his tone sharpening with offence on your behalf.” Smart enough to know that when I order her into a scene with someone, it’s because I organized it, not because someone asked for her. Her pride hurts, but she agrees anyway.”
“She’s not a brat.” Raymond tapped a page with the list of your kinks. “Why don’t they want her?”
Simon sighed and changed his position. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling Raymond with a look.
“One, I think quite a few of our Doms need to be put in BDSM summer school to be reminded that a scene works for both parties, not just to get their own kicks. Two, she’s physically responsive, but her emotional walls need scaling. None of the fuckers put any effort in that. Not even to break her shell with a proper spanking, so she could get some emotional release.”
“So she’s a little icy and instead of melting her, they crush her to refill their own glass.” Raymond’s jaw tightened, the blue of his eyes turning colder.
His gaze scanned your lists - kinks, soft limits, hard limits. Without taking his eyes off the files, he grunted at Simon:
“Be a good lad and share with the class what’s been bouncing in that skull of yours when it comes to solving this riddle.”
“Well-” Simon’s face was mostly covered, but even without seeing it, Raymond knew the fucker was smirking.
“-since she hasn’t met you, with you being gone and all, you paying her some attention would be genuine. Besides, those lazy plonkers would definitely start noticing her then.”
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of addiction and withdrawal. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is the next June fic! (It’s late. Sorry)
Raymond Smith + “You need to stop running away from the inevitable.”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
You watch the smoke curl up beneath the hazy evening sky. The smell of rain lingers on the pavement, water dripping from the eaves. You suck on the cigarette and let out another grey furl as your lashes droop.
You hum and keep from leaning to the side. A car passes and footsteps scrape up the sidewalk. You hover the smoke in front of your lips, hunching forward as your fingers nice away without meaning too. You catch yourself and your eyes pop open.
A blurry figure approaches and you snort. You inhale the tobacco and puff it out as your vision clears just enough to make out the man in his tweed jacket and glasses. You pull the cigarette away and salute with your other hand.
"Rrray..." You slut. "Fine night."
"Rain let up." He shrugs as he stops at the bottom step, just three below where you sit on the stoop. "How's it goin' then?"
"Goin'," you drone and take one last drag before you butt out the ashy tip. "You sellin' or cashin' out?"
He tilts his head. "Not selling what you're on, dear." He grabs the railing as he lifts a foot onto the bottom stair. "Told ya, you needs get off that stuff."
You giggle. "Easy 'nough to say if you never tried it, Ray Ray."
You reach up and latch onto the railing. You struggle to get yourself to your feet. You sway and stumble down one step. Raymond moves to catch you. You manage to stay upright and wave him off.
"Don't you worry for me," you point at him and sag. "I needa sleep. Thatsall."
You stick out your tongue and turn your back to him. You saunter up the stairs and stop at the door. You twist and look back at him.
"Comin' or gon' buzz up?" You prompt.
Raymond sighs and climbs the steps. "Coming." He answers as he hurried forward and grabs the door. "Listen, you ever get off them things, I'll get you some of my stock for free. Take the edge off." He crowds you as he pulls the grated door shut behind him. "Better 'n pharmaceuticals."
"Not strong enough," you scoff and turn up the staircase. "Tell Billy to open his damn windows. Tired of smelling that skunk.”
You lean on the railing as you climb and sway down the hallways to your door. You push through and close the door without any care for the dangling chain or lock. You yawn and smile at the numb ripple flowing through you.
You fall onto the couch and moan. Your eyes roll back in cloudy content. You sink further and further away from reality, not thinking, not feeling. Just lost in oblivion.
💜
You roll over, arm numb from the weight of your body, and groan. Your shoulder aches at the socket and your head swims with the dregs of the pills. This is the part you hate. When you have to feel again. When you have to get up and face the world.
You throw your hand over your eyes and think of popping half a perc with your coffee. Those losers at the shop can be patient while you find their brand. Especially that idiot who expects you to remember which lites he prefers.
You sniff and rub your cheek hard. You wonder if Tonya got her new script yet. You really don’t want to pay Gregory double for his grandma’s sock. You flop your arm down on the bed and open your eyes.
Your heart floods with adrenaline. Bed? You don’t remember getting that far and this is much cushier than the stiff old futon on the floor. And the wooden trim around the ceiling isn’t dusty and faded like the old plaster of your flat.
Where the fuck are you?
Sitting up makes your head pound. You blink and look around at the dark wainscotting. Shit, did you somehow wander off and break into someone’s estate? You’ve done some zany shit on pills but mostly you just sleep.
You shake your head and it pulses again. You groan and rub your temples. You cradle your skull as you move slowly to the edge of the bed. You’re still in your loose pajama bottoms and baggy tee.
You stretch your neck and stand. You grab onto the orb at the top of the footboard’s post to keep from tipping. You scan the room again.
The windows have iron grating across the outside…
You turn and stagger to the door. The long curled handle doesn’t turn. You grip with both hands and jiggle. You crank down as hard as you can. Nothing.
You huff and let go. You cross the room, tripping on the edge of the carpet, and grab the window frame. You can slide it open but the metal cage doesn’t budge on the other side. The hell?
This can’t be real. You back up and stomp back to the door. You thump on it with your hand and holler, “Hey!” The echo shakes your brain. You cup your ears and whine.
You back up and sit on the bed, bending over your lap as you rock. Goddammit. You need out of this place. You need pills.
You stay like that, slowly leaning to the side as your eyelids droop. You’re weak. The thunder in your head travels down your spine.
A click makes you flinch. You turn your head and peek out from under your arm. You force yourself up to stare at the man that steps inside. It’s Raymond.
“Ray..” you murmur.
He stares at you, eyes pensive, disapproving behind his lenses. He tilts his head. You gape back at him, confused.
“You need to stop running away from the inevitable.” He says. “I told you to quit that junk.”
You blink again.
“Ray Ray, what do y’mean?” You gurgle.
“I walked straight into your place. You never knew. Not the first time.” He crosses his arms. “Coulda been someone a lot damn worse than me.”
You frown and shake your head. “What are you doing? Where am I?”
He tuts. “Cleaning you up.” He backs up and turns to the door. “You’re welcome.”
A surge of terror and rage strikes in you. You lunge up to your feet and towards him as he grabs the handle. He easily elbows you away and you fall to the floor with a thud. You cough and look up at him.
“You can’t do this!” You cry out.
He calmly opens the door. He stops inside the frame and looks back at you. You shakily sit up.
“And who’s goin’ to look for you, dear.”
He spins and slams the door at his back. The lock clicks. You growl and kick your heels into the floor.
Holy shit.
💜
Click.
You’re ready this time. The door opens and you jump. He’s ready too.
Raymond catches you by your jaw, squeezing until you’re still as he balances a plate in his other hand. You groan as his grip thrums in your neck and skull. He marches you back to the wooden chair at the desk.
“Sit.” He demands.
You whimper. It’s been hours since you had anything. Getting close to a day. His thumb pushes in behind your jaw until you obey.
“You need to eat.” He lets go and places down the plate of food. Mandarin slices peeled and divided, cottage cheese dressed with pepper and sesame, and baked chicken sliced with zucchini and broccoli.
You growl through your teeth. “I need some damn pills.”
He lets go and taps your cheek, enough to just sting.
“No. Eat.”
You touch your cheek and glare at him. “What’s wrong with ya? Why are ya–”
“Helping you?” He interrupts and points at the plate. “Eat.”
“Let me go–”
“You can eat or I can feed you.” He warns and shoves you..
You look down at the plate and curl your lip. There’s a plastic utensil; one end a spoon, the other a curved spork. You sigh and reach for it.
You hover it over the bland white heap. You grip it tightly and act as if you might take a bite. Instead you twist and jump up, aiming the tines at his face. He catches you and knocks the utensil from your hand.
He grasps the back of your head and turns you back to the desk. He pinches your neck and forces you into the chair. He bends you over until your face is right over the plate.
“Act like an animal. Eat like one.” He smushes your face into the food. “I’m not leaving until the plate is clean.”
The cheese smears all over your face and a piece of broccoli nearly impales your nostril. You cough and grip the edge of the desk.
“You choose how this goes.” He snarls.
You wriggle and grunt. “Let me go. Ow! I’ll… eat.”
He pinches until you whine but relents. You sit up and he reaches into his pocket. He offers you a fabric kerchief. You rip it away from him and wipe your face.
You keep your head down, crumpling the cloth in your fist as you grab a mandarin wedge with your other hand. You put it in your mouth and bite down. You eat quietly. Your stomach churns at the smell of the broccoli. The taste only makes it worse.
You cover your mouth and your shoulders rack. He backs up and returns with the bin placed at the corner of the desk. He holds it patiently beside you. You turn and wretch into it.
“First few days will be bad. Week or so, you’ll feel better.” He pats your back and you stiffen. “Drink water. Stretch your legs when you can.”
“You’re an asshole.” You mutter into the bin.
“And you’re an addict.” He drones back smugly. “No one else’d do anything for ya.”
💜
“Hey, jerk! Hey, Hey!” You yell and stomp, stomping to hammer on the walls with your fist.
For hours, you laid in bed, restless and dizzy, until you just couldn’t stay still. Now you’re pissed. And sweating. Somehow soaked in sweat but freezing. You sniff through your clogged nose and hit the wall again.
“Lemmeouttttttt.” You shout so loud it makes your ears ache. “Lemme–”
You stop as your stomach clenches. Ugh. Not again. You hurry into the bathroom and panic. You don’t know what end it’s coming out of.
You end up sitting, curled over your knees, shaking and sniveling. When you’re done, you barely have the strength to get yourself off the bowl. You flush and wash your hands, shivering endlessly.
You’re light-headed. You stumble into the wall and turn your back to it. You slide down and hug your legs. You hang your head forward and close your eyes. You stay like that for a while, dazed and dull.
The scent of something sweet tickles your nose. You lift your head. You didn’t hear him. You’re embarrassed as Raymond lights three wicks of the candle and slides it back on the counter.
He turns to you. You stare dumbly. He picks you up and drags you to the tub. He sits you on the edge and grabs the top of your tee shirt.
“What’re you–”
“Told you to wash up, didn’t I?” He tears the cotton over your head. “You need to keep care of yourself.”
He exposes your chest and you quickly hug yourself. He tosses the shirt. You sway.
He takes your arms and you struggle to keep them closed. He shakes his head and forces them open and around his neck. He stands you up and pushes the elastic of your pajamas past your hips and ass. His palms graze your skin firmly.
It’s been days. He told you yesterday to take a bath. You ignored him, too anxious to do more than pace and ramble. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Why is he doing this to you? Can’t he mind his damn business.
He leans you against the tub again. You lift your hand and he mirrors it with his own. He points at you.
“You do not want to do that.” He sneers.
You believe him. You drop your hand and look down. He bends over the porcelain and cranks on the faucet. He tests it with his thick fingers.
“Ray, why…”
“Does it matter why I’m helping you?” He stands up, his hands on his hips.
“I don’t want help. I want to be fucking high.”
“Ta!” He slaps your cheek lightly.
You recoil and cradle your cheek. You glower at him. His eyes bore into yours then drift down. You cower and cover your nudity.
“Get in.” He orders. “I don’t want to hurt you, otherwise I’d have left you as you were.”
“What do you care about me?” You scowl.
He’s quiet. He grabs your arm and forces you to turn. You lift your leg over the edge and he helps you down into the deep basin.
He stirs the water with his hand. You cross your arms and bend your legs. He stares into the clear ripples around his fingers. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”
💜
“You’ve been good.” Raymond declares as he enters. You sit on the bed, exhausted. You can’t shake the fatigue. “You can choose your reward; chocolate, caramel, or cherry?”
You stare at him. “I don’t care. I don’t want it. I want to go.”
He clucks. “You’re doing so well, don’t make me rescind the offer.”
You sigh. “Caramel.”
“Good girl.”
Later, he brings you a salted caramel sundae with your dinner. You don’t admit it out loud, but it’s delicious. You could cry. It’s much better than what he’s been serving you; unseasoned protein and fruit.
“If you’re good tomorrow, you can choose your supper too.” He says as he puts the empty dishes on the tray.
True to his word, he lets you choose supper the next night. You ask for Nandos. He acquiesces, though he seems less than impressed by the meal as he watches you eat. He clears away the remnants and tells you to brush your teeth and clean your face.
You don’t do either of those things until he returns to make sure. You don’t need him shoving the brush halfway down your throat again. He supervises you until you’re dressed in the satin nightie he brought you.
He kisses your cheek with a good night and leaves you to your cage. You don’t sleep. You shut off the lamp beside the bed and stare up at the shadowy ceiling as the static silence fills your ears.
You toss and turn. Rolling one way then the other. You just can’t settle down.
Your hand goes to your cheek. Why did he do that?
Click. You tense but don’t let on that you heard it. Maybe you didn’t. It can’t be.
It is. You hear him approach the bed behind you. Feel his weight dip at the edge. He whispers your name and touches your arm.
“You can’t sleep.” He says.
You don’t react. He spreads himself behind you, his warmth swathing over you.
“Can’t either.” He slings his arm around you. You twitch.
He lays like that, right against you, for a while. Quite, breathing in the scent of your hair, exhaling out his thoughts. He nuzzles behind your ear.
“You’re doing better. Do you feel better?” His lips graze the rim of your ear. You don’t answer. His hand stretches along your stomach and he pulls himself even closer. “I’m proud of you.”
You bite down. His touch slowly crawls higher, tickling you through the thin satin. You shift.
“You’re almost ready.” He purrs. He presses his palm over your tit. You growl and catch his hand.
“Ray…” you whisper.
“Shh,” he hushes you as rolls his hips. “I’ve not earned my reward yet.” He drags his hand off your chest and snakes his arm around you, squeezing you until you stop squirming. “Sleep, love. You’re almost there.”
pairing. raymond smith x fem!reader
word count. 1932
summary. ray's mindless touches on your thigh while you read begin to catch up with you, though he's too busy working to realise. so he offers you a promise, "if you can give me twenty minutes. I'll fuck you for twice as long."
warnings. 18+ only! general filth, little bit of fingering, pinv, horny writer's thought pls excuse me. mdni
> I know this will not get read bc he's not popular anymore but I needed to get it out of my system (he's still not out my system btw, it’s a sickness. help!)
⎯ ☆ ⎯
It’s quiet, the evening calm. The only sounds coming from the crackle of the fireplace and soft, steady breaths. Both yours and Ray’s attention obtained by your individual papers in hand: yours, a book, and in Raymond’s, a stack of papers he’s been asked to look over.
The feel of it all so comfortable, so familiar.
The backs of your thighs horizontally rest over his, lounging across him with your back propped against the arm of the sofa — your new read held close to your face. Ray’s seated position remains close, tucked to you like you are to him. Nestled into one another casually.
His feet sit on the coffee table ahead, one hand clutching the pile of papers, his other resting over your thigh, touch mindless as he grazes your bare skin. The careful caress simply an absentminded act, an act of spontaneous, unprompted protection maybe. His focus fully engrossed in a page of nothing but information and numbers.
Though to you, it wasn’t just nothing. Ray’s thoughtless touches act as a distraction to you, each stroke and brush and graze pulling your attention further and further away from your story until all that remains are muddled, merged sentences. The plot lost to you by now.
And so you peek at him over your book, gaze focused and almost delirious as you watch him, completely unaware of your lusty set of eyes. You observe him, vision fixed on his casual grip on you: ringed pinky and large, veiny hand perched upon your skin like it’s where it belonged. Everything about it so confident, so manly. Cardigan woven with wool and residual notes of whiskey and cigarettes — like it was a fortuitous, accidental representation as to who he is: gentle and virile.
You quietly pay attention to the way he works, his glasses resting atop his nose as he skims the page — his articulate, precise nature urging him to comprehend everything written. His heed to detail being one of the things most attractive about him. And yet, he had no idea what he was doing to you. Sat there, utterly unaware of his power.
Though that changes as your breathing grows inadvertently heavy, a sudden sharp inhale from you makes his neck snap to follow the sound. His eyes now focused on yours over your novel, a slight quirk in his brow as if to analyse you.
Your expression —or the top half, what he can see— is blissed, pained even. These last thirty-some minutes of gentle grazing begin to catch up with you.
He hums shortly, the noise an attempt to scope you out, though by now there’s no need for connecting dots or guessing — all evidence as clear as day. He looks down to his palm just above your knee, your thighs pressed tight together in an effort to alleviate some of the pressure you feel between them.
He uncrosses his ankles on the coffee table and leans forward, placing the stack of papers beside his whiskey tumbler. Ray clears his throat in his fist, a sly, faint smile forming behind his hand as if he’s debating with himself. His eyes drift down to the hand on your lower thigh, gaze following the ever so slow tail as he itches under your robe.
“You didn’t want to disturb me, did you?” Raymond questions, eyes pleased and proud as they flicker up to you.
“No,” you murmur with a faint shake of the head, voice catching in your throat as you watch.
His fingers move inwards and under your nightdress, slotting between your thighs as if to separate them — his hand protruding through both thin layers of fabric.
“So patient of you,” he teases, tilting his head forward, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Must’ve been agony.”
It was. It really was.
With his spare hand, he reaches for your book and takes it from your hold — placing it open and faced down beside his papers to keep your space. He pulls back to sit in his original position, feet now planted on the floor, knees apart in a manspread. He taps at his thigh, running a hand down the beef of it like he was beckoning you, summoning you almost.
“Come on,” he whispers, the instruction soft as he gestures you along. He taps at it again and rolls his hips underneath himself to reposition — preparing for you.
With an excited giggle, you do as asked, finally about to get what you want after all of his mindless teasing. You situate yourself over his lap, knees either side of his thighs as you use his shoulders for your support — keeping you up right. His eyes fix on you above, watching the antsy knitting and curving of your brows.
He spreads his arms either side along the back of the leather chesterfield, maintaining his dominance while he lets you take the lead. Or so he lets you think.
You reach between yourselves, your fingers hurriedly finicking with his belt, urging him out of his trousers. Your too quick movements stall your attempts, and you huff, the sound more similar to a whimper than anything else.
His head cocks, amused, watching you fiddle with the buckle. Watching you fail with the buckle.
He lifts a hand from its spot behind the sofa, redirecting it to your cheek — palm large and warm as he cups the side of your face, making you look at him. Ray’s touch glides backwards to behind your neck, thumb resting over your ear as he urges you closer. Pulling you inwards.
“Give me some sugar first.”
You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before moving away, trying to move away. Though he has other plans. His hold firm behind your neck to keep you there — bringing you back in so he could return the kiss. His beard skims at your chin as he deepens and roughens the kiss, intensifying the moment.
Though his dick is not yet hard, the presence of him is just as noticeable as if it were. The faint brushes of his big, thick cock through his trousers sends your mind into a tizzy. All your bodily responses become all the more evident, as if you’re betraying yourself.
And with your attention consumed by the way he kisses you, he’s slipping his other hand between you both, reaching between your thighs. He itches a finger to skim down your cunt and you jolt, his touch catching you by surprise. You moan into his mouth, the sound stifled and muffled, before you pull away.
You look down to watch, but your view is obstructed by your fabric pooling around your thighs. And then he clicks his tongue, eyes still boring on your face. You follow the noise, looking back up and he nods slowly, wordlessly praising you for following along.
With your gaze fixed on his, he’s hooking his finger into the elastic of your underwear, parting it aside within his very skilled hand. He trails down your slit, all arousal noticeable when he’s met with no resistance, the slick of your cunt granting him easy access to toy with you.
He raises a brow, both satisfied and impressed. His touch remains light as he brushes the pad of his middle finger downwards, circling your entrance briefly before he’s slipping inside your cunt.
It was something, but not enough. Nowhere close to being enough.
You wrap your arms around his neck, mouth grazing his with the closeness.
“More,” you utter against his lips, a slight whine to your voice. “Another.”
Your hips wind involuntarily, like you’re preemptively chasing after something — anticipating it. The feel of a lone finger is far from what you needed to satiate the gaping want.
“Another what?” he speaks into your mouth, a twinge of whiskey being tasted on his tongue. He knew what he was doing, and he was abusing his power over you. “You’re a smart girl. Tell me.”
“Finger. Another finger,” you plead. Your answer is quick, like you thought the speed of your response will get you what you want faster.
He tuts quietly, lips brushing against yours as he shakes his head.
All you can respond with is a whinge, a frustrated whinge at that and your hips still. The sensation of his finger being withdrawn from you. You mumble a faint, “What?” when you feel his hand part from behind your head, the one near your cunt too.
And then his hands drop to his lap, placing them between your thighs as he unfastens his belt — the jingling sound of the metal making your eyes widen, lighten almost. His hips raise underneath you as he tugs on the waistband of his trousers, pulling them down just enough to comfortably reach into his boxers.
He wraps a hand around himself and brings his cock out over the top, fisted grip tight as he gives it a few pumps — polishing his head as if to ready himself. With his other hand, he’s bunching the fabric of your garments, holding them up so he could guide himself closer to your cunt underneath.
He knocks his head at your clit just to see and hear and feel you shudder, a response he often loved from you. And so with you right where he wants you, right at the edge, he’s lining up with you — his eyes fixed on yours like it's all coming from a place of muscle memory, not needing sight to know what he’s doing.
Ray presses the tip of his dick against your pussy, the shape of his head kissing at your entrance so perfectly. And when he feels like you’ve suffered enough, he’s feeding himself into you, filling you from underneath as you lower down — meeting him halfway.
Strength in your neck dissipates, your forehead collapsing against his as you inhale shakily, taking all of him until nothing remains. His balls pressing up against your cunt’s lips like you’re sitting on them.
You lean in to kiss him while you give yourself a moment to reaccustom to him, familiarising with the thick feel of his cock. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel him bump up into you, a small jut upwards knocking the air out your lungs.
With himself wedged fully inside, he moves a hand to your throat, lightly holding under your jaw. There’s no pressure behind his touch, simply the presence there to guide you, to feel you. He keeps his mouth to yours, swallowing the little gasps you make and he tests the waters once more — adjusting his hips, pushing himself up into you entirely. The full weight of you perched upon his lap, sat on his dick.
“This what you wanted?” he murmurs, speaking against your lips.
You nod. Blissed, hazy eyes doing the talking for you as if you’ve suddenly become incapable of speaking.
Ray runs his spare hand behind you and to the cheek of your ass, palm resting over the satin fabric as he guides you — ushering your hips forward to grind over him. Though the presence of his touch is short-lived as he reaches forward, collecting his papers from before.
With his hand on your jaw, he brings you inwards, tucking your face into his neck. He brings the papers in his view, holding the stack just to the side of you.
“If you can give me twenty minutes to finish this” he says, voice soft beside you. “I’ll fuck you for twice as long,” Ray whispers, his words a promise.
Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!assassin!Reader Word Count: 1.5k [Series Masterlist] [Raymond Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: slight frenemies, American!Reader, dark themes/topics, Reader has a dark past, secret mutual pining
Summary: Raymond never had much patience for you, but that didn't mean he wasn’t curious about the mysterious and eccentric assassin who's powerful father had temporarily given her to Pearson "on loan."
a/n: This is just a short little thing I threw together about the assassin!Reader and Ray because they've been living in my head for a year now. It's just a smidgen of a look into their world. Feeback is always appreciated!
“Sit.”
You pointed a firm finger down towards the white marble floor, watching as the purebred English Pointer immediately sat back on its spotted brown haunches, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. A satisfied smile split across your lips as you stared down at the animal that you knew was nothing more than another possession amidst the grandness of this estate. Because as you'd come to learn on your outings with Pearson, there was always an overly obedient dog at these places.
“Good boy,” you praised.
You scratched the dog behind his ear and he closed his eyes while making a low, contented noise as your nails hit the right spot. But Raymond's sharp, derisive snort caused your gaze to shift sideways towards him, your smile fading at the condescending look on his face. He was standing near a tufted, deep purple chaise not too far from the bottom of an ornate staircase with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You were both waiting for Mickey to finish his meeting with Duke Whatever the Fuck His Name Was, given commands to stay put while he discussed the business of acquiring another estate for his work. Truthfully, you knew it was solely because your presence had a tendency to unsettle the British aristocracy.
The usual gleam of annoyance lingered in Raymond's blue eyes as he watched you interact with the duke's dog, aware that you were currently his only form of entertainment among all this extravagance. Turning your head over your shoulder as you continued petting the dog, you shot him a pointed look while arching a single perfect brow at him, surprised that he wasn’t intending to completely disregard you as he often did. Raymond was rather vocal about how much he disliked your boisterous, spontaneous nature even if Mickey and Ros deemed you an invigorating and welcome addition.
“You've gotten the dog to listen to you,” he deadpanned. “Well done.”
“You know, other living things might actually enjoy your company if you weren’t such a stringent sourdough,” you countered.
A humorless breath passed between his lips, his head shaking slowly from side to side. But despite the unbothered expression on his face, the way he reached up and tweaked his glasses along the bridge of his nose told you how he actually felt. You'd spent more than enough time silently studying Raymond to have learned each of his ticks, and this one meant that your attempts to needle him were succeeding even though you'd only just begun.
“Can you stop with the bread related insults?” he questioned. “They're rather lackluster.”
“Ahh, yes, because cunt is such an original insult,” you retorted, hand falling away from the dog. “You throw that one around quite liberally, Ray. Maybe it's time you refreshed your offensive vocabulary.”
“I immediately regret initiating a conversation with you,” he said tersely, turning marginally away from you to face the staircase. “You're too aggravating to waste breath on. I prefer the silence.”
“Oh come on, when did you lose your sense of whimsy, Ray?” you teased back. “At the tender age of ten?”
“And when did you lose your professionalism?” he shot back, staring straight ahead.
Your tongue gave a gentle cluck against the roof of your mouth, tsk-ing softly as you shook your head at him. “Poor young Ray,” you replied. “Or are you just jealous of the dog? Because if you'd like to sit on your knees for me, Raymond, I'll call you a good boy, too.”
The corner of his lip twitched to the side twice before you caught the way he blinked a little harder than usual behind his glasses. He uncrossed his arms, shifting on his dark brown Oxfords, before clasping his hands in front of himself. The corner of your own lips slowly drew back into a pleased grin, because Ray always visibly reacted whenever you blatantly flirted with him. While you found him attractive, he'd always verbally expressed his disinterest, but his body language often seemed to claim otherwise.
“Don't.”
“Don't be such a prude crumpet,” you chastised. “I'm just trying to get you to loosen up. You're always so tense. You're allowed to laugh, Ray. I hear it's actually good for your health. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“And maybe Pearson should send you back to the States,” he quipped. His head turned marginally towards you but his body remained facing the stairs. “Back to your father. I think you've served more than your purpose here.”
The teasing smile vanished from your lips right before a cold chill crept up your spine. Always observant, Raymond's head tipped slightly to the side, his piercing eyes narrowing minutely behind his lenses. He knew the mention of your father always caused a shift in your demeanor, it was something he'd picked up on awhile ago. Whenever you really got on his nerves he'd mention him, aware that it would effectively shut you up even if he didn't understand why it did.
But he never pushed to ask the questions you could see dancing behind his eyes. Neither of you had ever done more than scratch the surface getting to know each other. You were just business partners who worked for Pearson, nothing more. You didn't need to know Ray any deeper even if you continually found yourself trying to push him a little past his boundaries.
Admittedly it was because you were envious of him. He lived his life here as Mickey's trusted right hand. He had money and luxury at his disposal, and an employer who genuinely cared about his well-being, yet he squandered all of it for the sake of remaining the tightly buttoned-up gentleman single-mindedly focused on work. You would have given anything for the type of freedom he held, a freedom you would never know.
You would always spend your life underneath your father's thumb. The daughter he didn't want, the one he'd spent his time and countless resources turning into a useful tool for his business, a blade that was an extension of his hand–merely a weapon to be dispatched. If you placed one single toe out of line or dismissed a single order, you'd cease to matter to him. You'd end up another tragic suicide story all over the news stations just like your mother had been when you were eight.
Which was why you spoke so freely ever since you'd been sent to England to help Pearson. You enjoyed the nightlife, saw the sights, explored every crevice of the cities with a wonder that bordered on childlike. You were currently on an indefinite “loan” to Pearson as a way to grow relations between your father's business and Mickey's, and it had been the closest to living your life that you'd ever been allowed, so you'd chosen not to let Raymond's insults dissuade you from it.
“Please tell me mom and dad aren't fighting again.”
At the booming, amused voice of Pearson, your attention snapped towards the massive staircase. You watched him descend the steps in his crisp suit with a broad grin on his face, but you could still feel Raymond's gaze probing at the side of your face as if he was trying to unravel all of your secrets. Forcing a smile onto your lips, you looked up at Mickey, trying to shove aside the inevitable truth that eventually you would have to return to your father's side.
“It only means you get more presents at Christmas if we split,” you joked to Pearson. “And personally, I think a holiday in Miami sounds more exciting than a cold ass winter in London with an uptight, surly baguette.”
Pearson chuckled at your usual playful insult at Raymond's expense, the delighted sound filling the foyer and brightening your mood. At least you weren't going home any time soon, and you vastly preferred Pearson's company to your father's.
“C'mon,” Pearson ordered, tipping his head towards the main doors as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now that this is all sorted, I have a man I need you two to meet with for me.”
Raymond spun gracefully on his heels, casually falling into step after Mickey. You quietly fell into step beside him, ignoring how the scent of his expensive cologne enveloped you in its warmth and made your chest tighten. But you did make the mistake of glancing sideways at Ray only to discover that he was still studying you closely from the corner of his eye.
His lips had thinned out along his face, and the expression he wore told you that it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd once again called him a surly baguette and everything to do with the things you never said aloud. What was even more unsettling than his stare though was the temptation growing inside of you like a caged animal desperate to claw its way out and answer all of his unasked questions. Something that was desperate to finally see the light of day.
But that was a beast that remained under lock and key.
