Hello! I saw that you write for langdon!! If you're taking requests could I ask for one where his partner comes to the ER, because of a burn or cut or something and she's not told him she's there so she waits until she's called cause she doesn't want special treatment and he's just concerned and wants to take care of her, pls ignore if you're not taking requests!! Love your work 💛
special treatment
pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: established relationship, blood, stitching, i am no doctor so i apologize for any mistakes :)
a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope you like it, lovely :) my inbox is always open for langdon requests btw <3
You push the toe of your sneaker against the floor, back and forth, back and forth, watching the rubber squeak against the scuffed linoleum. It gives you something to do besides think about the hot throb in your hand, or the way your whole arm aches right up to the elbow.
The man next to you groans again, shifting in his chair. You try not to look at him. Try not to think about how you’ve been both just sitting here for hours.
You’re so tired. The kind of tired that makes your eyes sting and your thoughts go slow and syrupy. And the pain is worse now than when it happened.
You lift the edge of the bandage with your good hand, just a peek, and immediately wish you hadn’t. The gash is red, very red, maybe even too red. You drop the bandage quick, swallowing hard.
You shift in the hard plastic chair, trying to find an angle that doesn’t pull at the wound. But every tiny movement hurts and you can’t help the hiss that escapes through your teeth. You curl your hand against your stomach, hold it still, try to breathe through it.
All this because you wanted orange juice.
It’s almost funny in a stupid way. You’d been tired then too, stumbling around your kitchen at 8am, fumbling with the carton. The glass slipped right through your fingers. And when you bent down to pick up the pieces, because you’re not the kind of person who leaves broken glass on the floor, your palm found the sharpest piece of glass there was on the floor.
You could’ve gone anywhere. The urgent care across town, the little clinic near your apartment. But your boyfriend works here. And even though you know he’d want you to come find him, even though you know Dr. Robby would probably wave you straight back if Langdon just asked, you couldn’t do that.
Special treatment. You hate the thought of it. Hate the idea of people looking at you and whispering, oh, that’s his girlfriend, that’s why she got seen so fast. So instead you’ve been sitting here for two hours, watching the clock above the admissions desk tick so slow you’d think it was broken, watching the same people walk past with clipboards and coffee cups.
You know how bad the wait times are here. You’ve heard Langdon complain about it plenty. You know. And still, you sat down and waited. Your eyelids are heavy. You catch yourself nodding forward and jerk awake. The man next to you groans again. The fluorescent lights buzz.
But then you suddenly hear your name being called.
You blink, disoriented, like you’d been deeper in sleep than you realized. Relief washes through you as you clutch your makeshift bandage and push yourself to your feet.
The man next to you doesn’t look up. You give him a small smile anyway. Sorry for cutting in line and I hope you get seen soon.
When you reach the desk, Lupe is watching you from behind her glass. Her eyebrows are already up, perched high on her forehead. She knows you, seen you loitering near the exit waiting for Langdon to finish his shift.
“How long have you been waiting, honey?” Her eyes swept over your tired face, the clumsy bandage, the way you’re holding your arm so carefully.
“Not long.” You smile. It feels thin on your face.
Lupe gives you a look. She knows you’re lying. You can see it in the slight downturn of her mouth, the way her gaze flicks to the clock and then back to you. But she just looks down at her papers, shuffling them into neat alignment.
You hesitate, you're not sure if Langdon's working triage today, but still you'd prefer to be treated by any other doctor than him, not wanting to concern him. And you hear yourself speak before you can stop.
“Uh, could I—” You cut yourself off, but Lupe is already looking at you, waiting. Your face warms. “Never mind. It’s fine.”
“Dr. McKay will take care of you.” She nods at you as if knowing what you were going to ask.
You exhale. “Thank you.”
When you turn, Dr. McKay is already there, standing in the doorway of the treatment area with a warm smile. She lifts her hand in a small wave and you smile back, and it feels a little less thin this time.
Cassie was always kind to you. So when she smiles at you now, it's like a small weight lifts off your chest. Her hand finds the space between your shoulder blades, guiding you away from the noisy waiting room and down the hallway.
The treatment room is small and quiet. So quiet. You let out a relieved sigh.
"Loud, isn't it?" Cassie says, already pulling on gloves, smiling at you.
You nod, sinking onto the edge of the exam bed. The paper crinkles beneath you. "So loud."
She settles onto the rolling stool across from you, knees bumping gently against yours as she scoots in. She holds her hand out, palm up, and you place your injured one in it.
"Now," she says, tilting her head, "what happened to you?"
You open your mouth to answer, but then her fingers are very gently turning your hand over, resting it on your thigh so she can get a better look. The shift in angle pulls at the wound and you can't help the hiss that escapes.
Her eyes flick up to yours, apologetic. "Sorry, sorry." She lifts the edge of your sad little bandage, peeling back the tape bit by bit. When she sees what's underneath, she sucks air through her teeth. "Oh, ouch."
You grimace. "Yeah. It's—"
The door opens.
"—worse than it looks, actually," Cassie finishes for you, not looking up, because she's still peering at your palm.
"Hey, McKay, there's a—" Frank stops talking.
You watch his face cycle through about four different expressions in two seconds. Confusion first, eyebrows drawing together like he's walked into the wrong room. Then recognition. Then his eyes drop to your hand, cradled in Cassie's gloved fingers and the blood. Then it settles into something deliberately neutral.
Cassie's head has turned. She's looking between the two of you, her "oops" face already in place, clearly realizing Langdon did not know you were here.
"Crap," you mutter.
Frank is still holding the door open. He's not moving. Not coming closer, not stepping out. Just standing there, one hand on the frame and his gaze hasn't left your hand.
For a beat, nobody speaks.
Then Cassie clears her throat. "I should, um." She's already peeling off her gloves, already scooting her stool back. "I'll go check on that thing. The thing I was going to check on. Before I came here." She's standing now, edging toward the door.
Frank doesn't move to let her out. Doesn't seem to register her at all.
"Sorry," Cassie murmurs to you, and there's genuine apology in her voice beneath the sly curve of her mouth. She shoots Frank a look on her way past go easy on her and slips through the narrow gap between him and the doorframe.
The door clicks shut. And then it's just you and Frank.
For a moment he just stands there, hand still on the handle, looking at you. Then he takes Cassie's abandoned stool, rolls it close. His knees bracket yours. His fingers find your wrist gently, turning your hand over, tilting it toward the light. You watch his face as he studies your palm.
"What happened?" His voice is quiet. He lifts his gaze to yours and something in his expression softens like it always does when he sees you.
And when you meet his blue eyes, you suddenly realize how much you'd missed him.
You'd seen him three hours ago but still. You'd only gotten a glimpse of him in the early grey light. His early shifts eat up the best hours of the day, swallow him whole before the sun's even thought about rising. In the beginning you used to fight it. Set your own alarm, drag yourself upright, shuffle to the door to kiss him goodbye.
But after a while your body stopped cooperating. The alarm would go off and you'd burrow deeper into the blankets instead, surfacing just enough to feel the mattress shift as he stood up.
So, he started waking up ten minutes earlier just so you could have those ten minutes together. You'd lie there in the dark, your head on his sternum, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear. Talking sleepily about what you should eat tonight, if he was getting home early, what plans you had for his day off.
He'd, then, kiss your temple, untangle himself. You'd hear him in the bathroom and you'd drift. But you always woke again when the mattress dipped. He'd come back to the bedside, dressed, and face-plant into the curve of your neck. His breath warm against your skin, his body heavy. You'd lift your hand, stroke the back of his head, careful not to mess the hair he'd just spent five minutes gelling. Go to work, you'd murmur. And he'd groan, press one more kiss to your temple, and finally go.
Three hours ago he did all of that. Three hours ago his mouth was against your skin and his hand was in yours and now here you are, sitting on an exam bed in his hospital, bleeding into your lap.
You miss him. It's stupid, he's right here, his fingers circling your wrist, his knee warm against yours, but you miss him. The feeling sits heavy in your chest.
You sigh, and it comes out shaky. "Dropped orange juice," you mumble. "Tried to pick it up."
Your free hand lifts and your fingers find his hair, the strand that's come loose and you tuck it back. It's softer than the gelled parts. You let your hand linger.
Frank stares at you for a beat too long, his thumb still resting against the inside of your wrist. Then his gaze drops back to your hand.
"Does it hurt much?" His voice is like he's asking any patient, like he hasn't spent countless mornings with his face buried in your neck.
"No, it's not that—ouch, what the hell, Frank?"
You practically yelp, snatching your hand back on instinct. He'd pressed right at the edge of the wound.
His jaw is set, but there's something flickering at the corner of his mouth. "That's for lying."
"You—" You glare at him, fully aware that you look more pained than intimidating. "I wasn't lying, I said it's not that bad—"
His touch gentles immediately, fingers careful now as he turns your hand back over. He didn't mean to actually hurt you, you can see it in the way his brow pinches, the way his hold softens. But he's not apologizing, either. You keep glaring for another moment, then sigh, the fight draining out of you.
"Fine," you mutter. "Work your magic or whatever."
He releases your wrist long enough to stand, crossing to the supply cabinet. Your sad little bandage goes in the bin. He gathers what he needs and arranges them on the tray beside you.
"Why'd you wait?" He doesn't look at you when he asks.
You shrug with one shoulder. "Didn't want special treatment."
Frank's head turns. He gives you a look. The one that says are you serious?
"You were bleeding for two hours." His voice is quiet. He's making an effort to stay calm. "That could easily count as an emergency. 'Special treatment' doesn't matter."
He's mad. You appreciate the effort he's making to stay gentle. You also know you upset him, deeper than either of you are saying.
"I wasn't bleeding for two hours, Frank." You can hear how petulant you sound. You don't care. He looks up from the tray. "I had a bandage on!" You can feel your lower lip pushing out. Actually pouting, like a child, and you can't seem to stop. "A perfectly functional bandage."
"A bad one."
"You barely saw it. Cassie already took it off when you came in."
"I know you well enough to know it was bad."
That shuts you up and you look away. He pulls on fresh gloves and the sound of the latex snapping against his wrists is loud in the small room. He takes your hand again carefully, and positions the tray closer.
"Ready?" His voice is softer now.
You nod. The saline stings as it runs over the wound, and you hiss through your teeth. You can't see what he's doing, your view is blocked by his head, but you can feel it. Your eyes start to sting.
"Almost got it," he murmurs, not looking up. You don't answer. Your throat is tight. "Grip my arm."
He doesn't need to tell you twice. Your free hand finds his bicep, fingers digging into the fabric of his scrubs.
When he's done stitching, he snips the thread, discards needles, bloody gauze all vanishes into the red bin. His gloves come off with a loud snap, and then he's just standing there in front of you, hands empty, looking down at his work.
It's neat. You can see that much. Six tiny sutures, precise and even. He's good at this. "You okay?"
You shake your head. "No."
He exhales slowly, and then his arms are opening, just slightly. You fall into him. Your knees part wider and he steps into the space between, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through his scrubs. Your one good hand grips the back of his shirt. The other lies bandaged and useless against his chest. He wraps his arms around you properly, one hand spanning your shoulder blades, the other settling at your waist. You press your face into the curve of his neck and close your eyes.
"I didn't mean to upset you." Your voice is muffled against his skin.
His hand moves in slow circles on your back. "You didn't."
"I did." You pull back just enough to look at him. "You're upset. I can tell."
He doesn't deny it. His jaw shifts, that tell he can never quite hide. His hands come up to frame your face, thumbs brushing the curve of your cheekbones. He looks at you for a long moment.
"You know I worked my ass off to become a doctor." His voice is quiet. "The special treatment should be used."
You sigh, and it's mostly fond. "Come on, Frank. It's not fair to other people."
He opens his mouth, but you keep going.
"I saw a teenage boy in the waiting room. His ankle was the most purple color I've ever seen in my life. Like, eggplant purple." You shake your head slightly, his hands moving with you. "How is it fair that I just skip past him because my boyfriend works here?"
Frank's jaw does that thing again. He fixes a strand of hair behind your ear, tucks it gently, his fingers lingering. He doesn't say anything, but you can see him turning it over, weighing your words against his own stubborn concern.
"My point stands," he finally says softly. "Next time you come here immediately. Got it?"
You don't reply. He gives you a look and you give him a look right back. He makes a mental note. You can practically see him filing it away under Conversations To Have At Home, right next to Why She Doesn't Eat Enough At Work and The Thing About Leaving Wet Towels On The Floor.
But for now, he lets it go.
His hands are still framing your face and he smooths your hair again, tucking another stray piece behind your ear. His fingers trail down, adjusting the collar of your shirt, straightening it.
"When you get home," he says, his voice settling into doctor mode, "keep the bandage dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can shower normally, just don't soak it." You nod. "The sutures need to stay clean. Watch for redness, swelling, any drainage." His thumb brushes your jaw. "If it starts looking angry, you come back. No waiting."
"I won't wait."
He pauses. Looks at you. "No waiting."
"...I won't wait."
He doesn't look convinced. But his hands drop to your shoulders, squeeze once, and then he's reaching for the aftercare sheet on the counter, scanning it. His other hand finds yours, holds it carefully, the uninjured one.
"Elevate it when you sleep," he murmurs, still reading. "Pillow under your arm. And take the ibuprofen before the lidocaine wears off, not after."
"Frank." He looks up. "I'll be fine."
After a while, your head drops against his chest, right over his heart. Your fingers find the edge of your new bandage, toying with the tape, pressing gently to see if it still hurts. It does, but less now. Clean and closed and taken care of.
"How's work going, by the way?" You tilt your head up to look at him, chin pressing against his chest. Your smile feels easier now, the tension finally bleeding out of your shoulders.
Frank glances down at you, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. "Oh, you know. Much better ever since my girlfriend showed up with a bloody hand."
You poke his chest with your good hand. "Very funny."
"Not trying to be funny." His voice is dry, but his eyes are warm. "Really brightened my shift. Nothing like a little relationship crisis to break up the monotony."
"Relationship crisis." You snort. "Is that what this is?"
He considers it. "Minor relationship crisis then." His thumb finds the back of your head, threading through your hair. You shove at his chest, but you're smiling now, and so is he.
The silence stretches again and his hand keeps moving in your hair. Slow strokes from your scalp to the ends, over and over.
To be honest, Frank is quite happy to have you here. Happier than he expected. He's missed you. More than he guessed.
Usually it doesn't hit him until later. Until he's finally walking through the front door after twelve hours. Until he sees you on the couch in your pajamas, some show paused on the screen, your face lighting up when you notice him. You always jump up, always wrap your arms around him like it's been weeks instead of just a day. And he holds on too long, probably, his face pressed into your hair, his arms locked around your waist. He gets clingy after long shifts. Terribly clingy. You tease him about it sometimes, but you never pull away.
That's when it usually hits him. How long the hours really are. How much of the day he spends without you.
But now you're here. Right here, in his hospital, with your head on his chest and your breath warm through his scrub top. And all he can think is that this shift, this shift that was already shaping up to be chaotic, already had him running from room to room, is about to become the longest shift of his life. Because now he'll get to wonder if your hand hurts. Wonder if you're eating enough. Wonder if you'll still be awake when he finally gets home.
He sighs and keeps brushing through your hair. His fingers catch on a small tangle and work through it carefully.
"Do you think it'll be a long day today?" Your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to. It's your day off, the whole empty apartment waiting for you, the whole afternoon stretching ahead. You'd been hoping, maybe, for something else.
He's quiet for a moment. His fingers still in your hair. "No," he says. "I don't think so."Something loosens in your chest. "I'll get dinner on the way home, okay?" He says it casual, like of course he'll be home at a reasonable hour, of course you'll eat together. "And please don't touch any more dishes today." He pauses. "Or anything made of glass, actually. Just to be safe."
He's grinning now, that particular slant of his mouth that means he's very pleased with his own joke. You shoot him a look. It doesn't land.
"Fine," you sigh. "But you're doing dishes for a week."
"I'll clear my schedule."
You shake your head, but you're fighting a smile. His thumb is drawing slow circles on your scalp now, and you could honestly fall asleep like this, right here, with your head on his chest and his heartbeat under your ear.
But you shouldn't. He has patients. He has work. You're taking up his time, his attention, his hands that should be on someone who actually needs a doctor—
"I should let you get back to work." You start to pull away, shifting your weight off the bed.
"Uh uh." His hand on your shoulder, easing you back down. "Nope."
You blink at him. "Frank—"
"We're going to the cafeteria." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. His palm is already open, waiting for yours. "We're making you eat something so you don't get dizzy from blood loss. Then I'm calling you a cab. Got it?"
You open your mouth and close it. He's watching you with that particular expression, the one that says I'm not asking. You've learned your boyfriend's antics well enough by now. A year of him looking at you exactly like this until you sigh and give in.
And you sigh and give in.
Once you had more than enough food in you, it was time to go back home. At the entrance of the hospital, Frank hesitates, his hand hovering over his phone. He has been thinking about driving you home himself, about having a few more moments together before the long hours of his shift swallows him again, but he knows you’d argue with him if he tried. With a reluctant sigh, he taps the cab app and summons a car. Leaning back against the wall, he gestures for you to stay close, and you do, yawning and pressing lightly against him as you fiddle with your bandage.
“Careful with that,” he mutters for the third time, snatching your hand gently from your bandage. You sigh and he just shakes his head, brushing the hair out of your face instead, letting his hand linger there as you waited.
Frank exhales slowly, feeling the warmth of your body next to his. It was the kind of warmth that made him painfully aware he wouldn’t see you for another seven hours.
You look up at him and smile softly. “Thanks for taking care of me, by the way.”
“No need to thank me,” Frank smiles softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your cheek. “Next time, you visit me without a bloody hand, yeah?”
“Will do,” you murmur, smiling back. You glance down at the street just as the cab pulls up, then back at him. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you say softly. “I’ll see you at home.”
Frank nods, reaching out to cup your hand gently, inspecting the wrapping one last time. “I’ll try to be home as soon as I can. Be careful, please,” he murmurs.
Instinctively, you lean in to kiss him, your good hand sliding up toward the back of his neck. Out of habit, you try to tug him down to you, the way you always do, but you forget about your other hand. The bandaged one presses a little too firmly against the side of his neck as you reach, and a small groan escapes before you could stop it.
Frank reacts instantly. “Hey—” His hands are already gently lifting your injured hand away from him. His brows pull together, concern flashing across his face as he cradles your wrist carefully. “Easy.”
He turns your hand over in his, brushing his thumb lightly across the inside of your palm. “Let me do the work, yeah?” he murmurs softly.
This time, he steps closer instead of letting you strain toward him. One hand slides to your jaw,the other still loosely holding your wrist so you wouldn’t forget and reach again. He leans down slowly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. His mouth moves softly against yours and for a second you forget about the throbbing in your hand, forgot about the shift waiting to swallow him whole.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead brushes yours, his nose grazing lightly against your cheek. “See?” he murmurs quietly. “Much safer.” You huff out a quiet laugh.
He studies your face for another second, before finally straightening just enough to look at you properly. A teasing glint returns to his eyes.“No dishes tonight, yeah?” he says, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “No cleaning. No heroic attempts at doing anything one-handed.”
You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “Yes, doctor.”
He shakes his head lightly, thumb brushing once more over the inside of your wrist before finally letting you go — reluctantly.
SUMMARY: Dealing with the fallout of a mass casualty is intense enough as it is. But, when a disgruntled patient fires at you, the department has to fight desperately to keep you alive even in the midst of chaos.
NOTES: Pittfest-based, accidental shooting, GSW and blood, medical settings (ICU), angst, established relationship.
REQUESTED BY: @maxinebxrnes
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The sirens outside the Pitt had long since ceased to sound like individual vehicles, blending instead into a continuous, howling wall of noise that vibrated through the very soles of your sneakers. It was just past seven in the evening, but the concept of time had completely fractured three hours earlier when the first alerts of a mass shooting at Pittfest started flashing across the emergency department monitors.
The hospital wasn't just overrun. It was drowning in a deluge of torn flesh, muddy festival gear, and the raw, piercing panic of the young and the terrified.
You had been moving on pure adrenaline, your nursing scrubs already stained with a patchwork of fluids from half a dozen different patients, your hands working in a flawless, unspoken synchronicity with Frank. That was the thing about the two of you, even in the middle of a literal war zone, with the entire department tearing itself apart at the seams, Frank Langdon was your anchor. An established rhythm existed between you.
Right now, that rhythm was being tested to its absolute limit on a patient crammed into the makeshift overflow area near the ambulance bay. The man on the gurney was large, aggressive, and reeked of cheap bourbon and woodsmoke, his upper thigh torn open by a jagged piece of shrapnel or a ricochet from the festival grounds. He was thrashing, his eyes rolling back in his head as he roared obscenities, fighting the very hands trying to save his life.
Frank was leaning over him, his broad shoulders tensed as he applied heavy, two-handed pressure to the femoral artery, his face a mask of fierce, locked-in concentration. You were positioned just opposite him, your fingers deftly trying to establish a secondary IV in the man’s uninjured arm while the chaos of the ER swirled madly around you.
Just a few feet away, Dr. Abbot was shouting orders, his voice cracked with exhaustion as he directed a trauma team toward a crashing teenager. Dana was somewhere down the corridor, her authoritative tone echoing as she managed the triage nightmare at the front doors. Everyone was stretched to their absolute breaking point, operating on instinct and sheer willpower.
"I need that line running now!" Frank barked, not out of anger toward you, but to be heard over the deafening noise of a nearby heart monitor screaming and the desperate sobbing of a girl two bays down. "He's losing his pressure. We don't have time for him to be fighting us."
You nodded quickly, your voice calm and steady as you spoke to the thrashing man. You told him he was safe, told him that he was at the hospital and that Frank was going to fix his leg, but the words didn't seem to penetrate the thick fog of his intoxication and terror. The man gave a sudden, violent heave, his free arm flailing out wildly. His fingers clawed frantically at the heavy tactical waistband of his cargo trousers, diving beneath the blood-stained fabric of his shirt.
It happened in a terrifying, fragmented blur that defied the frantic speed of the room. You saw the dark glint of steel before your brain fully processed what it was, a compact handgun snagging on his belt as he yanked it free in a blind, paranoid reflex.
"Gun! He’s got a gun!" someone screamed from the corridor. It sounded like Robby, his voice cracking with a raw, primal panic that instantly silenced the immediate vicinity.
Time seemed to violently liquefy. Frank’s eyes widened, a sudden, horrifying comprehension dawning on his features as he instantly let go of the wound, lunging across the gurney in a desperate, instinctive attempt to smother the weapon or shield you. The patient fired blindly into the air, the deafening roar of the gunshot exploding inside the enclosed space, shattering a nearby fluorescent light fixture in a shower of sparks and white dust.
From down the hall, the immediate, instinctual response was instantaneous; voices shouted to get down, and a chorus of bodies hit the linoleum floor as medical staff and ambulatory patients dropped to seek whatever cover the flimsy privacy curtains and stainless-steel carts could provide.
But the man’s wrist snapped sideways as he recoiled, the weapon discharging a second time before Frank could pin his arm to the mattress.
There was no grand explosion of pain, just a sudden, violent impact against your ribs that felt like being struck full-force by a swinging baseball bat, knocking the breath entirely out of your lungs. The momentum threw you backward, your feet tangling in the stool behind you, and you went down hard against the cold, hard floor, the bag of saline you had been holding bursting against the metal leg of the gurney.
For a second, the world went completely silent, the ringing in your ears drowning out the screams, the shouting, and the heavy thud of security guards finally tackling the gunman to the ground just inches away from where you lay. You stared up at the cracked ceiling tiles, wondering vaguely why the air felt so thick, why it was suddenly so incredibly difficult to draw a single breath.
Then the silence shattered, and the world rushed back in with a terrifying, agonizing roar. Frank was on his knees beside you before you could even register that you were on the floor, his hands trembling in a way you had never seen before as they hovered over your chest. His face was entirely drained of colour, his lips parted in a silent gasp of horror that quickly transformed into a frantic, breathless plea. "No, no, no, please, God, no," he muttered, his voice stripped of all its usual authority, sounding entirely small and broken.
His palms came down hard against the left side of your upper abdomen, just beneath your ribs, and the sudden, searing agony that ripped through your torso made your back arch off the floor, a choked, ragged scream tearing from your throat. The fabric of your scrubs was already turning a deep, heavy crimson, the warmth of your own blood soaking through his fingers as he pressed down with everything he had.
The immediate area exploded into a frenzied, chaotic scrum of activity, but this time, the emergency was you. Robby was there in an instant, his face pale and eyes wide with shock as he dropped to his knees on your other side, "I’ve got the back, Frank, I’ve got the exit wound, keep pressing!" Robby yelled, his voice shaking as he tried to stabilize your writhing frame.
Jack appeared above you, his authoritative calm momentarily cracking as he took in the sight of one of his own nurses bleeding out on the floor. "Get a gurney over here now! Someone get me a chest tube tray and two units of O-negative!" Jack roared, his commands snapping the stunned onlookers into motion.
Samira was right behind him, her hands steady despite the visible tremor in her jaw as she ripped open a pack of trauma dressings, quickly tucking them under Frank’s straining hands. Dana was on the radio, her voice cutting through the hospital page with a sharp, trembling urgency, calling for an immediate surgical consult and clearing a path straight to the operating theatres.
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, shallow gasp and the sound of it seemed to fracture something deep within him. "Stay with me, do you hear me? Look at me, sweetheart," he begged, leaning down so close that his sweat-dampened hair brushed against your forehead. His eyes were wild, swimming with tears that he refused to let fall. "Don't you dare close your eyes. You breathe for me, come on, just keep breathing."
The vulnerability in his voice was terrifying; this was a man who stared down death every single day without flinching, but looking at you, he looked utterly defeated, stripped entirely of his medical armor.
With a coordinated heave, Frank, Robby, and Jack lifted you off the blood-slicked floor and onto a clearing gurney, the sudden movement causing the agony in your chest to flare into a blinding, white-hot sheet of pain that threatened to turn the world completely black.
You gasped, your fingers clawing blindly at the air, and Frank instantly caught your hand in his own, his grip incredibly tight, almost crushing, yet it was the most comforting thing you had ever felt. He didn't let go, not even as Jack began cutting away the remnants of your ruined scrubs, exposing the neat, horrific puncture wound where the bullet had torn through your muscle and bone.
“Shit, this doesn’t sound good," Jack muttered, his stethoscope pressed firmly against your skin, his expression grim. "Dr. Mohan, give me that scalpel, we need to drop a tube now before they arrest."
"Frank," you whimpered, the word barely a whisper, your vision beginning to tunnel, the bright fluorescent lights of the ER fading into a hazy, shimmering blur.
"I'm right here, I’m not leaving you, I swear to God I’m right here," Frank cried, his voice breaking completely as he used his free hand to wipe the blood from your lip, his thumb caressing your cheek. He looked up at Jack, his eyes blazing with a mixture of terror and fury. "Do it fast, Jack, please, just do it fast."
You felt the sharp, sudden sting of the local anesthetic, followed almost immediately by the heavy, suffocating pressure of the chest tube being inserted between your ribs. It was an invasive, brutal sensation, a choked sob tearing from your throat as you tried to pull away from the pain.
Frank held you steady, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you pinned to the mattress, his face pressed against the side of your neck as he whispered frantic, broken promises into your skin. "You're okay, you're doing so well, just hold onto me, sweetheart. I've got you."
As the tube found its mark, a dark, heavy rush of blood and trapped air hissed into the collection chamber, and suddenly, a massive, cooling relief washed through your lungs. You could breathe again, the suffocating weight lifted from your chest, even as the profound exhaustion of blood loss began to pull you down into the dark.
The gurney was suddenly in motion, rattling violently as it was pushed out of the trauma bay and down the long corridor toward the elevators. Dana was there at the doors, holding them open, her face pale as she reached out to briefly touch your leg, her voice fierce as she looked at the surgical team waiting for you. "Take care of them," she ordered, her tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
Frank walked alongside the moving bed, his hand still locked in yours, his eyes on you, his thumb tracing endless, soothing circles against the back of your hand.
When they finally reached the double doors of the surgical suite, the anesthesia resident stepped in front of him, gently but firmly placing a hand on Frank's chest. "Frank, you need to stay here. We've got them, we're going to take care of them, I promise."
Frank stopped, his sneakers skidding slightly on the polished floor, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to push past the man. He looked down at you, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a profound, terrifying helplessness, his grip loosening only when the momentum of the gurney forced your fingers to slide apart.
"I'll be right here," he called out, his voice echoing down the sterile hallway as the heavy doors began to swing shut, separating you from his sight. "Right here when you wake up. I love you, do you hear me? I love you!"
As the darkness finally took you, the smell of antiseptic and the bright, shadowless lights of the operating room fading into nothingness, the last thing you felt was the lingering warmth of his hand against your skin, and the steady, unbreakable promise of his voice.
Everything felt incredibly heavy, as though your limbs had been poured full of wet sand, and your throat was dry and parched, tasting of stale plastic from the oxygen cannula resting beneath your nose. For a long moment, you simply drifted in that twilight space, aware of a dull, throbbing ache radiating across the entire left side of your chest, a deep-seated soreness that flared into a sharp pinch every time you tried to take a deep breath.
But beneath that pain, and the overwhelming exhaustion pulling at your eyelids, there was a profound, grounding warmth enveloping your right hand.
Slowly, with an effort that felt almost monumental, you forced your eyes open. The harsh, chaotic glare of the emergency department was gone, replaced by the soft, dimmed shadows of a private recovery room in the intensive care unit. The blinds were drawn against the morning light, casting long, quiet bars of grey across the linoleum floor. And sitting right beside your mattress, his frame uncomfortably curled into a stiff hospital armchair, was Frank.
He looked entirely shattered. He was still wearing his scrub trousers, though he had swapped his blood-stained top for a faded, oversized grey university sweatshirt that looked as though it had been pulled from the bottom of his locker. His elbows were resting on the edge of your mattress, his face buried in the crook of his arm, his fingers tightly, desperately interlaced with yours.
As you shifted your weight slightly, trying to ease the pressure on your chest tube site, a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. The sound was barely audible, but it acted like an electric shock to Frank. His head snapped up instantly, his eyes bloodshot, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath them. For a fraction of a second, his expression was blank with a raw, lingering terror, but as his gaze focused on your open eyes, his face cracked, a look of profound, overwhelming relief washing over his features.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick and hoarse, rough from hours of silence and unshed tears. He shifted instantly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your chest ache for reasons completely unrelated to the bullet wound. "Hey, beautiful. Don't try to move too much, alright? You're okay. You're safe."
"Frank," you croaked, the word catching in your throat, sounding small and entirely broken.
"I'm here. I'm right here," he murmured, his touch lingering against your skin as if he needed the physical contact to completely convince himself that you were truly alive. He reached for a small plastic cup on the bedside table, dipping a pink foam swab into some ice water before gently pressing it against your cracked lips. "Just a little bit, sweetheart. Your throat's going to be sore from the ventilator, just let it sit there."
The cool moisture was an absolute blessing, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the relief wash over you. When you opened them again, you looked down at the heavy, white dressings taping the chest tube firmly to your ribs. The memory of the gunshot, the sudden, violent impact, and the terrifying sight of Frank kneeling over you in a pool of your own blood came rushing back with a vividness that caused your heart rate to spike on the monitor.
Frank noticed the rhythmic acceleration of the beeping instantly. "Hey, look at me, honey," he commanded softly, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "The guy's gone. Security took him down, police have him. The hospital is secure. You are out of danger, I promise you."
"You... you look terrible," you managed to whisper, a faint, weak attempt at a smile touching the corners of your lips.
A ragged, wet laugh spilled from his chest, his shoulders dropping as he leaned his forehead gently against your shoulder, his breathing heavy and uneven. "I have never been so terrified in my entire life," he confessed into the fabric of your hospital gown, his voice trembling in a way that made your throat tighten. "I’ve seen a lot of things in that department. A lot of blood, a lot of close calls. But when you went down... when I saw what that bastard did... I froze. My brain just stopped working because the only thing that mattered was that it was you."
You squeezed his hand back with what little strength you had, your heart swelling at the raw vulnerability in his tone. "You didn't freeze," you murmured softly. "You caught me. You held me."
"Because I couldn't let you go," he said, pulling back to look down at you, a single tear finally escaping and tracking down the rugged line of his jaw. "Robby, Jack, Samira... they all practically had to drag me out of the operating theatre doors. Dana sat with me in the hallway for four hours while you were under. She kept telling me to go home, to wash the blood off my clothes, but I couldn't leave this building knowing you were in there. Collins kept checking the surgical log every fifteen minutes just to give me updates. Everyone's been by, sweetheart. They’re all terrified for you, but they're all waiting to see you."
"Tell them thank you," you whispered, the exhaustion beginning to pull at your consciousness again, your eyelids growing heavier by the second as the hospital pain medication kept you drifting.
"I will. I'll tell them all," Frank murmured. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "You just rest now. I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up again, and I’ll be here when we finally get to go home. I love you so much."
As the darkness drifted back in to claim you, softer this time, devoid of the terror and the pain of the ER, you let yourself sink into the mattress, completely enveloped by the steady, protective warmth of his presence and the quiet, reassuring beat of his heart right beside you.
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ you don't do hook ups at all, but what happens when you catch rafe's eye, your long time crush and well-known fuckboy, at a frat party?
i love it when we make up
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ rafe doesn't want to admit he wants more than casual, he'd rather argue with you and make up after instead
can you stay up all night?
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ on a gloomy november day, you convince rafe to ditch his meeting to watch a movie together, but things quickly escalate as he teaches you some new things
i am the only for sure (in progress)
downbad!sub!rafe x stripper!reader
loverboy
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ rafe is still a virgin at 19, feeling pressure from his friends, he decides to go to a strip club. he walks in as you're performing and is immediately obsessed, but he can't leave without making sure he'll see you again
don't know how to act
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ stripper!reader's first day as rafe's paid girlfriend
eyes on me
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ based on this ask || reader finally accepts to go to one of rafe's frat parties and both draw a lot more attention than they thought they would
drummer!rafe x vocalist!reader
fuck off, i’m with the band !
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ rafe can't handle another man looking at you so he fucks you in a bathroom
mean!rafe x ditzy!bimbo!reader
my dirty little secret (in progress)
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ based on this ask || rafe can’t stop fucking you even when you’re both in relationships
grumpy!rafe x sweetheart!reader
something so sweet (in progress)
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ the boyfriend of the sweetest girl you’ll ever meet
pornstar!rafe x pornstar!reader
nerd!rafe x reader
actor!drew x actress!reader
drew’s replies to reader’s instagram stories (in progress)
downbad!sub!rafe x stripper!reader ⁀➴ pt1, pt2, pt3
summary: rafe is still a virgin at 19, feeling pressure from his friends, he decides to go to a strip club. he walks in as you're performing and is immediately obsessed, but he can't leave without making sure he'll see you again
warnings: 18+, mdni, fem reader, smut, swearing, strip club, heavy petting, dirty talk, slight age gap (19-22), grinding, rafe cums in his pants, nicknames (mommy, baby, sweetie, cutie), rough kissing, virgin rafe, experienced reader, reader has a soft spot for rafe, stripper au
a/n: the whole series is pretty much inspired by the movie anora !!
words: 1.1k
𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔…
𑣲𝄞 rules - doja cat
you've been working at the club for three years already. it might seem glamorous on the outside, but it's so extremely exhausting. having to start your life at night every single day is awful, and there's mostly just creepy old men. atleast you get a decent salary though, your teenage years of gymnastics and dancing having paid off for something.
you were doing your routine at the main stage, the stage lights covered pretty much all your view to the audience, thankfully. you had done this routine so many times, you now just work in autopilot, letting the music flood your senses completely.
once you reach the end of the song, you collect all the tips the horny men have thrown onto the stage's ground. backstage, you put on your significantly short pink miniskirt and cropped top that you had to tie in the front. you head outside to the tables, your heels clicking on the shiny acrylic floors every step you take, looking for your next target to make conversation with, and eventually, get some tips from.
you choose what seems a bachelor party of 30 something year old men. "hey boys" you say, twirling your hair, with your fake seductive voice, sitting on the lap of one of them. you hint at a private dance for the soon-to-be groom. they all whistle, saying some nasty things about you, but you just tune it out at this point, dragging the man by his wrist with a pretend sultry smile on your face.
while walking towards the private rooms, you feel a tug on your arm. defensively, you turn around, quickly realizing it's just your boss, barry.
"what?" you say, somewhat annoyed he was interrupting your chance of getting a good tip.
"rafe cameron wants a lap dance from you, now"
"can't you see i'm busy?" you say staring between your boss and your customer.
"i don't care, it's rafe cameron"
"i don't know who the fuck that is!" you shout, getting mad he's taking up your time when you could've been done with this dance already.
"he's ward cameron's son, saved my ass many fuckin' times! the only reason you're still here is because of him!" barry shouts back, insisting you leave your customer.
"sounds like a you problem" you snort back, turning around to guide your client to the private room.
barry yanks your arm back "he said he'll pay triple of whatever the fuck this guy's payin', just to have ya" you're sold immediately. all you care about is the money. "could've said that to begin with" you retort, pulling your arm away and walking over to the table area again, barry chasing after you quickly, just after he apologizes to the other customer and calls another girl to give him the lap dance instead of you.
"here she is" barry presents you to rafe before going off to do something else. he's definetly a lot better looking than most of the guys you have here. you swiftly put on your faux smile "hey handsome" you say, batting your eyelashes, trailing your nails over his bicep. you can see him visibly flustered, ears turning pink. “don’t be nervous, c’mon” you giggle, taking your hands in his, you guide him to one of the private rooms.
you sit him down on the couch, beginning the dance. "you were fuckin' spectacular on that pole" he mutters under his breath, looking you up and down, drinking you in. his eyes stop glued at your perky tits, lips parted, eyelashes fluttering, not being able to look anywhere else. at this point you've stopped the dance, straddling his lap. it's very clear what he's looking at. looking at him with endearing eyes "want me to take it off sweetie?" you ask kindly, tugging at your pink tied crop top, bringing your hand up to brush a few hair strands out of his face.
he licks his lips, eyes not leaving your chest. "mhm"
“yeah?” you bring his hand to the fabric, helping him untie it, making your perfect boobs spill out.
he lets out a small groan, eyes still peering down at them. "m'god" he breathes, mouth open, eyes wide. you giggle, never having seen a man this whipped over a pair of tits.
"c- can i- can i feel?" he stutters, his eyes nervously shifting between you and them. you tangle your hands in his hair, giggling at how anxious he was. "'f course cutie. y'can do anything you want to me" this is really not true for anyone else, you've never let the musty men that come to the club touch your precious body, you were here to simply do your job and leave. but this boy, this boy is just so adorable.. there's no problem in breaking the rules a little right?
he hesitantly brings his shaky hands up to cup your breasts. you press your hands over his, encouraging him to apply more pressure. you let out a fake moan to see how he'd react. his body completely froze, as if he had just done something wrong. you cup his face, peppering small kisses all over his, grinding your hips against his growing erection at the same time. he stays still, not really knowing what to do, as you wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face in it's crook.
you feel his hips buck as you grind against him, pressing your wetness on his bulge. he helplessly rubs himself on you, letting out small breathy whines and moans. you can feel his cock twitching more and more on your panties, his moans getting louder and more uncontrollable. this man whines like a baby, and it honestly just makes you smile a little, wanting to comfort him.
"'s okay baby, relax. just let it go" you encourage him as he gets louder and less precise with his movements. "agh- mommy! mmgh-" "yes baby, i'm here. i'm right here. shh, 's okay" your praise only makes him cum faster, a damp spot appearing in his jeans. he's panting, you give him a kiss goodbye on the cheek as you get up off his lap, and he hurriedly searches for his wallet, to pay you.
"can i have your number?" he blurts out, not thinking.
"oh.. i don't- i don't usually give my number to my customers-" you say, trying to stir away from the fact that customers were only customers to you.
"i'll pay you!" he interrupts, desperate for a yes. "do you uh- work outside the club or somethin'?"
"like an escort?" you furrow your brows.
"i uh- i didn't- i didn't mean it in a bad way-"
"how much would you pay me?"
"i dunno uh- 15k for a- for a week?"
"20"
"okay"
you truly felt like you hit the jackpot, 15k was already huge, but the way he didn't even hesitate to add another five thousand just to have you.. it made you wonder what other things he would do for you.
he reaches up to palm your breast again, and you just smile into his eyes.
Synopsis: After a call from Hotch interrupted a heated moment between the two of you, Spencer has a hard time hiding he's seeing someone
Warning/content: established relationship, no use of y/n or physical description, steamyyy but not smut (kinda fades to black?), typical cm case, not proofread
a.n.: 2.1k words- my spencer reqs are still opened hihi
“S-Sorry–” Spencer mumbled as he quickly took a seat.
He was late. Which was more than unusual for him. Morgan raised an eyebrow “Are you ok?”
“Yeah,” he frowned, not understanding why they were all giving him a look. He took a second to glance at himself. His shirt was not tugged in like usual, his hair was a real mess and one of his socks was put on inside-out.
And there was the purple mark on his neck, next to his collarbone that he had to make a conscious effort hiding.
Spencer cleared his throat “Can we focus on the case?” he said, voice a bit higher-pitched than normal.
“Sure,” JJ said with a knowing smile.
He stared at his file the whole meeting. It wasn’t his fault. He was on a day-off and got a sudden call that he wasn’t prepared for. He was supposed to spend the morning with you like intended, to be able to keep kissing you and stay in bed with your body flushed against his–
“Reid”
Spencer’s head snapped to see Hotch waiting for an answer… to a question he ignored…
“Uhm… sorry c-can you repeat?”
“I said… Do you remember the last time this MO was used?”
Spencer nodded “Yes, in 1986 in the same area we found four bodies killed in the same way, with the same puncture wounds to the chest. The unsub had never been found”
He felt Derek’s amused eyes on him. He just knew. What gave it away? The half fucked up tie? The way he walked in with his cheeks still flushed? The dilated pupils when he thought of you instead of working?
Could they blame him? Last night he finally got to what he had wanted for weeks… you.
//
“Thank you for walking me home,” you smiled, still gripping his hands.
You and Spencer were standing on your doorstep. It had been your first ‘real’ date after weeks of talking : a nice dinner after seeing a play together. You hadn’t stopped smiling since the start of the night.
“Of course,” he answered. Spencer’s eyes flee yours most of the time, but right now, they were looking straight into yours.
His big brown eyes.
It truly was what you had noticed at first about him. And you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the moment. You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from grinning. “Do uhm… do you want to step inside?”
You both knew what that meant. One step in and the two of you will be one.
Spencer simply nodded. But you didn’t move, didn’t want to step away. With your hand reaching behind you to open the door, you stayed in front of him. He got closer and you felt your cheeks heating up.
You had the time to hear the ‘click’ of your door opening before his lips were on yours. You closed your eyes as you leaned into it. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to try to pull him closer somehow, because you weren’t close enough for your liking. A breath left his lips and you answered with a small, muffled sound. He walked you inside, still kissing you.
Spencer closed the door behind him without leaving you. Your hand cradled his cheek, angling his head to kiss him deeper. His hand trailed from your hip to slide under your top. Your skin shivered at the contact of his cold fingers on you.
“Spencer,” you whispered. Your other hand was gripping the hair on the back of his neck and you swore you heard him let out a sound at the slight tug. It only made the knot in your stomach tightened.
Spencer broke the kiss, breathless. You took a second to take in his appearance: his red cheeks, the hair that had fallen in front of his forehead, the top button of his shirt that you had somehow opened in the process. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and his hand stayed there, on your cheek.
“Hi,” you breathed out before letting out a giggle.
“Hi,” Spencer answered. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. Your fingers found the hooks of his pants to pull his hips closer. He leaned in again to start a new kiss.
You kicked off your shoes, your lips still attached to his. You only broke the kiss to whisper a quick “The bedroom’s on the right” and let him lead you there.
With your back against the mattress and his body hovering over yours, the world blurred and all you saw was him.
//
Spencer’s eyes darted the jet, trying to avoid Derek’s questioning gaze. He knew how fucked he was, as soon as there was one break, the questions will start. If that jet ‘meeting’ to talk about the strategy could last the whole flight, he wasn’t going to complain.
Unfortunately, the chat ended. He glanced at his file, pretending to already start the geographical profile.
“Reid”
Shit.
“Yes?” he looked up to see Morgan sitting next to him.
Derek grinned. “So you’re not gonna tell me what happened this morning?”
“Nothing happened,” Spencer answered too quickly.
Derek let out a chuckle “Sure, kid. You came here looking like a mess and you were late.”
Spencer swallowed “You’re imagining things”
“No. I think you have someone you want to hide” Spencer’s face was so transparent and telling that he couldn’t even hide it. He tried though, but he failed miserably “Come on! Just tell me I’m right”
“Fine–”
Derek grinned from ear to ear “There we go. What’s the girl’s name?”
“I don’t want to talk about it–”
“Talk about what?” Emily asked as she sat across Spencer
“Reid’s got a girlfriend” Derel said way too loud.
And that got the whole jet’s attention. Even Hotch turned his head with a raised eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I… well yes but it’s not the point,” he was stumbling over his words. He could die on the spot at the way all their eyes lighted up. “Can we focus on the case?”
The team went back to their files but Spencer noticed the way their gaze lingered. He wanted to keep it for himself. At least for a little while, so he has time to make sure things were serious between the two of you. He hadn’t meant to… but the call caught him off guard while he was supposed to spend time with you.
//
Spencer rolled around and let out a sigh. He felt something against him, he opened his eyes and remembered. He remembered last night, the thrill and pleasure, falling asleep next to you, your head resting against his naked chest, his hands on your hips–
“Spencer?” you whispered as you woke up.
“Yes?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your middle. He wasn’t used to this, waking up next to somebody else. But it had been a nice surprise when he woke up, that was sure. His heart melted at the sleepy smile you offered him.
You pressed your head to his neck and left a peck there “Slept well?”
“Definitely,” Spencer answered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You?”
“Oh yeah,” you said with a grin “That was a good night.”
He laughed, his cheeks heating up. “Yeah… it was”
You lifted your head to see him so flustered. With his red cheeks and big eyes and his disheveled hair from last night. “Cute,” you whispered before pressing your lips to his. How were you supposed to keep your hands to yourself when he looked this cute.
Spencer melted into the kiss, his hand cupped your cheek to pull you closer. With your hips now pressing against his, he couldn’t resist you. He turned you around, now hovering over you. He kissed you again, harder.
You hooked your leg over his hip and heard him let out a sound against your mouth. Your arms snuck around his shoulders while his hand started to trail down. You closed your eyes when his lips locked with your neck. That was so good.
Spencer muttered your name and that only made you want more. You were ready and let out a whimper when his hand found you–
A phone rang. Spencer froze. He glanced at the nightstand to see his cell ringing. “Sorry–”
He detached himself from you to answer the call. “Hotch? I… Y-yes. Yeah I’ll be there”
You chuckled, amused at how unsatisfied he looked. “Don’t laugh,” he said, trying to hide his small smile “It sucks”
“It does,” you said, pecking his lips “But you have people who need you”
“And what if I need you?” he answered which made it harder to keep your hands off of him.
“Then you’ll have me when you’re back,” you whispered against his mouth. Spencer smiled and offered you a quick kiss
“I really need to go”
“You don’t seem to be moving”
Spencer let out a small sigh and got up and you weren’t going to stop yourself from staring. “You’re just making this harder,” he whined as he had to quickly get dressed.
“I see that” you chuckled.
He shook his head, swallowing at the sight of you still sitting on your bed. “I uhm… Well since I’m here I don’t have my car… can you drive me to work?”
“Oh- yeah sure”
The ride was silent, Spencer focusing on trying to look normal and absolutely not unsatisfied. You left him a block away as he told you he didn’t want to deal with his colleagues’ teasing. He definitely had a good reason to worry about it
//
Spencer had finally managed to focus on the case. He had indeed been right and the unsub from 1986 was the same as now so the stakes were high. After two intense days of chasing after the man, they caught him. Spencer sat in their assigned room at the police station. He hadn’t taken the time to breathe properly. He looked at his phone to see a text from you
‘Hi :) Tell me when the case’s over, maybe I can give you a ride home since you don’t have your car’
Spencer smiled without even meaning to
‘Hi, I would love that. Caught the guy so I should be back at the BAU by 8pm’
You instantly answered with ‘You’ll have a private driver waiting for you :P’
“Now, Reid. You can’t tell me it’s not her you’re texting”
Spencer turned around to see Derek “I wasn’t going to lie about it”
“So why didn’t you tell us on the jet?”
“I just… you were all staring and I hadn’t planned on talking about her”
“The hickey on your neck was talking for you” Derek said, loving messing with him. Spencer was so flustered, his cheeks redder than ever “Anyway… how’s it going?”
Spencer smiled “It’s going great. Except for the impromptu phone call,” he chuckled. “But uhm… yeah it’s doing great, we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks”
“And you didn't tell us?” Derek joked, faking offense
“Well it wasn’t anything at first, the other day it was our first date. Well; no but like our first date that we stated out loud was a date. Does that make sense?”
“Sure,” Derek answered with a chuckle “Well I’m happy for you, kid,” he said as he got up before patting his back and leaving.
Spencer was left alone and he stared down at his lap, smiling from ear to ear. He just wanted to get back to you.
After the long wait on the jet and the last bit of work he had to do in office, he was finally free. He saw you, standing next to your car in the parking lot. You grinned when you saw him. His arms wrapped around you and smiled into your hair “I missed you”
You stepped away from him so you could kiss him. His lips against yours and his hands on your hips. It wasn’t even a heated kiss, just one that said you had missed each other. But it was enough for his team to cheer.
You frowned as you turned your head to see… all his colleagues standing there, smiling. Even one of them gave Spencer a thumbs up. “What’s going on?”
“Uh… I might have not been very ‘put together’ when I arrived from your house”
You chuckled “No way”
“Can we just go?” he asked, a bit embarrassed.
You got into the car “They look nice, I should meet them someday,” you said as you saw a woman– wearing the most extravagant clothing you had seen in a while– looking ecstatic.
“Yeah… you should,” he smiled “But for now, I just want you to myself”
summary - the five times Spencer had debilitating baby fever, and the one time it was actually warranted
word count - 2.2k
content warnings - babies and kids, broody spencer, pregnancy
1-
The hum of the hospital room’s fluorescent lights usually gave Spencer a migraine, but today, his attention was completely consumed by the tiny, glass-walled bassinet being wheeled past your open door. He had insisted on driving you to Urgent Care after you slipped on the rain-slicked steps of the Bureau, spraining your ankle with a sickening pop. You were currently propped up on a crinkly paper mattress, an ice pack strapped to your swollen joint, while Spencer paced the linoleum.
Then, a sudden, piercing cry echoed down the hallway, a newborn.
Spencer stopped mid-sentence. His head snapped to the door. His dark eyes dilated, his chest rising and falling in a silent, suspended breath. You watched as his long fingers, which had been frantically fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag, went completely still.
“Spencer?” you murmured.
He didn’t answer right away. He stepped toward the doorway as if pulled by an invisible string, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The sound of the infant’s cry hit something deep in his chest, a sudden ache that flared behind his ribs. He had spent his entire life studying the human brain, analyzing attachment theory, oxytocin release, and evolutionary psychology. But none of his textbooks had prepared him for the physical, heavy pull in his gut at the sound of a brand new life. He turned back to you, his eyes wide and glossy, his gaze dropping involuntarily to your lap before darting back to your face.
“They weigh an average of seven and a half pounds at birth,” he murmured, his voice oddly breathless. “Their lungs are so small, yet they can produce sounds up to eighty-five decibels.” He swallowed again, his thumb brushing over the back of his own knuckles. “It’s… incredible, isn’t it?”
You offered a warm, wry smile. “You’ve got that look again, Spence.”
He bit his lower lip, flushing a deep, embarrassed pink, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, soft and helplessly longing.
2-
The bullpen was usually a place of harsh artificial light, stale coffee, and heavy case files, but today it smelled faintly of baby powder and fresh laundry. JJ had brought baby Henry in for his very first visit. The entire team was gathered around her desk, cooing and taking turns marveling at the tiny bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket. But while Hotch and Prentiss were admiring the baby's tiny fingers, Spencer was locked in a quiet, internal war.
When JJ gently transferred the bundle into Spencer's arms, his entire body went rigid with terror and awe. He adjusted his grip, resting the back of Henry’s tiny, warm head against the crook of his elbow. The baby shifted, making a tiny smacking sound with his lips, and settled against Spencer’s chest. Spencer looked up, catching your eye from across the desk where you were filling out paperwork.
He didn't smile. Instead, a full, shameless pout settled onto his lips. He adjusted Henry slightly, holding the baby a little higher so you could see the way the tiny fist was curled into the fabric of his sweater vest. Spencer’s shoulder blades tightened, he felt the heavy ache in his chest, a desperate envy that made his throat feel tight.
He caught your gaze, jutted out his bottom lip, and gave you a look so blatantly full of sorrowful longing that it almost made you laugh aloud. Look at this, his big, puppy-dog eyes were saying. Look at what we don't have. Look how good I am at this. He subtly shifted his stance, rocking back and forth on his heels in an instinctual, fluid rhythm, his cheek resting lightly against the fuzz of the baby's head as he kept his eyes pinned on you, silently begging you to read his mind.
3-
Halloween night in your neighborhood was thick with the smell of damp oak leaves and pumpkin spice. You and Spencer sat on your front porch, a large plastic bowl of full-sized candy bars sitting between you. A shadow fell over the steps, and a little girl, no older than three, came shuffling up the walkway in a disproportionately large, fluffy bumblebee costume. Her yellow-and-black tutus rustled with every tiny, uncertain step, her little shiny black shoes clicking softly against the concrete.
"Trick or treat!" she squeaked, tilting her head back so far her antennae wobbled wildly.
Spencer froze. He didn't just hand her candy, he dropped down onto both knees right on the cold porch floor, bringing himself down to her exact eye level. His knees made a dull thud against the wood, but he didn't care.
"Hello," he said, his voice dropping into a register so gentle, so soft, it made your heart do a sudden, terrifying flip. "Are you a Bombus terrestris? A buff-tailed bumblebee?"
The little girl blinked, confused, then giggled and held out her plastic pumpkin. "I'm a bee! Bzzz!"
"You are the best bee I have ever seen," Spencer whispered, his face breaking into a radiant, unguarded smile that crinkled the corners of his brown eyes. He carefully picked out two of the largest chocolate bars from the bowl, placing them inside her bucket with extreme precision, as if he were handling delicate artifacts. "There you go. Fly safely tonight, okay?"
"Thank you!" she chirped, waddling back down the steps toward her waiting parents.
Spencer stayed on his knees, watching her go until she turned the corner. When he finally stood up, his hand lingered on his knee, and he looked back at you. The autumn wind blew a strand of dark hair into his eyes, but through it, his expression was completely exposed, tender, aching, and overwhelmingly hopeful.
4-
A routine trip to the local superstore for laundry detergent had gone completely off the rails the moment Spencer accidentally wandered down aisle four. You found him standing dead-center in the baby clothing section, completely motionless. He was staring at a tiny peg hanging near the end of the aisle.
You walked up behind him, stepping around a display of baby wipes. "Spence? I found the detergent, we can-"
You stopped. Spencer was holding a pair of baby socks. They were light gray, no larger than the palm of his hand, with tiny yellow ducks embroidered on the toes.
He wasn't just looking at them, he was holding them between his long thumb and forefinger, feeling the impossibly soft cotton as if trying to comprehend how a human foot could ever be that small. His thumb rubbed over the little elastic cuff, again and again.
"They don't have heels," he murmured quietly, his voice thick. He didn't look up at you. "Infant socks are knitted without a defined heel cup because their feet grow too rapidly during the first six months for standard sizing."
"Spencer," you said softly, stepping closer.
He slowly turned his head to look at you. His eyes were wide, glassy with unshed tears, carrying a vulnerability that struck you right in the center of your chest. "They're four inches long," he whispered, his finger curling around the microscopic duck. "Our hands are almost double this width." He held the sock up against his own long palm, showing you the absurd, beautiful contrast. "Can you even imagine... a foot this small?"
He didn't put them back on the peg. He held them against his chest for three full seconds before reluctantly placing them down, his fingers trailing over the fabric until the very last second.
5-
The roundtable room was quiet, save for the hum of the projector and the rustle of case reports. Hotch was sitting at the head of the table reviewing budget sheets, while JJ was flipping through a stack of crime scene photos.
Spencer sat between them, bouncing his knee nervously under the wood. He cleared his throat, tapped his pen three times on his notepad, and cleared his throat again.
"Hotch?" Spencer blurted out.
Hotch didn't look up from his paper. "Yes, Reid?"
"When you... when you decided to have Jack," Spencer began, his voice dipping into a hurried, overly formal tempo that immediately tipped off everyone in the room. "What was the primary motivational variable? Was it a conscious decision based on financial stability and psychological readiness, or was it an instinctual drive dictated by the biological mandate to propagate the species?"
Hotch paused, his pen hovering an inch above the paper. He slowly raised his head, his sharp eyes settling on Spencer with an unreadable expression.
Before Hotch could answer, Spencer whipped his head toward JJ. "And JJ! From a maternal perspective, how did you balance the neurological disruption of chronic sleep deprivation, specifically the loss of REM sleep during the first trimester, with the emotional payoff of primary bonding? Did you feel ready? How do you know you're ready? Is there a specific cognitive threshold, or is it purely emotional?"
JJ stopped flipping her photos. She looked at Spencer, then slowly turned her head to look at Hotch. A slow, knowing smile spread across JJ's face.
Hotch allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward. "Reid," Hotch said calmly, closing his folder. "If you're asking if there's a mathematical formula to know when you're ready to be a father... there isn't."
"I wasn't- I'm not asking for me," Spencer lied instantly, his cheeks bursting into a furious, dark red flush as he frantically shuffled his neat stack of papers into total chaos. "It was a purely theoretical inquiry regarding the socio-psychological stressors of federal agents!"
JJ chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair and meeting Hotch’s eyes with a raised eyebrow. "Right. Theoretical."
+1-
The bathroom was quiet, save for the slow drip of the sink faucet. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, the small plastic stick resting on the counter beside a crumpled paper towel.
Two solid, pink lines stared back at you.
Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, a dizzying blend of shock, joy, and sudden, overwhelming reality. You picked up the test, took a steadying breath, and walked out into the bedroom.
Spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his shoes. He looked up the moment you stepped into the room. He took one look at your face, saw the way your hands were trembling slightly behind your back, and immediately stood up, his shoes half-unlaced.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it your ankle again?" His doctor's mind immediately went to physical injury, his brows drawing together in instant concern as he took two long strides toward you.
"Spence," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat.
You took his right hand, pulling it away from his side, and placed the small white stick into his long, slender palm. Spencer looked down. He stared at the display. For five long seconds, he didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't even seem to blink. His brilliant, fast-moving brain, usually capable of processing thousands of words a minute, completely flatlined. His eyes tracked back and forth across the two pink lines, verifying the result, re-verifying it, searching his vast mental database for any possibility of a false positive.
0.2 percent, his brain tried to supply. The error rate is only 0.2 percent...
Then, his breath hitched, a sharp, gasping intake of air.
His hand began to tremble. The plastic stick shook in his grip. He looked up at you, his brown eyes wide, completely unshielded, and brimming with sudden, heavy tears that spilled over his eyelashes without warning.
"Is this..." His voice cracked completely, dropping to an unstable whisper. "Are you... is this real?"
"It's real, Spence," you breathed, a tear slipping down your own cheek. "You're going to be a dad."
A strangled, breathless sob escaped his throat, a sound of sheer, unadulterated relief and joy. He dropped the test onto the nightstand and pulled you into his arms with a sudden, fierce desperation. He wrapped himself around you. His long arms locked tightly around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath hitching against your skin as he wept openly, his shoulders shaking against yours. You could feel the rapid, frantic thud of his heart beating right through his shirt, pressing directly against your chest.
"I love you," he stammered into your skin, his hands pressing flat against your back, slipping down to rest delicately, reverently, over the small of your back. "I love you so much. I... I'm going to read every medical journal, I'm going to build the crib, I'll- I'll double-check all the safety ratings on car seats tonight, I-"
"Spencer," you laughed tearfully, pulling back just enough to frame his face in your hands.
His face was flushed, his cheeks wet, his dark hair a messy halo around his head. He looked at you with a gaze so fiercely loving, so utterly overwhelmed with devotion, that it took your breath away. He slowly lowered one of his hands from your waist, placing his broad, warm palm gently, hesitatingly, flat against your stomach. He let out a shaky, exhaled laugh, his thumb brushing a soft circle against your shirt.
Spencer Reid who realises that you really, really like it when he rambles
warnings: SMUT - MDNI, p in v, oral m!receiving, no mention of protection, reader loves her hot nerd boyfriend
Live On Air is broadcasting all week long! Requests are still open. For more information and more stories, click here! 📺
Spencer notices everything.
It’s simply the way his mind works. He’s spent the better part of the last decade training himself to pick up on the little things and it’s made him very good at what he does.
But when it comes to women, there are still plenty of things that he doesn’t pick up on.
Especially when it’s late in the evening and he’s over at your place, the two of you watching some medical drama with far too many inaccuracies for him to ignore.
He’s on what feels like his twentieth “That’s actually…” of the episode but you couldn’t tell anyone what he had been saying, even if they held a gun to your head.
There’s just something so effortlessly sexy in the way that he can correct the logistics of an on-screen surgery without even a stutter. Or how he’ll tut to himself whenever they recite a made up illness to up the stakes.
A big brain has always been your weakness. And your pupils are blown wide as you stare — not at the tv, but at him.
And Spencer doesn’t even notice. Not when you trail your fingertips over his thigh or even when you absentmindedly press a kiss to his shoulder.
He might glance over at you, but he gives you no more than a second’s notice, before he’s turning back to the screen as he huffs, “And the craziest thing is that they have researchers for this kind of thing but…”
It isn’t until you’ve managed to creep into his lap that Spencer looks at you fully, cupping your cheek, “You seem… are you okay? Am I talking too much?”
His eyes flick down to where you’re pressed against him, then back up to your face.
You shake your head, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, “Mm-mm. Keep talking.”
Something about the way you say it makes him swallow. Hard. So he does keep talking. And he doesn’t get more than a few sentences out before you’re kissing him, grinding down against his slacks.
His words are coming out stuttered now because this was not the evening he thought he’d be having when you suggested a cosy night in.
He tilts his head back against the couch, muttering a quiet, “Oh my God.” under his breath.
But the second he’s stopped rambling, you stop grinding and he’s whimpering and you just smile sweetly at him until something in his brain clicks.
The talking.
And suddenly he’s racking his brain for every other time you’ve reacted like this and kicking himself for not noticing sooner when you’d drooled over his cock the night he’d helped you finish up your dissertation or how fast you’d pulled him into a supply closet when you’d come back from sick leave to find out Spencer had finished up all your reporting for you.
And for once, boy genius, Spencer Reid feels like the stupidest man alive and now he just won’t shut up.
Not when you’re kneeled on the floor between his legs, eyes locked onto him as you wrap your lips around the head of his leaking cock. Nor when you’re on top of him, tits bouncing and sweat gathering along your skin as you ride him with more fervour than he’s ever seen. He’s reeling off every little fact he can think of to get you off on his brain.
One thing is clear, Spencer Reid is not going to be shutting up anytime soon.
Summary: Spencer accidentally tells you he loves you over the phone—and hangs up before either of you can process it. Unfortunately for him, the entire BAU hears his side of the conversation.
Word count: ~620
___________________________________
Spencer’s phone rang while Morgan was stealing crackers from his desk.
“Those are mine,” Spencer said, answering the call.
Morgan opened another packet. “You weren’t eating them.”
“Hi,” Spencer said into the phone, turning away.
“You forgot your satchel,” you told him.
Spencer looked beneath his desk. It was empty. “I noticed.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was about to.”
“You’ve been at work for three hours.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Clearly. I found your wallet inside it.”
His hand immediately went to his pocket.
Morgan snorted.
“I’ll bring it over,” you said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m already nearby, and apparently you can’t be trusted without supervision.”
“I’ve survived thirty-four years.”
“Debatable.”
Spencer smiled. “Drive carefully,” he said. “Love you.” He ended the call. Then froze.
Morgan slowly lowered the crackers.
JJ looked up from her desk.
Emily stopped halfway down the stairs.
Spencer stared at his phone.
“Did you just—” Morgan began.
The phone rang again. Spencer answered immediately. “Hi.”
“Did you just tell me you love me and hang up?”
“I didn’t hang up because I said it.”
“You said it and then the call ended.”
“Those events were related, but not intentional.”
“You panicked.”
“I did not panic.”
Morgan coughed loudly. Spencer turned his back on him.
“You panicked,” you repeated.
“I was surprised.”
“By your own feelings?”
“No. I’ve known for some time.”
His voice softened on the last sentence. The bullpen went quiet.
“How long?” you asked.
Spencer glanced around at the people pretending not to listen. “I’d rather discuss that when I don’t have an audience.”
“An audience?”
Morgan waved. Spencer glared at him.
“Unfortunately.”
You laughed.
He relaxed a little. “You still haven’t answered,” he said.
“Answered what?”
His eyebrows pulled together. “You know what.”
“I might need to hear it again.”
“You’re doing this deliberately.”
“Maybe.”
Spencer sighed, but he was smiling. “I love you.” This time, he said it slowly. Deliberately.
“I love you too,” you said.
His smile widened. “You do?”
“I was going to say it tonight.”
“I ruined your plan.”
“You improved it.”
Morgan grabbed Spencer’s shoulder and shook him once. “My man.”
Spencer pulled away. “Please stop.”
“I’ll be there soon,” you said.
“Okay.”
“And Spencer?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t lose anything else.”
He glanced at Morgan, who was eating his last packet of crackers.
“Too late.”
Twenty minutes later, you stepped out of the elevator carrying his satchel. The entire team looked at you. You stopped beside Spencer’s desk. “Why are they staring?”
“They heard me.”
“Not me?”
“No.”
“So they watched you panic alone?”
“I didn’t panic.”
Morgan laughed from across the bullpen at that.
You handed Spencer the bag.
He checked inside and found his wallet, two books and a paper bag. “What’s this?”
“Lunch.”
“I brought crackers.”
“Morgan ate them.” said JJ as she passed by.
Spencer looked at him.
Morgan raised the empty wrapper. “Congratulations again.”
Spencer opened the paper bag. Inside was a sandwich and a note.
He unfolded it.
I love you. Please try not to forget that too.
He smiled down at it.
“You’re keeping that, aren’t you?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s written on a napkin.”
“That doesn’t make it less important.”
Your expression softened.
Spencer stood and stepped closer. “Can I kiss you?”
“You already told everyone you love me. You might as well.”
He kissed you gently.
Behind you, Garcia gasped.
You pulled away. “Was she here the entire time?”
“No,” Spencer said. “Morgan texted her.”
“Traitor,” you told Morgan.
“Worth it.”
Spencer took your hand. “Come have lunch with me.”
“Are you going to forget me here too?”
“No.”
“You sound confident.”
“I’ve known I loved you for forty-three days.”
You blinked. “You counted?”
“I remember the exact moment.”
“And you’re only telling me now?”
“I had a plan.”
You smiled. “How did that work out?”
Spencer glanced toward the team.
Morgan was grinning. Garcia looked close to tears, and JJ was already asking how long you had been together.
dirty little secret . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
spencer reid x reader
summary: spencer reid is a private person, and unfortunately it comes back to bite him when a case leads him to his girlfriend’s bar
Spencer Reid was one of the more private people of The Behavioural Analysis Unit, it was helpful to him on most occasions. It was easier for him to separate his work life and his home life. His coworkers were his family, of course they were he saw them everyday. But after a long day, he wanted his time in his own space, with his girlfriend and their two cats. It was easier that way and it always had been. His team didn’t know he had a girlfriend of two years, how they’d been living together for a year now. Or the two cats, named Mark Sloan and Rene Descartes. Respectfully.
That was up until The BAU ended up in the same neighbourhood as her music bar, The Live Wire. There was a string of murders in the area, the last one happened two nights ago, down the road from The Wire, as it was known in D.C. Two young women had been shot dead, just outside of where CCTV could capture it. Once in the chest, and then a second time in the head, and then their ankles were wrapped in newspaper. The police had kept an eye on the case, informing the families and allowing grievances. But this time it had deviated, same method, same appearance but this time it was a man. A well known bartender in the area, the other two girls were bartenders too, but not as known as the male was.
The Wire from the outside looks like a hipster bar cafe, plants everywhere and references to music everywhere, during the day it was. But the nighttime? It was a bustling live bar, with live music every Friday and Saturday, a different band each week, some more popular bands. It was a popular spot, everyone knew it. Even The BAU had been in there once or twice.
But they were in here on business, a few people were already in there having lunch, staff were zipping around the bar, trays filled with food that looked delicious. But Spencer already knew the food was good, the menu items he had already tried were good. Some of the staff knew him already, one or two had flashed him a smile already as he walked in with Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner. Morgan raised an eyebrow but brushed it off as a place Spencer would come in to read or something scholarly.
“Hey, would we be able to speak to the manager? Wherever he is?” Morgan flashed a smile to the girl behind the bar and flashed his badge. Hotch rolled his eyes at the flirting when they were on a case, not here for drinks.
“Morgan. The case. Please.” Hotch said, they were all at the bar now. The girl gave Spencer a look like she recognised him but brushed it off.
“Yeah, I’ll go grab her for you now. I think she’s just in the kitchen at the moment” She said before wandering off and leaving them with the male bartender who’d just come back with a tray of glasses.
A few moments later, the same girl came back with a woman who was dressed semi-professionally but also had some alternative vibe to her. She had a smile on her face when she approached the group, it was more of a knowing smile when she saw them. Knowing but professional.
“Can I help you guys at all?” She chirped, customer service voice was full throw.
“We were wondering if you had any CCTV footage from the murder of this man from the other day?” Spencer spoke in a voice sounding like it was reserved just for her as he handed her the photos from the incident. She took them from him, their hands brushing together accidentally. As if it were habit. Both Hotch and Morgan raised an eyebrow.
“Ohh, that’s Jonas! He worked across the street, lovely gentleman. God rest his soul” She sighed, taking in the photos before speaking again “Follow me”
Morgan and Hotch looked at each other as Spencer matched into step with her almost immediately. It was as if they knew each other, maybe a little too well, but maybe they were just close friends. Best friends maybe. Not what they actually were. She showed them to the office, it was a little cramped but they all fit. She sat in the chairs and was configuring the computer to get the footage up from the other night.
“See right there? Across the street? That’s the club Jonas worked in. Very popular. People do drugs and shit in there. It’s a good night.” She said, pointing to the CCTV where he leaving work for the night. “He usually finishes around twelve am, they’re sometimes open till 4 in the morning, depends. But, we keep our bar open until quarter to so he can come in for a drink.”
Spencer took more care than he usually would when listening to someone explain what was happening. If he did speak, it was in that same soft tone he used with her when explaining the case.
“But he didn’t come in that night did he?” Hotch asked, a professional voice. She looked up at him as the chair turned.
“Exactly, we got worried but we saw him walk away with a guy so we assumed it was a friend and they left” She shrugged, not thinking everything of it at the time. They were just told to stay vigilant with the murders of the two girls, not told a description of a killer.
“Did he usually walk off with friends after shifts?” Morgan probed
“Sometimes yeah, they would either leave or would come in here for a drink afterwards. Depends on how the shift goes really.” She chuckled softly “But that’s the way hospitality goes, I’m afraid. It’s different everyday”
“Seems like a tough shop” Morgan chuckled, Spencer did aswell, it was a soft chuckle. But a chuckle nonetheless. It would be missed by a passing person, but not a profiler. Definitely not by a profiler.
“You have no idea, FBI is light work.” She joked. It’s clear the mystery woman was cheeky. She had some mischief about her, it was fun. Spencer liked that about her the most.
“Uh huh sure” Morgan was a flirt, she’d heard about Morgan, she had. But didn’t expect that much of a flirt. Spencer really toned it down.
She raised a curious eyebrow, she didn’t ask questions. There wasn’t much time. A radio crackled on the desk, someone called after her, probably asking for something. or needed something fixed. She quickly put the CCTV footage onto a flash drive, handing it to Hotch. She knew he was the boss, even if he didn’t know that she knew. He looked like the boss.
“I have to go back now, so this is for you guys” She said as she quickly wrote down the bar’s number and her own incase they needed anymore information. Handing it to them. “If you need anymore information, please come pop in, or call me. Anything you need” She smiled, like she was asking for them to come by again. They were nice, she liked them.
She showed them out of the office, back into front of house. Walking towards the door, passing by customers who were eating lunch. As she was about to show them out the door, Hotch and Morgan already walked and Spencer held back. He paused in his step before turning around to face her.
“Are we still going ahead with movie night like we agreed on?” He asked quietly, Spencer liked routine and knowing what plans were.
“Yeah, I’m finishing at eight tonight. So I can bring pizza home?” She responded with the same kind of quiet, discreetly brushing his arm as a form of ‘I see you’
“That would be nice, I can find a movie for us to watch” He smiled, but pausing when he realised he had to go back to work now. Pulling away and going to catch up with where Hotch and Morgan were walking down the street. But not before whispering a soft “See you later”.
She watched them walk away from her bar, crossing her arms at her chest and smiling softly. Seeing Spencer would probably be the better part of her day, away from all the murders, the customers and the drivers who sent the bar’s delivery to the wrong restaurant. Going home to him later would be worth it.
As Spencer caught up with Hotch and Morgan, he had a clap on the shoulder from Morgan and an amused smile from Hotch.
“So who’s the girl, boy wonder?” Morgan chuckled
“She’s none of your business” He mumbled, his face turning red. But all Spencer could think was the pizza and movie night that was planned for four hours time.
she’s strawberries and cinnamon and sweetness, he’s cigarettes and nonchalance and cruelty. she’s head over heels for him, it’s a shame he doesn’t notice her
— grumpy x sunshine, she fell first and he fell way harder (he fell first actually), down bad!reader x more down bad!mattheo
playlist ♡ mattheo riddle masterlist
mattheo head canons ♡ sweetheart!reader head canons ♡ full timeline
★ — mature
❤︎ - bonus thoughts
| friends-ish mattheo
introduction !
sweetheart!reader and mattheo are observed by their friends
mattheo likes sweetheart!reader
how mattheo and sweetheart!reader met — amortentia trope !!
sweetheart!reader gets jealous
sweetheart!reader and mattheo mess up their experiment
sweetheart!reader draws on mattheo’s hand
mattheo's only nice to sweetheart!reader
mattheo's only nice to sweetheart!reader
mattheo's only nice to sweetheart!reader 2
sweetheart!reader and mattheo kiss
| situationship mattheo
how mattheo & sweetheart!reader got into a situationship ❤︎
the main problem behind their situationship ❤︎
sweetheart!reader is tipsy at a party... mattheo comes to the rescue
sweetheart!reader is tipsy at a party... mattheo comes to the rescue 2
sweetheart!reader is tipsy at a party... mattheo comes to the rescue 3
sweetheart!reader gives mattheo a gift
sweetheart!reader falls asleep on enzo’s shoulder, mattheo's not having it
mattheo is drunk and loses his filter around sweetheart!reader
mattheo defends sweetheart!reader's honour
sweetheart!reader can't think straight with mattheo
mattheo is tired after quidditch practice, sweetheart!reader makes him feel better
someone flirts with sweetheart!reader... mattheo gets jealous
sweetheart!reader gets jealous again
sweetheart!reader wonders why mattheo won't date her already
mattheo hears sweetheart!reader talk about him
mattheo and sweetheart!reader have their first fight, mattheo realises something
mattheo loses sweetheart!reader (until he has her completely) — "i love you"
| boyfriend mattheo
mattheo and sweetheart!reader go on a date
mattheo and sweetheart!reader tell the others
sweetheart!reader and mattheo hard launch (smau) ❤︎
sweetheart!reader & mattheo (& pansy) celebrate gf day (smau) ❤︎
mattheo watches sweetheart!reader get ready
sweetheart!reader doesn't use her brain around mattheo ❤︎
sweetheart!reader encounters her biggest fear
sweetheart!reader tests the ‘bird theory’ on mattheo
mattheo takes care of a sick sweetheart!reader
mattheo & sweetheart!reader rescue/take in a stray animal
sweetheart!reader is insecure about mattheo’s playboy past (★)
sweetheart!reader gets body glitter & mattheo loves it
sweetheart!reader tests "kiss-proof" lipsticks on mattheo
| miscellaneous
a day in the life of sweetheart!reader (with mattheo <3)— one year celebration, 4k words
mattheo's friend group is practically sweetheart!reader's friendgroup, too
how i imagine sweetheart!reader (physically) ❤︎
sweetheart!reader is a lana girl | mattheo (secretly) is too ❤︎
sweetheart!reader and mattheo bond over muggle movies ❤︎
Summary: A rare, peaceful morning gives you and Mattheo a chance to simply enjoy each other's company. Everything is perfect… until a certain Theodore Nott decides sleeping in is no longer an option.
Warnings: None!
A/N: This one is shorter than usual. Requests are open! Comment to be added to my taglist!
Masterlist
————————————————————————
Morning sunlight filtered through the windows.
You tugged lightly at Mattheo's curls.
His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep.
For once, he'd allowed himself to simply exist in the moment instead of thinking three steps ahead.
After years of constant betrayals, Mattheo had learned to anticipate the actions of everyone around him—-even his friends.
But not now.
Right now, Mattheo was simply enjoying the feeling of his naked girlfriend curled up in his arms, absentmindedly playing with his hair.
He sighed contentedly.
"Good morning, sweetheart"
You hummed in response, your fingers never leaving his curls.
"Are you searching for something in there?" he teased.
"Maybe."
A soft laugh escaped him before he pulled you a little closer.
"This is nice," you said as you finally let your hand rest against his chest.
Mattheo finally opened his eyes.
"It is, isn't it? We don't get many quiet mornings."
You smiled, studying his face.
"What?"
"You look different."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Different?"
"Mhm."
"How?"
"You look... relaxed."
"I am relaxed."
Your fingers found one of his curls again, twirling it around absentmindedly.
"You have really nice hair."
"I know."
"Oh?"
"I've caught you playing with it for the last ten minutes."
"I wasn't playing with it."
"No?"
"I was... appreciating it."
He hummed thoughtfully.
"Very convincing."
"It is!"
He chuckled warmly.
"You're mean."
"And yet," he said, pulling you back into his arms, "you're still here."
"I suppose I can tolerate you."
"Tolerate?"
"Mhm."
"I see how it is."
He leaned down until your noses brushed.
"So all those 'I love you's' were lies?"
You pretended to think about it.
"...Maybe."
His eyes narrowed dramatically.
"I've been deceived."
"Oh, completely."
"You've broken my heart."
You couldn't hold back your laughter.
He smiled at the sound, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
"I do like hearing you laugh."
You looked up at him.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm." His smile softened. "It's my favourite sound."
Heat crept into your cheeks.
"You're such a flirt."
"Only with you."
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't stop smiling.
"Good answer."
He grinned before leaning in, his forehead resting against yours.
"Can we stay like this all day?"
"I thought we already were."
"I like your optimism."
His lips brushed lightly against yours.
Just as they pressed against yours-
"Riddle! Get your ass up!"
Theodore's voice shattered the silence.
Mattheo's hand froze against your back.
You looked up at him with an amused smile.
"You forgot, didn't you?"
"...I forgot."
"You have Quidditch practice."
"I have Quidditch practice."
He groaned, letting his forehead fall against yours once more.
"I was really hoping if I ignored it long enough, it would magically disappear."
You laughed softly.
"I don't think that's how Quidditch works."
"No," he sighed dramatically, "but it should."
Another loud bang echoed from the other side of the door.
"Riddle! I know you're awake!"
Mattheo squeezed his eyes shut.
"If we stay completely silent," he whispered, "maybe he'll think I died."
You raised an eyebrow.
"You think Theodore Nott's first reaction would be concern?"
Mattheo considered it for a moment.
"...No."
Another pause.
"He'd probably kick the door down."
"Definitely."
Mattheo let out one last, exaggerated sigh before reluctantly untangling himself from the warmth of your arms.
"I hate responsibility."
"I know."
"But Quidditch does pay for my dramatic entrances."
You smiled as he leaned down to steal one quick kiss before climbing out of bed.
"Worth it," he murmured.
Another impatient knock sounded through the room.
"I'm coming!" Mattheo called, rolling his eyes before muttering under his breath, "Bloody menace."
You couldn't help but laugh as he disappeared to get dressed, already looking forward to the next quiet morning the two of you would steal together.
————————————————————————
Tag list - @pbjts @bunnieeegohop @mooniez @ithinkaboutyouuu @yourstargirlyyy @foolintherainnn
synopsis . When you get paired with your campus frat’s resident asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin! Nor did you expect to be the one to change that.
content . afab!reader, virginity loss, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn with a lil plot, teasing, taunting, filth, nipple play (m!receiving), pussy slapping, creampie, confessions, cum eating/making him taste himself, piercings, reader’s pretty blunt, somewhat of a size kink, Sukuna’s kinda soft here and there, slightly dom!reader, etc.
word count . 10.5k | author’s note: this is a combined repost from kamitv! i want all my works on one account so if this looks familiar, that’s why. banner art by Rororogi Mogera.
Who would’ve thought?
Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.
He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He'd claim not to "do parties" and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?
And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick—it’s like some well-known campus fact about the guy! Cosigned by his closet frat brothers, too.
So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?
Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.
The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything, but you weren’t much of the party type other.
You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.
As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.
——
The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.
“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get this knocked out in like a day if you just-“
“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his—he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”
You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”
As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever—mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.
Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me and yet you want nothing to do with me already.”
“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”
He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”
You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.
You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.
“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.
To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”
“Seeing as I’ve asked you to—at the very least—type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”
The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.
After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”
You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“
“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.
He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”
“Unfortunately,” He grumps.
You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”
And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time—it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.
Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you just fine so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.
Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Black ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you—you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.
——
Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.
Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweats of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.
And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours—his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.
“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”
You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-
Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“
“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”
Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.
The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-
“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.
Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”
“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”
He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours—he's heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him.
“I’m not.” He says plainly.
“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”
Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.
Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.
That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.
He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.
“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.
You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”
You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.
And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.
——
Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on.
Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.
It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.
He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.
It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.
He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”
“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”
Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”
You scoff, “Were you?”
“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.
Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.
“Talk,” Sukuna says.
That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”
He nods, “Mhm.”
“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.
Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?
The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”
You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”
He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off.
“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”
Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”
The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”
He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.
You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”
Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”
You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you—of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.
Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.
Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”
His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.
“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-
“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.
So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.
You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”
Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”
His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.
“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.
You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”
He blinks, “Show you my cock?”
You shrug, “Yeah.”
The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.
“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.
And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret.
It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even—but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.
He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.
His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.
“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”
He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”
“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”
Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”
Your eyes go wide, “What?”
Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.
Your breath hitches a bit, “I-“
You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.
“What?” You whisper.
You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.
Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.
Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.
You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.
Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.
“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.
“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.
His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.
You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.
Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.
You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.
And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”
All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you—a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?
Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-
Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares.
“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.
He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly—hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.
Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”
You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“
“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.
You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”
The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.
He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.
Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip.
“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.
You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.
His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.
Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him—Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.
He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long—your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.
You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum.
The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was.
Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up.
He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you?
You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”
He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.
His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.
Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.
“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”
Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.
You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.
When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“
“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.
You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.
He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.
He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down—twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.
They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.
Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.
Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.
Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.
He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.
Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”
His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.
“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that—it’s cute.”
Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.
“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“
“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.
You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.
Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.
And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.
Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.
“Whore,” Sukuna growls.
You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”
Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll-“
“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”
He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.
Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”
You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”
And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.
The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?
Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.
Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.
Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”
“Don’t.” He huffs.
“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.
He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”
Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”
“No.” He replies.
“No? Oh c’monnn, they’re just piercings!” You whine as your legs remain sprawled out over Sukuna’s muscular thighs.
Your panty-clad cunt was throbbing over his saliva-slicked semi-hard cock, and yet here Sukuna was still trying his very best to figure out a way out of this situation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go further with you—he was just nervous.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud though. Admit you’ve made him nervous? Oh please, in what universe?
Sure, you made him cum prematurely but that’s not his fault. No one told you to have such a slutty ass mouth.
Back to the present though, as you gaze down at him with those stupidly pretty eyes of yours, batting your lashes pleadingly whilst you await for the man to change his answer. It was simply unfair of him to have nipple piercings and not show you. It’s the least he could do after the head you just gave him, right?
“No, it’s not the ‘least I can do’,” Sukuna huffs. It’s then that you realize you’d spoken your thoughts aloud but—in a way—you’re actually glad you did so, “You’re not seeing shit, now get off of me.”
The pout that presents itself on your face is practically immediate, “C’mon ‘Kuna, I won’t touch them. I just wanna see,” You coo softly, tilting your head to the side as if to convince him, “Please?”
One simple word and his tip was wet with precum yet again. Sukuna swears he hates you. He hates the way you're looking at him right now, the way you're seated so perfectly on top of him, and the way he forgets how the hell he even got into this position with you in the first place.
Didn't he come over here to finish a project? Not have sex with you.
And yet, he can't find it in himself to say no to you again. That damn word you said, it did something to him. Sukuna's not sure what or why but his mouth is moving on its own, almost instinctively, "You wanna see them?" He sighs.
You're nodding, slipping your hands down to the hem of his shirt, "Yeah. Promise I won't touch."
"Tch. I..." Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a pretty vein decorating his skin along his sharp jawline as he glances away for a moment, "I want you to beg me again."
Although you're a bit taken back by his request, you're quick to lean forward a bit and bite your lower lip, "Please?"
He ignores the word leaving you lips, his cock springing to life once more despite his attempt at leaving you unanswered. Given his body's reaction to you, all you can do is smirk before you're leaning down slightly and pressing your lips to his jaw.
"Pretty please, Sukuna?" You purr, warm breath hitting his now overly tense skin, "I promise I'll be good. Won't lay a finger on you unless you want me to."
His head slumps back against the couch and he inhales sharply at your soft touch sliding under his shirt, steadily working it up as the black fabric bundles up against your hands.
Then you're at his neck, sucking on his skin, rolling your tongue over him, shifting your hips forward against his cock and he simply groans. "F-Fucking, fine." Sukuna huffs, annoyed out of his ever-loving mind at whatever control it is you seem to have over him.
He hates you. He swears he hates you. Everything about the way your hands quickly tug his shirt up over his head, tossing the fabric elsewhere as you set your greedy eyes on his chest, the way your eyes widen at how flushed his skin is, and the sight of your tongue swiping over your lips as soon as you set your sight on his nipples.
Such pretty contrasting metal decorated his very pretty swollen nipples. So flushed with shades of pink and red, itching to be touched—just one flick and you knew he'd let out the most heavenly sound. The problem was convincing him to let you touch his nipples.
They were so damn tempting though, you swore you were drooling at the sight. God, you just wanted to reach out and-
"No," Sukuna rasps out. Your eyes snap up to his face and your pussy throbs at his expression.
He's beyond embarrassed. His eyes almost look glossed over with how desperate he was for you to stop looking at him. And yet he was so pouty and grumpy too, plump lips pulled into the cutest little frown at how hungry you were looking at him, his breathing unsteady all over again, and his cock felt twitching wildly beneath you.
You smirk, "'No'... what?"
"No, you cannot touch them," He's slow to clarify that, having seen right through those greedy eyes of yours, "You wanted to see and you've seen so-"
"I can make you feel good though," You purr, leaning in close to him all over again. "Jus' let me-"
"No," Sukuna mutters sternly. Then his hands are meeting your hips and his grip alone makes you flinch.
His touch is filled with intent as he slides his hands back to your ass and gives you a nice and firm squeeze, tugging you against him and making you gasp at the way his dick twitches right against your cunt. Your hands go to his shoulders to stop yourself from being pulled flush against him and he gazes dead up into your eyes.
How does one look so needy and yet commanding at the same time? It was like Sukuna told you thousands of words through his gaze alone. Maybe it was his very apparent physical need for you, or maybe it was just how attractive he is when aroused but fuck his look had your body hot all over.
Sukuna lets out a small breath of air before he drops his raspy tone even lower to a whisper, "Fuck me," He utters, feeling the reaction your cunt has to his words and cracking a cocky little smirk, "Fuck me, and you can touch me as much as you wish to."
You gulp thickly. Did you forget how to speak for a moment because all you do is open your mouth and it was like no words were even coming to your brain. His gaze was to intense and starved, large hands playing with the fat of your ass while he lifts his hips up slightly.
Then you gasp again, his thick tip was pressing right against your needy hole through the few layers of clothing that remained and you felt drunk off of your own arousal. Nodding and whispering in return, "O-Okay," Your hands slide around his neck and you lean in until your lips are meeting his again.
And if you were drunk off of your arousal then he was fucking high off of his own—feeling faded out of his mind with the way he leisurely moves to undress your lower half as he kisses you like he's done so a thousand times before, sliding his tongue into your mouth, swallowing up your moans, sucking on your lower lip, and undressing you all in one go.
Hell, for a second you forget the man is a damn virgin.
And as if to combat with that—you feel like a damn virgin once you start sinking your saccharine walls around Sukuna’s thickly curved cock. Gasping against his lips and feeling his fingertips curl into the skin of your waist, his jaw-dropping and lips quivering against yours as he lets out the most guttural groan he’s ever uttered, and both of your eyes fluttering at the connection of his body to yours.
Sukuna’s deeply shaded red eyes are hazy on yours as you sink down on him. His mind is turning to mush and he swears he’s about to pass the fuck out. It could’ve been the way your face looked as your cunt greedily sucked in his cock, or how tight your walls clamped down on him but, either way, Sukuna felt hot all over. Dizzy with lust and faded off of everything that’s you.
Every inch of you, the feel of your squeezing wet pussy enclosing around his aching cock, that breathy squeak of his name leaving your lips, and then your fingers grazing his chest-
Sukuna’s brows twist up and his entire body flinches instinctively. Hips bucking up slightly, large hands urging you further down, and shaky sound escaping his wet blushing lips—he’d officially lost it.
He looked so damn pretty doing so as well, not that you’d ever tell him that (you’ve embarrassed him enough for the time being). Those damn eyes of his were all glossed over, his bottom lip was shaking as a sexy-pitched gasp escaped his throat, and his hands held onto you for dear life whilst he bottomed out.
His fat cockhead kissing your cervix with little to no movement had you panting heavily while you kept your eyes low on his. “‘Kuna,” You feel his cock twitch desperately inside you and you toy with one of his sensitive nipples in between your index and thumb, “Y-You’re so-“
“Shut up,” He groans, and then he’s kissing you—desperately, hungrily-, starved. He knew another word from you would have your cunt stuffed full of his cum within seconds.
And as much as he wanted that, as much as he knew that’d be the end result of all this, he did not want to make yet another fool of himself. Though, the way your fingertips constantly flick over his pierced nipples makes him fucking whine into your mouth, a heavy grunt following after the sound as if to cover it up.
The hands your waist urge your body up, dragging your slicked walls up along his cock before allowing gravity to slam you back down. God the way you moan his name makes his knees feel weak. You were making him, as a whole, feel so utterly weak.
It wasn’t long before you were picking up a steady pace on top of him, your breaths shared with his and his eyes not once leaving yours. Sukuna was such a silent commander, that gaze of his told you everything, testing-, no, daring you to look away from him. He didn’t even know what it was about eye contact but he craved it so desperately.
Your gaze made his cock so stupidly hard, so much so that he just wanted to flip you over on this stupid couch of yours and-
And then he was. Sukuna doesn’t even register he’s repositioned with you until you let out the prettiest little whimper and your eyes roll back as he, almost experimentally, thrusts his heavy cock deep past your plush pussy lips.
What brings him back into the moment is that sound of you and the way you’re choking out his name, “S’kuna, f-fuck,” You almost hate that he’s taken control because you’ve lost your teasing of his chest, “Why’d you-, ngh-,” You’re cut off completely when he drags his hips back so torturously slow before rolling his hips down into you.
Shaking his head thoughtlessly, “Shut up,” Sukuna huffs again as he presses his bulky weight down against you, folding you into the meanest mating press and making you let out a filthy mewl at the sheer stretch of his girthy cock. “Please,” He sounds almost breathless, that plea of his hardly even audible, “Just be quiet f’me.”
Your jaw hangs open and you’re simply gaping up at the man with stupid, cockdrunk eyes. Something about feeling and watching him learn how to please you was probably more pleasurable than the sex itself. Which is saying an awfully lot because even though he didn't know what the hell he was doing, whatever he was doing, he was doing it right.
All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, moaning his name softly every time his tip nudges into that mushy spot inside you. Sukuna lets out a low hum when he feels your nails claw at his back suddenly.
Then the cocky bastard has the nerve to fucking smile at you. Almost as if he enjoyed the pain of your nails scratching at his back hard enough to leave marks…
Because, of course, then he’s fucking you faster, harder, deeper. So determined to learn what you like, to learn your body inside and out (literally), and to have you mark up his back more than the dark ink that decorates his skin currently.
“Y’feel so fuckin’…” He can hardly even speak as he just grows addicted to pushing his cock in and out and in and out. That sloppy sound of your cunt squelching and wetting up his cock over and over again-, fuck he couldn’t get enough of it. “S-So fuckin’ good,” Sukuna’s voice almost softens as he shifts his lips to your ear, “Oh fuck, wanna…” His words trail off, a deep shade of blush coating his cheeks.
You can’t help but grow that never-ending urge to tease him, moving your lips to his ear, “Wanna what?” There was a slight shake in your voice but that didn’t save him from his cock throbbing at the sound of your voice alone.
“Hahh… wanna-, agh, wanna make you cum,” Sukuna admits begrudgingly. He sounded so ridiculously embarrassed saying that out loud but he was far too pussydrunk to care right now.
Thrusts growing heavier as if he were searching for a specific spot inside you, his eyes softening as he shifts to hover his face over yours once more, and his groans making your stomach churn with butterflies. Hell, you almost do exactly that of what he’s requested based on the sound of desperation in his tone alone.
Sukuna’s usually such a big, mean, sometimes stoic man, and yet here he was, silently requesting your assistance.
He is only a virgin after all.
“Not anymore,” He gruffs, catching you by surprise as you render the fact that those words left your lips. “C’mon, tell me what to do.”
Again, Sukuna swears on his life he hates you. He hates the way you’ve made him so weak, the way your cunt is so deliciously warm inside, the way you moan his name-
Fuck, he hates you.
“‘Kuna,” You whisper as you slide one of your hands from around his neck to slip to his hand and guide him, “My clit. You gotta-“
Your breath is caught in your throat all over again. You were trying to guide him just like he wanted you to but Sukuna was far too quick of a learner, swatting his thick thumb around in search before his ears twitch at the way your voice gets stuck in your throat.
“Here?” He has the nerve to whisper gently, “Rub here, right? Y’like that?” Sukuna asks as he matches his thrusts with the flick of his thumb, drinking in the way your back arches up off of the couch and your eyes roll back.
You’re nodding, “Yes yes-, r-right there ‘Kuna, fuck…”
His eyes rake over your face all over again and then he’s doing that thing where he speaks without thinking, “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”
Of course, those softly uttered words pull you out of your cockdrunken stupor for only a moment, “H-Huh?” You breathe out as your eyes meet his.
“I hate you,” Sukuna lies straight through his teeth, “Hate how pretty you look beneath me,” He’s babbling at this point, picking up his pace and trying to angle his cock into somewhere specific, “How fuckin’—god you’re squeezin’ me s’tight, hahh—h-how you sound moaning my name, taking my cock.” With that last sentence comes a particularly harsh thrust.
Your nails scrape at his back again and he moans in pleasure. Gloss covers your eyes as he finally finds that spot that has you seeing stars, “Sukuna,” You moan sweetly, feeling him hit that very spot over and over and over again.
“Again,” He huffs, leaning down even closer and pressing more of his weight onto you, “Moan my name again, brat.”
“Sukuna,” You’re moaning without the need for his instruction. To hell if the man is a virgin, he knows how to use his cock.
What he doesn’t realize is how big he is in comparison to anyone else you’ve been with. Stretching you open with every thrust, fucking you ridiculously full of all his thick inches, knocking his dripping tip right against your sweet spot, making your legs tingle in numbness, and rolling skillful circles around your clit as if he’d practiced doing so before.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” Sukuna rasps out, his eyes locked dead onto yours as usual.
He was so focused on you, so eager to make you cum. Obviously, he’d never felt anything like this before so he never wants it to end. And perhaps that’s the only reason why he hasn’t emptied himself into you yet.
Every time you’re felt leaving another bright red mark on his back, he lets out a low hiss before flashing a smirk down at you, thrusts growing harder. Then there’s the way you just gape up at him, jaw dangling as you’re so clearly lost in pleasure, and pussy swallowing him in whole each time he fucks himself back into you.
And your little gasps of, “Feels s-so good Kuna, don’t stop.” Have him reeling back on purpose, pretending to mistakenly slip his cock out of you for a moment only to slap his fat cockhead against your needy hole and then push all of himself right back in.
With a smug expression on his face, “Don’t tell me what t’do,” He responds.
“I jus’ did,” You argue back all in one breath.
God, he- , “I hate you,” The words are leaving his lips yet again but he can’t stop driving his dick inside you. You’re so fucking warm, so welcoming for him, so honeyed and sweet inside. Hell, for a second he wonders what you’d taste like on his tongue—despite never even going down on someone before.
“Yeah,” You flash a fucked-out little smile up at him and your walls grip onto him tighter, making his brows twist up, “But you love fuckin’ me.” Your little whisper makes him shudder.
He nearly cums at that, releasing a strangled groan before he just nods almost obediently, “Uhuh.” Sukuna mumbles, his hate for you growing with every passing second.
There you are under him, still teasing him despite the expression of pleasure plastered across your face, “Yeah?”
“M-Mhm,” He grumbles in response.
He can’t help but just agree with you. Of course he adores fucking you. If anything, he doesn’t think he’d prefer it be anyone else. After watching your cute ass all composed every week in class, listening to the way you lecture him for not paying attention as if you actually care about him, watching you grow surprised today at the way he can get things done when he puts in an effort-
Shit, of course he wanted to see you like this—splayed out like a pretty little slut for him, gasping his name, looking him in the eye, and allowing him to fuck you. God, his mind is spinning. He can’t think at all.
So lost in his head, you’re left spasming below him because he’s still thumbing at your clit and his cock is as unforgiving as ever, “Sukuna,” His name rolls off of your tongue beautifully and he’s left in awe above you.
Tilting his head, “What?” Sukuna breathes as he’s pulled from his daze and back to the present.
“Make me cum,” You order so suddenly.
As that third word leaves those lips of yours, Sukuna smirks knowingly and he leans up a little just to angle himself better inside you. He glances down at your cunt, biting his lip at the sight of his cock bulging inside you, watching himself push in and out for a second before his smirk turns into a lazy little smile.
“Already did’,” He scoffs, flicking his eyes back up to you.
Your brows twist up, “Wha-“
“Are you that dumb when cock is inside ya’?” He utters meanly and earns an immediate squeeze of your gummy walls around his veiny shaft, “You came a few minutes ago, brat.”
“I…” Your expression becomes dumbfounded and in an instant, you’re the one left embarrassed.
Which he finds all too cute, “Felt good though.” He comments smugly, looking back down to where you’re connected and tilting his head at the sight.
Fuck, he was so sexy above you. Even on his chest, bright red scratches decorated his skin. When did you do that? His nipples were still as flushed as his face and you wanted so badly to reach out and flick your fingers against them again.
Pouting, “Sukuna-“
“Do it again f’me,” The man cuts off.
You can’t even get a response out before he’s leaning down again, “I-“
This time you’re cut off by him pressing your legs together and against your chest, loving the pretty sight of you folded and bent to his will like this. All he can do is stare down and watch himself fuck you, seeing your swollen lips take in his fat length so fucking beautifully. It’s like you were made for him or something.
Your cunt only molds around his cock, sucking him in whenever he pulls out like you never wanted him to leave you. He could feel every throb of your pussy when he spoke to you, every squeeze of your warmth when he reached deeper than before, and fuck was he enamored by every second of it.
“Please,” He says breathlessly all of a sudden, itching to watch you cum on his cock this time around.
His begging is followed by him moving his hand back down to your pussy, his thumb sliding back in search of your clit. Rubbing those maddening little circles once he finds it, Sukuna focuses most of his attention on your body. Every little jump you make when he swats his thumb to the left, every pitch in your moan when he thrusts inside you at a certain pace—Sukuna soon smiles once he’s got you all figured out.
“Oh fuck,” You whimper, tossing your head back against the couch as your eyes loll to the back of your hand.
With that knowing smile on his face, the couch creaks with his rough thrusts inside you, “Stop makin’ me beg you for shit,” Sukuna grunts before gifting your throbbing pussy with a little smack, “Jus’ give it t’me.”
“Sukuna-, ah,” You’re choking at the sensation and your cunt narrows even more around him.
His toned pelvis smacks against you over and over, heavy balls hitting your ass with each shove of his fat cock inside your warmth, “Fuck,” The man heaves as he feels himself steadily growing addicted.
Why the hell didn’t he have sex with someone sooner?
“M’gonna cum,” You soon whine out to the man.
To which he clashes into you faster, feining for it, “Please, fuckin’ need it,” Sukuna groans before pressing down against you again.
His thrusts grow uneven and jagged, eyes rolling back when he feels you finally cumming around his cock for a second time. You were squeezing him so tight. All he could do was moan at how perfect you were.
“Shiit,” He huffs, his cock twitching wildly inside you before his mind goes completely blank, “I love you-“
Your brows immediately twist up, “Wha-“
And then he’s painting your walls white. Grunting, groaning, moaning-, hell, you name it and the sound was leaving his lips as he fucks his orgasm into you.
Then he’s babbling mindless little praises of, “Love this fuckin’ pussy,” Lost in filling you with his cum and listening to you whimper from overstimulation.
Gifting you with praise after praise about how beautiful you are under him like this, how much he adores his name rolling off your tongue. He can’t even fathom how much cum is spilling into you, velvety thick ropes painting your walls a creamy white to the point where it spills out of you and coats his hefty base with a filthy ring of white.
All while he continued to praise you, going as far as thank you in quiet little whispers. God, he was out of his mind. He wasn’t thinking in the slightest, his mouth was just saying shit.
So much so that he’s barely lucid as his high comes down, doesn’t process a thing he said to you moments ago, and just lays there for a while with his cock resting inside you. All he can do is pant heavily as he rests his body on top of you, not yet pulling out and leaving his softened cock inside you.
You’re completely still beneath him for a while, trying to catch your breath as your legs feel temporarily numb. You couldn’t get those three words he spoke to you out of your head.
His tone was so damn soft and vulnerable, just replaying it in your head made you smile. Before he notices your expression though, you wipe the smirk off of your face and coo his name softly, “Sukuna…?”
“Don’t.” Is all he has to say to you. He was well aware of what he’d said to you.
He didn’t mean it, of course. He was simply… lost in the moment.
“Aww,” You purr, an obvious breathlessness to your tone, “You said you loved me cause I took your virginit-“
Sukuna lets out a mean groan before moving your legs apart so he can meet your eyes again, “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
You flash a pout to mock him, “Why? ‘Cause I didn’t say it back?”
His face is all different shades of blush but he still looks as mean and grumpy as ever, “No…”
“You sure?” You tease further.
All he can do is roll his eyes at you, “Fuck you.”
And, naturally, you only continue, “I think you did that already…”
Sukuna sighs, “Just.. Don’t tell anyone about this.”
“As long as you promise we’ll do this more often.”
“I-, hah,” He smirks, “What are you, some kinda cockhungry slut?”
“No…” Your eyes drag themselves elsewhere for a moment, “But for you, maybe.”
“Mh.” Sukuna hums deeply, an unavoidable smile spreading across his face, “I think I like that.”
“I think you love it-“
“M’gonna ‘love’ fucking the snarky responses outta’ your mouth in a second if you keep it up,” He says flawlessly.
All you can do is swallow down whatever it is you were going to respond to that with.
To which he smiles, “Uhuh, that’s what I thought.”
Summary: Some bitch at work flirts with your husband by baking for him. Frank makes sure it never happens again. You make sure Frank never forgets who’s the sweetest. And the tightest.
Warnings: jealousy, slight angst, hurt/comfort, explicit smut, jealous/possessive sex, biting/hickies, matched freak sex, table sex, standing sex, breeding kink, size diff, cock stomach bulge, dirty talk, lowkey funny ending bc you gotta be silly with the love of ur life, pwp. 18+ only. MDNI. Reader is always a consenting adult. smut written while listening to this banger
w/c: 7k
MASTERLIST
requested by a moot via DMs that wishes to remain anon 🤎
One of your favorite things to do is to surprise Frank on the job. Hell, it’s one of his, too, even if he’s got to fend off the drooling, indecent rats he works with.
But today?
Today you get a surprise.
And you’re not very fond of it.
Through the white haze of the sun, you walk from the gravel construction lot and to the prefabricated office building. Nothing more than a box of four walls and two screen windows by the door. Inside, just as bare. A water jug, a portable AC unit for the manager (perks of being up on the ladder, eh?) and a desk that’s usually empty. But, when you can’t get ahold of Frank—like today—this is where you check on the off chance the site manager’s around and he’ll retrieve your husband.
The heat brings flush to your cheeks, neck. The wind over the metal skeleton landscape slings bits of dirt into the grease-sponged brown paper bag you swing at your side. It’s not much, but it’s all you could manage over your thirty minute break at work. Frank’s favorite sandwich from the deli downtown.
Nearing the door, though… voices carry from the prefab. You scuff to a stop, ear tilting to listen.
“Jeez, Pete, it’s not a cookie eating contest,” says a feminine voice; one of velvet and easy confidence and breathy laugh. “I made them for you, big guy.”
Pete. Surely there are other Petes. Peters. Whatever. Surely it’s not your Frank someone else is baking cookies for.
“Mm,” but it’s your husband that hums, his mouth obviously stuffed. “Shit’s good. Real good. Ain’t had some ‘a these in a while.”
Okay. So. It is your husband. And she called him big guy. What the fuck? No other woman needs to be calling your husband big guy.
“Well, you said they’re your favorite, and they’re easy enough to make, so… I figured, why not?” A little pause, like maybe she’s watching Frank, relishing in his satisfaction. “…You like them?” A lift of her tone, seeking approval… seeking your husband’s approval.
“Yeah,” Frank says. “Yeah, real good. Did a nice job on ‘em.”
“Thaaanks!” she chimes, and you’re almost sick imaging what kind of smile she has plastered to her face right now.
Whoever the fuck this is. Last you checked, women didn’t work here. So— who the hell is she? Frank’s done nothing wrong. It’s not him you’re worried about. But you’re not blind, not stupid.
“So you said it’s been awhile, Pete. Since you’ve had any of these. I’m only here part-time. I bake a lot in my free time. Why don’t I bring you in some stuff when I can? You can be my taste tester. I get to bake, you get to go less than a while without cookies and such. How’s that sound?”
Face cinching with a scowl, you brace for the answer.
“Sounds like ‘m gonna get fat,” Frank huffs. “Wife ain’t gonna like that.”
“I have a feeling it’d just turn to more muscle on you, big guy,” carried by an undercutting laugh at your mention. “Well, then your wife should be the one feeding you, not me—”
Before the conversation skins you alive, your shoes stab up the two grated stairs and yank open the flimsy prefab door.
In a whirl of wind, dust, and threat, you appear with the shriek of hinges.
Old tactical memory—to react to surprise—Frank whirls to face the door, fists around a cookie and a plastic cup of water.
And there, at the fucking desk— her. Whoever the fuck she thinks she is, making your husband cookies. “Uhm, ma’am—?” Comes a polite scoff instead of who the fuck are you?, but Frank’s the one to answer with a low, praising whistle.
“Hey, there she is,” he says, a smirk pulling sideways to show his teeth. “There’s m’girl. Look at ‘er, huh?“ Frank discards the water and cookie on the desk like yesterday’s news: old, over it. He makes room for you, on you as you make the step in, his hand finding yours to help you up. Wired for you. “Showin’ up here, wearin’ m’favorite shirt like that, Jesus— how I get so lucky, huh?“
“So lucky,” you reiterate with your chin tipped up to him, a burning attention fixed entirely on Frank hot enough it singes the air. The mildew of the AC recycles the sweetness of the cookies; the stench of undermining. “Luckier now, since I’m feeding you, hmm?” And you hold you the brown baggie with the stiff raise of your brow, a smile too rigid. “I’d hate if you had to get full on junk food.”
Bag in his periphery, his eyes leaving yours for half a second to confirm it’s a sandwich from that deli down on Main, Frank’s expression sparks. “I got th’ best wife, huh? Tell these guys all th’ damn time. Best damn woman I ever met. Still dunno what she’s doin’ with an asshole like me, ‘less this’s m’last meal.”
“Well, it’d be a way to go,” you say, too tight. “Dessert before real food.”
Frank falters, but before he can question the tension in your cheeks, the subtle lashings of your tongue, she interrupts. A forced clearing of her throat, the chair rolling in place for attention.
The gentleman he is, Frank’s attention does divide. Two more seconds, though, his eyes linger on you. Trying to dissect the ice in your stare, the scrunch of your face.
“Hey, uh…” Frank opens up, but keeps you tucked snug into his side. “Marissa, this’s m’wife. Sweetheart, this’s Marissa. Temp site clerk.” Frank gestures an introduction.
Wrecking ball sounds more fitting, you think.
The worst part is she’s… pretty. Ridiculously pretty. Your stomach flops over, inverts like it might dispel your breakfast. A seemingly flawless complexion only few people are blessed with. A long sheet of silk for hair, hiked into a neat, slick ponytail so it swishes an intoxicating pendulum when she moves her head. You wedge deeper into Frank’s side, standing tall. Unmovable from what’s yours.
“…Hi.” She forces a smile.
“Hi.” You don’t.
And nothing else follows. Nothing but the nasty humidity of possession; a tangible ick of a woman’s place being challenged. Not threatened. Challenged.
Sensing the tension (repulsion) in the air from either side, Frank shifts. Holds you closer, bounces you a bit.
“Say, uh… Marissa made these cookies here,” Frank says, nodding at the plate on the desk. “Ain’t bad. Try one, yeah? You’re the cookie expert. See what you think, huh?”
You glance at the cookies. At Marissa. A flick of cold indifference in your eyes. Then back up to Frank. God, he’s so handsome. Handsome and oblivious. Quiet delight in his dark eyes, in the crinkles in the corners of them that only appear at the sight of you. Damn him. So you shrug. Take a step to grab one without leaving Frank’s side, lips in a cutting smile.
Marissa rolls her eyes elsewhere.
You don’t. You stare. Unrelenting. A threat that doesn’t require speech. And you take a bite.
“Mm,” you hum, moving the cookie you don’t chew into your cheek. “Tastes like the prepackaged cookies from Walmart. Using real ingredients’ll take that right out.”
You’d like to say it didn’t bother you that much. Earlier. Marissa. You’d really like to. But your heart rate hasn’t gone down since noon, your responses come out all bark waiting to bite, and Frank knows to tread lightly—just doesn’t know why.
You sit posted up on one side of the couch, back on the armrest. Chin high, face of stone angled away, bundled into yourself under a blanket, eyes glued to the television without giving a rat’s ass what’s on. The only place you allow Frank to touch are your feet, and he dragged those over into his lap himself minutes ago.
Frank… Oh, your husband reads you like a book. One in simple English, magnified text, because your attitude speaks volumes without a peep. Big paws knead your feet in his lap. Thumbs drive into the sole of your foot as he blinks glances from the tv, to you. Tv, you. He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for the right time, questions on his tongue, suspicions stuck behind his teeth.
“Would you like some real dessert?” You finally offer, the question baited with petty contempt. Not towards Frank.
It gets his full attention. Hands work your feet, but his head turns to fully look at you. All icy reluctance and clipped words coming full circle. Confirming the suspicion. “…S’a weeknight.”
“And?”
“You don’t bake on weeknights.”
“Want me to start?”
“Sweetheart— why’d I want that, huh? Think ‘m some kinda asshole? ’Spect you t’come home after workin’ all day t’make me dessert?” Frank huffs at the thought, faint shake of his head.
“Yeah, but would you like that? Someone that does come home after work to whip you up some store-bought crap so you’re not going unfed?”
Now Frank stops. His hands go motionless. Eyes slit. “You mad over that? Her makin’ cookies?”
“It’s not making cookies. She’s flirting, Frank.”
Frank’s in the middle of scoffing a laugh, but the look you give shuts him the fuck up. His brows pitch up, face screwed. “…That’s flirtin’?”
“Frank.” You face palm. “Good god, yes. That’s the equivalent of pulling your pants down and sucking you on the spot.”
“S’a, huh, lil’ extreme, sweetheart—”
“Frank. It is.”
“…So, uh…” The memories rewind, his eyes searching ahead. “All those times before we…” vague hand gestures to signal fucking, getting together, admitting feelings, whatever, “…you baked f’me… you was flirtin’? ……….with me?”
Deadpan disbelief, you blink at him. “…Are you seriously just now realizing that?” Yes. The silence says yes. “…God, it’s a good thing you’re not single.”
“Alright.” Frank nods slow understanding. “So you’re mad ‘bout that. You mad with me?”
“Not mad…” you mumble, brows pinched as you find the right words. “Okay. Maybe mad, yeah. Mad somewhere along the way you said I wasn’t baking them, that she found out they’re your favorite so she felt the need to take it upon herself to satisfy you.”
“Satisfy—? Christ. Ain’t like I asked f’any ‘a that—”
“I’m not saying you did. That’s not the point. The point is she thought of you enough to remember that. Go to the store. Spend money on them. Buy them for you. Bake them for you. Bring them in for you. You do realize that’s some pretty intentional flirting, right?” You ask, both brows hiked up to drill the essence of your case across. “It’s not a harmless joke or even a comment about your rugged good looks. She put time into this. Planned it.”
In slow motion, it unfolds. His brows smooth out. His jaw unlocks. His mouth opens, but it’s for a small inhale to help finalize the message between the lines.
“I don’t like someone else feeding my husband like he’s some neglected stray that needs attention,” you say as he processes. “No one else should ever think they get that right.” You scoff, take your feet back to burrow into yourself. Blanket at your chin, glaring at the D-Day documentary instead of him. “And I hate she did. And I hate that you enjoyed it. And that you didn’t realize they’re the bullshit refrigerator cookies that taste like stale dog ass.”
Normally he would’ve chuckled at the language. Right now he just nods. Looks down. Gnaws his bottom lip. Hands empty on his thighs, he offers them up in a yeah, you’re right. He says it, too. “Yeah, sweetheart,” hoarse with realization. “Yeah. You’re right. No one’s got that right but you, hm? Ain’t no one compares t’you, know that? Yeah. You’re my goddamn everythin’. Give me everythin’ thought I’d never have. Shit I don’t deserve.”
Jealousy’s an ugly monster. And when she leaves? She leaves a sickening guilt behind, residue jellied to your insides. Face falling to that guilt, frowning, you look down at the blanket; a safe space from the pound-puppy look you know Frank has. “Don’t say that…” you mumble, the fire diminished. Smoke in its wake. “You deserve every good thing. And I try to give you all of them. All that I can, anyway. Sometimes I think I get so caught up in the day-to-day I forget. Forget how easy it is to whip up some brownies or cookies or whatever just to say I love you. Because it’s the small things like that, that speak the loudest… right? And I do, god, I do… I love you so much, Frankie. It made me sick seeing someone else so… so… lit up by you.”
“Baby… C’mere. C’mon. Come t’Frankie, yeah?” Both legs spread wide, he pats his thighs. Wants you close. Wants to hold you, feel you, love you.
You fervidly shake your head. How’re you supposed to melt into him when you’ve been a bitch the entire night? When he’s so fucking sweet even after you’ve been so fucking sour?
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
Nuh-uh nuh-uh nuh-uh.
“No?” he asks. “Alright. Fine.”
“Eee! Frank!” Jostling as he yanks you across the couch, a gentle manhandle as he tucks you in a cradle for a comforting timeout.
Frank paws the blanket around your arms, under your chin. Tucks you comfy in the curve of his arm, your body draped over his lap. So sweet, so gentle you do nothing but lock your mouth shut. Quieted by his determination for resolution, your glare softening with reluctance.
“You’re it f’me, sweetheart,” he says, finger scratching under your chin. “No competition. You. M’ number one. You got me, I got you, yeah? How it’s always been. Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’. No one, hm?”
Cheeks hot from Marissa irk, you huff, eyes slanted away. He’s right. You know he’s right. It doesn’t make it any easier to witness someone actively providing a service for your husband. “It’s not you I worry about. I trust you. I don’t trust her.”
“Said you trust me?” Frank settles back between the cushions, your rigid weight defrosting over his chest and stomach. He waits for you to nod. “Then you gotta trust I’ll handle it, sweetheart. Trust your man’ll handle it?”
You don’t know what handling it looks like. He won’t punch an innocent (unfortunately it’s not criminal to flirt) desk clerk. So what will he do? God it pisses you off. Being in this situation. Some dumb bitch thinks it’s okay to spend money on your husband, bake for him, even dare to soil your name like you don’t cherish him enough because you haven’t made cookies in a while.
“Hey.” Frank bounces an arm, getting you from your thoughts. “Asked you a question. Trust me t’handle it?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, a fierce thought spearing through your mind. If you can’t get rid of Marissa… you’ll make sure she’s never even a thought. “I know you’ll handle it.”
You’ll believe it when you see it.
In the meantime?
You have your own plan.
Frank’s intentionally loud when he gets home. Finagles the key in the lock so the ribs scratch and click. Rattles the doorknob unnecessarily before actually turning it. Scuffs and stamps his boots, the sound streaking through the house. Works better than any doorbell ‘cause it’s personal.
When you hear him?
Shit.
Always come runnin’.
Frank loves the way you slide into the hall, feet goin’ too damn fast for polished wood, body fishtailin’ as you bulldoze straight into him after a day apart.
Today, though…
Today Frank comes in. Made all his usual noise. Didn’t work. Nothin’. No you. So he made more noise. Sniffed. Huffed. Cursed. Even coughed. Hacked up half a goddamn lung, still— nothin’.
Shuffled to a stop in the entryway, Frank pauses. Listens. Drone of the kitchen fan. Squeak of the dish washer. The smell, though… His nose takes to the air, nostrils flexing in their search. Cocoa… sugar… Warm oven air fannin’ out from the kitchen.
Baked.
You baked.
Christ. That can’t mean anythin’ good. Not after yesterday.
“Sweetheart?” he calls.
Two… three… four…
The seconds tick up in time with his worry.
Seven… eight… nine…
“Frankie?” Ultra sweet, drifting down the hall from the kitchen.
Longest ten seconds ‘a his goddamn life.
His shoulders deflate, a sigh of relief puffing his cheeks.
“You alright in here, sweetheart?” He asks while in motion; an intuitive navigation to you. “Didn’t hear me come in, huh?”
Jesus. He ain’t in the dog house. He’s in the fuckin’ pound, huh?
“Dessert,” Frank repeats, a wary amble through the hall, light at the end showin’ him an empty stove. “‘Fore dinner?”
“Mmmhmmm… Figured you could use a real treat. You want a treat? Would you like a treat?”
Rounding the corner with the roll of his eyes, “Baby, I ain’t a fuckin’ dog—”
You prove him wrong.
The sight? Stuns him. Stops him dead in his tracks, mouth open ‘cause he’s either speechless or might start barkin’ like a fuckin’ dog. Whatever comes first. Drools beats both, saliva submerging his teeth.
You. On the table. Dolled up in black lingerie. Black lace. Silky legs dangling. Crossed at the knee. A hand propping you up, nails ticking a leisurely click.
Beside you. Cupcakes. A full platter. Pink cups. Perfect top over the crinkled paper. Dark chocolate cake. Icing swirled high and tight. A dark, fat cherry the color of sin in a pillow at the peak.
Your eyes pin Frank’s, relishing in the way he looks back over his shoulder like he walked into a dream instead of his own home.
“Welcome home, honey,” you say with a hum, casual as you pluck a cherry from the icing by the stem. You twirl it in your finger and thumb, head tilting so your hair falls. “Are you… hungry?”
“Jesus,” his throat slinks, eyes roving you. “Fuckin’ starved.” Downright hypnotized when you inhale the cherry between your puckered lips, trapping it between your teeth for a slow… devastating… tempting… delicious… crush.
A spurt of red juice trickles down your chin as you chew. “Oops,” as if it’s not your plan when the sticky sweetness slides down your neck. “You wanna… get this for me, baby?” you ask, lashes batting innocence.
Frank’s feet carry him to the paper towels, but he can’t stop looking at you. Is it a game? A threat? A test? After last night, it can’t be a reward.
…Right?
“Ah-ah,” you correct as he goes to rip a towel off. “Don’t waste one of those. You can clean me up yourself, can’t you?”
Say less.
Frank approaches like he’s waiting to catch trip wire. A cautioned excitement scuffing his boots to a stop in front of you, towering over you where you sit. His tongue traces slow over the line of his upper lip, eyes everywhere. Every inch of your face. Following the line of juice where it stops on your throat. The swell of your tits in the lingerie. So fuckin’ beautiful he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch. Tries anyway. Both hands lift, an automatic reach for your breasts, but stops himself. Eyes you for permission.
“Waited all day to see you like this,” you tease, grin lopsided, quieter under the weight of his wonder. “Don’t make me beg for it.”
Frank musters some decency. Remembers the task at hand. Using the curve of his bent finger, he eases your chin up, baring your neck. Enthralled when the column moves. A slow, rolling swallow under delicate skin.
“Whatchu doin’, huh?” he asks, question hot against the subtle mound of your throat. “Sittin’ here like m’last goddamn meal.”
Your head falls back, eyes closing. “Reminding you there’s no place like home…”
His tongue pads a small sweep over your adam’s apple, tasting cherry-sweetened skin. Lips latch, sealing the saliva with a kiss disguised as good-natured. “Ain’t no place like home,” he mumbles against you, skimming along the juice line with a pointed tongue, planting an open-mouthed kiss every inch.
You’re getting lost in it. The gravity of intention in his touch. His hands smooth over your sides, thumbs spanning lazy arcs to memorize the soft lace rasping under his worn hands.
He kisses up to your chin. Nips the round of it. Hovers his lips over yours, the last spot he needs to clean. He waits there until you bat your eyes open. Look up at him, all soft surrender decorated in lace.
Both of you wear the same expression: hazy lust, the apologies of yesterday.
“Still mad?” he asks, a hand holding your jaw, fingers lightly squishing your lips.
“Mmm… not really,” you murmur, words slurred.
“Not really ain’t no, pretty girl. Lemme ask again…” a pause, the two of you sharing the same hushed, hot breath. “You still mad?”
Your shoulders bunch gradually. “A bit. I don’t like her, Frankie.”
“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout her—”
“I know…”
“You don’t. Didn’t lemme finish. Gonna lemme finish, hm?” Soft, no bite. He gives your head a little sway by his hand, smooshing your mouth up more.
You nod, bunching your hands in the front of his shirt.
“Requested a site transfer. Got th’ transfer.”
You snap upright. “What? Frank, I didn’t mean to—”
“Sh-sh. Didn’t do nothin’ wrong, pretty girl. You had a problem with somethin’, I handled it. S’how this works, yeah? I ain’t gonna keep us ‘round trouble. Ain’t gonna worry you like that. Told you that, day one. Trouble don’t always look like blood ‘n guns, baby.” A warmth in his stare down at you, face hovering yours. The smallest tug of a smirk softens his face. “Trouble looks like that goddamn Walmart cookie dough ‘n tastes like stale dog ass.”
You laugh, cheeks pudging under his fingers. It spurs him.
“Huh? Yeah? You like that? Trouble lookin’ like bullshit cookies ‘n tastin’ like dog ass? Yeah, there she is. There’s m’ girl.” He leans the rest of the way down. Slots your lips to his though you’re mid-laugh. A firm mold claiming you as his number one, promising again, through actions and words, you’re always first. You taste like cherries and powdered sugar icing—the real stuff, nothin’ from the fridges. Forgiveness has a taste. It’s this.
Frank tastes like gum and coffee. Safety has a taste, too. It’s him.
Separating in a quiet, reluctant smooch, Frank grazes a finger back and forth over your lips. Slow. Content. “Where else you got cherry juice, huh? Where else I need t’get?”
You uncross your knees, the movement getting Frank’s attention, and when it does…
“Fuck, you been sittin’ here like that th’ whole time?” Standing between your knees, the realization so profound it’s painful, Frank licks his lips at the sight of the crotchless lingerie. Puffy little pussy on display, waiting for him, right there on the goddamn table. A wet glisten already on your folds. Access to the main course while the rest of you stays gift-wrapped.
You catch fire under his blatant stare at your bare cunt.
He licks his lips, eyes snapping to yours in a blink. No play. All hunger, a necessity to satiate himself on the taste of your pussy as your thighs break his neck. “Wider, baby. Spread ‘em wider, yeah? Gotta fuckin’ taste you.”
Little movements, you shake your head.
“No?” Frank’s brows jerk up. Maybe this is punishment. “Ain’t wantin’ that? Alright, sweetheart. Alright. How ‘bout you ride my hand, huh? Make a mess on me ‘fore I fill you up, yeah?”
His hand dips down but you snatch his wrist. “No. No, Frank, please. I want you to feel how tight I am for you. I need you to feel this, please.”
A groan lodges in his throat, a sound of borderline agony. “Baby… I gotta,” hoarse, his brows knit up, pained honesty. “You know I gotta otherwise it don’t fit.”
Your knees latch over his hips, fingers digging into the tabletop. “Make it fit.”
His eyes go black, devoured by hunger. “Don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he pushes through his teeth, hands kneading the crease of your thighs as he drags you against him.
A rattled breath leaves you, your wet cunt pressed against the taut denim of his pants. You leave a glistening streak over the dark wash. “I’m asking you to make it fit, Frank. Please.”
“Goddamn it…”
You know Frank’s magic words. You know Frank can’t deny you.
Your hands fumble for the hem of his shirt, shoving your palms up his abdomen. “Off,” you pant, a frenzy of anticipation. “Off now.” You’ve never had your husband like this before— never without his hands working you open first.
You’ve tried. It just… doesn’t fit. He’s too big. You’re too small.
Hand in the collar of his shirt, Frank hauls it over his head. Throws it on the stovetop, burner still warm.
You dive for his belt, tearing his hips side to side in your struggle.
“Got it, baby, got it,” Frank mutters his assurance, replacing your hands with the swift solution of his.
The buckle jingles; the prelude to what’s yours. Pants and boxers go down together, the vein-threaded rod of his cock bowing free and heavy.
Just as his clothes are shed in a heap, you perch on the edge of the table, legs gathering him, ankles hooking above his ass.
Frank lines himself up. Uses a hand to wedge the tip over the slick of your folds, coating the leaky slit, other hand planted on the table behind your ass to cage you there with him.
Chest heaving, cunt aching, twitching with the swipes of his head, you hook your arms around his neck.
“Ready, baby?” he asks, all heat and husk.
You nod quick bursts, words lost and dried up.
“Breathe, baby, alright? Don’t f’get t’breathe f’me. Gonna get you open f’me. Make it fit, alright? Make you sit real nice ‘n pretty on it—”
Agony equal to bliss, your eyes widen, your chest inflates with a searing gasp as just the fat tip of Frank’s cock splits the vise of your cunt. Your spine springs a deep arch into him, nails flying to his shoulders to dig into the meat—to cling.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ—” Frank hisses through clenched teeth, face contorted like he’s malfunctioning under the pressure, the slick defiance of your cunt. His eyes cross from the wet clamp. Flared nostrils, bared teeth. A snarl of overwhelming euphoria as he tries to feed you another inch. “Breathe f’me, baby, c’mon. Relax, huh?” One hand blankets your lower stomach, his chest heaving as he pauses. Relaxes with you, an instruction for you to follow. “You sure ‘bout this, baby? Want you comfortable, hm?” The hand from your belly cradles your face instead, fingers extended into your hair, thumb pushing rough assurance over your cheek. “Wanna make you feel good. Don’t wanna be hurtin’ my pretty girl.”
Teeth chattering, body trembling, you lean into his touch. “Please, Frank…” a velvety whisper, a desperation popping out your collarbones. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Surrender to your please, Frank’s forehead drops against yours. “Tell me ‘f it’s too much, yeah?” A low rumble. “You tell me. Ain’t nothin’ you gotta prove like this, alright? Nothin’.” A hand kneading the crease of your thigh, the other dragging down the lace-lined curve of your spine with reverent patience. “Love you, pretty girl.”
Your cunt pulses around his heavy tip once—he grunts, jolts.
You gasp, hum. “Love you so much, Frankie.”
And brace.
Frank dips his head. Scoops your mouth into a slow, crude kiss. All tongue between your lips, drawing yours out. Spit slick and deliciously warm, your tongues lap and lips suck around each other. Greedy, sloppy kisses of ownership.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” Frank groans into your mouth, his hips rolling a persistent nudge. “Fuck, feel so good.”
Arms winding around his shoulders, head dropped to the side, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth. Free it by raking your teeth over the flesh on the draw back. “More.”
“Yeah? Gonna fill you up. Ain’t gonna have room f’more,” he pants, eyes hooded as he marvels over the spit-sheen on your lips, the string draped between your mouths. “Spit on it f’me, hm? You do that, pretty girl? Spit ‘n I’ll give ya more.”
Breathless, lust-drunk, you nod quick agreement and peel back. Head dropping, your eyes widen when you see how he tries to conjoin you. Engorged veins cinch down his shaft, the first two inches (all he can fit right now) coated in your slick. In careful ruts—so fucking careful you whine—he pushes the hot clench of your cunt to open you up.
Frank meets you there, his head bowed in sheer awe as you both admire the tight fit, the near-impossible stretch of your pussy for his cock.
“Yeah, baby, yeah. Love how you take m’fuckin’ dick. So fuckin’ good. Look at ‘er,” he says, a thumb skimming your folds to graze them apart as he tip-fucks you, rub your arousal over the soft, sensitive skin. “C’mon baby, you forget you need t’spit on me, hm?”
Taking everything in your mouth, you pucker your lips. You drop out a cord of spit spanning from your pretty lips to his shaft, drizzling over him in thin spins until it all pools down.
“Ooh, that’s it, attagirl,” Frank praises in a ragged breath, thrusts picking up with the added slip. Tendons in his neck wire. Muscles in his forearms carve out, hands locked at the crease of your thighs. Pushes his cock in deeper, pushes through the strangle of your pussy around him. “Fuckin’ chokin’ me baby, huh? Pussy’s chokin’ me, fuck.”
“F-fuck!” You cry, body jolting once with the electric on of feeling him everywhere, prodding your guts. “Fuck, I told you, Frank. T-told you. So tight. So tight I didn’t think you’d fit—”
“—almost there, baby, almost, c’mon—”
“So tight around my own fingers, Frank, fuck—had to- had to feel you like this.”
He growls. An animalistic heave of possession; a starvation stemming from your confession. “Touchin’ yourself ‘fore I got here? Huh? Playin’ with that pretty pussy ‘fore I got home?”
“Couldn’t- couldn’t wait—” you pant, hands everywhere on him. Tearing through his hair, nails piercing his shoulder blades, clawing down the sides of his neck. “Thought about you. This. All day. All fucking day, Frank. Had to feel how wet I got just from thinking about you.”
A harder slam of his hips—punishment, praise. Reward for you in the stretch that sucks your breath dry, parching the cry leaving your lips.
“You cum?” he grits, yanking you so your ass teeters the very edge of the table. Forehead smashed against yours, mouth panting open and salivating for yours. “Make y’self cum without me, hm?”
“No,” you adamantly shake your head, knees spurring his ribs. “No. Just- just felt. One finger! That’s all. I was so fucking tight I needed you to feel, Frankie. I waited on you. Just like this. Just for you.”
Sweat slipping your foreheads, Frank grunts, hips rolling greedier, short snaps as the last. inch. goes. in—
“Oooh-ahhh! Frank—!”
Stuffed until you choke on the sob in your chest, body seized by an outburst of brilliant pain, a sharp sensation of such fullness you’re complete.
“Fuuuck, baby,” Frank grits out, head bowed to gape at how your cunt throbs around every fat inch. Cunt pressed flush to his base. Fit so perfectly, a bulge prodding the lace over your lower tummy where his cock banks. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ perfect, baby, so fuckin’ tight. Look at you. Look at that. Every fuckin’ inch in that tight little pussy. Still breathin’, baby? C’mon. Breathe f’me.”
You do. You listen. Small huffs. Stunned hums. A tumbling, breathy laugh as you look down and see how you sheath him.
“Feel your fuckin’ heartbeat ‘round me, baby,” Frank murmurs, lips grazing the corner of your parted mouth, “yeah, feels so fuckin’ good. Ain’t no one made f’me like you.”
Perked through the lace of the lingerie, you graze your nipples over his chest, a feline arch to your back. The cupcakes wait within reach. Ass perched on the ledge of the table, arms draped over his shoulders. Frank’s both your rescue and your ruin. You shimmy your hips just to hear him grunt a curse, feel the jump of his cock as it sits an idle pipe inside of you. Blindly reaching over, you scoop a glob of icing onto your finger. Head tipped back, you hold it an inch from his lips and his eyes cloud black. “Then fuck me like no one’s made for you but me.”
Without blinking, Frank leans that one inch in. Opens his mouth. And swallows your finger to the goddamn knuckle.
Your eyes widen, breath catches. As you begin a lewd, languid retreat of your finger, Frank flattens his tongue. And sucks. Drags off every bit of icing as your joints come out in a slow, spit-shimmering leave and pop off his lips. Stomach fluttering, eyes sparking— you’re done for.
And so is he.
Instinct over thought, you both clash. Both find union in desperation, in the hot vulgarity that hunger breeds.
Bodies tacky with sweat, both you grind. Frank stays buried inside of you, ruts into you, unwilling to leave the rapture of your pussy.
Shaky moans spill from your mouth and into the strong slant of his neck. Your hips curl down, out, in time with his, chasing the friction, the galvanizing totality of your husband.
A filthy slow motion, your swollen clit grinding the coarse hair at his thick base. Smears a white cream circle in his hair, frothing over his cock.
It starts low in your belly. The squeeze. The exhilarating, white-hot panic from overstimulation. Watching as his cock shifts under your lace, feeling the tip knock the deepest parts of you; places no one has ever touched—places no one else can reach.
The table creaks, legs scraping resistance thrust by thrust until it drives into the wall. Pinned—just like you. Nowhere to go. More leverage for Frank to wreck you.
“All fuckin’ mine—” he slams in.
“Mine.”
Slam.
“My pretty fuckin’ wife.”
Slam.
“Pretty fuckin’ pussy.”
Slam.
“Cum on my cock, baby, c’mon. Cum f’me, hm? Gettin’ close. Feel it, way you’re suckin’ me, yeah, fuckin’ love it.”
“Frank!” you cry out with urgency, clawing every conceivable place on him—biceps, chest, eventually sinking into his shoulders—as your world starts to plummet. Legs quaking. Stomach quivering. Eyes fluttering back. Then, softer, a plea you know he’ll answer: “Hold me, Frank, please, hold me while I—”
His arms form an immediate cage around you, unbreakable and unconditional. The safest place for you to fall apart in. Him.
“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon— cum on m’cock, baby.”
The wet slap of skin. The pouring heat of sex and sweat and possession. Intoxicating lust teetering explosion as he rocks into you, hair scraping just right over your needy clit, arms an enclosure until—
“Oooh, Frank! Frank, I’m—!”
Cumming. Bliss, straight in his fuckin’ ear. Moans a fuckin’ choir, his name a prayer as you fall apart, climbing him for relief until relief’s all you have and you need him to come back down.
You gush on his dick, walls thrumming frantic compressions around him.
“Oh, yeah, there she is,” Frank coos, hips slowing to an agonizingly tender tease, hitting each pulsating shock. “There’s m’fuckin’ girl. Attagirl.”
Hair stuck to your face, you collapse over him. Cheek smooshed on his shoulder, arms locked in a shaking bolt around him. “Mm,” you hum, soft pants through the little part of your lips. One weak leg falls off his hip, and you’re too spent to care.
Frank rumbles a chuckle. Picks your leg up so it doesn’t dangle. Pins it back against his hip with his elbow. Strums his fingers over your thigh, other hand rubbing the nape of your neck. “You good, huh?” Softer now, still rough with lust. “Pretty girl. Always so good f’me. Look so fuckin’ pretty when you cum on m’dick like that.”
“Mhm,” your lashes flutter, head picking up. Heat blankets your face, chest. The lingerie’s damp and itchy on your skin. You sit up just enough to prove you’re okay, and Frank… god, he— Well, he looks like he’s seen God.
But it’s you.
“You ain’t done yet,” he says, and it’s a warning. “Ain’t done makin’ you mine. You do somethin’ f’me, baby, hm?”
Cock still buried, cunt sucking him with aftershocks, your breath catches as you nod. “Tell me. Anything.”
“Marks. Want ‘em. Fuck— want ‘em all over. You do that f’me? Bruise me up, huh?”
“Wha— Frankie, you sure? You never—”
One look shuts you up. Pupils a total eclipse of over his eyes, he wears this exact face into a war zone: brutal, a man unafraid to take victory by whatever means necessary, all dark possession with the mission but this is different. This is warfare in home territory; a battle where loss is unacceptable.
“Lemme feel you,” he says, head canted to offer the thick conduits of muscle and tendons in his neck.
A second—one—of mesmerization, your eyes dart from his to his neck. The stretch of his neck’s all you need.
You bite down on the sharp slant, a mouthful of muscle and his pulse. Hard enough he hisses. Hard enough your teeth impress to bruise.
“Fuck, yeah, s’it,” Frank groans and lifts you off the table. Standing, balancing you both, his fingers sprawl hooks under your ass and thighs, dropping you down and lifting you up on his cock in time with the plunge of his hips. “Don’t fuckin’ stop. Use that pretty lil’ mouth. Show ‘em what I got waitin’ at home, huh? Good girl waitin’ f’me. Tight fuckin’ pussy. Fuckin’ cupcakes—”
You leech onto his skin as he bounces you upright on his dick. Spit smearing your mouth, his neck, a trail of red-mottled bruises in your wake as tongue and teeth collide to assert your rightful possession over this body, this man. It starts again— the squeeze. Low in your belly, whittling ecstasy over your clit.
Pussy drunk, lust-induced, Frank’s head tips back. The shlick thumps of his cock bottoming out your cunt fills the kitchen, the slap of his balls, your muffled moans scoring through the walls.
Head spinning, lips swollen, you pry yourself off Frank in a gasp. Tits bounce in lace, hair disheveled, face flushed. You’re a goddamn angel of sin. You meet his wild stare. He’s just as disoriented as you. He’s beautiful, the strength in his neck and shoulders blooming contusions in the print of your teeth and shape of your lips.
You watch in flustered awe how he impales you, your cunt dripping and folds adhered to him. Crammed so fucking full, no more stretch to give, thrown on his cock with the sharp slap of skin.
The wide span of his fingers pull your ass apart so your cunt chokes tighter around every throbbing inch as he hammers up and in. His balls tighten. Biceps pumped from dragging your weight effortlessly over his cock.
“Frank,” his name quakes out your mouth. You swallow, legs quivering around his waist. “I’m gonna— oh, god, I’m gonna cum again, Frankie.”
“Yeah, baby?” he pants, “too full, huh? Can’t get enough, can you?”
“F-feel you everywhere,” you choke out, hole clamping down around him as your body seizes.
“Yeah? Where. Show me. C’mon. Show me, sweetheart. Where you feel me, huh?”
A trembling hand grasps your tummy. Here. It skates up your chest, squeezing your sternum. Here. And around your throat. Here.
That does something to him.
Rewires every fuckin’ instinct in his head ‘til it’s just you. You. You. You. It becomes consumption, fucking you to an oblivion where you’re one. Whole. Fucks you like he’ll die without you. Fucks you like his cock’s sustenance you need.
Fucks you to completion.
Neither without the other.
He fucks you stupid, your jaw slack as little, breathless moans punch out.
Primal inclination to breed you, to blow his load so deep you taste it in the back of your throat, Frank climbs onto the table—with you beneath him. One hand glued to the edge of the table, using it for leverage. Your head rests in the crook of his elbow, thrown back over his forearm as he fucks a brutal, senseless pace. Your hips lift off the table, Frank’s arm jerking them up for a deeper angle, for a harder drive so when he does bust? You’ll get every fucking drop. Yeah.
Trying to breed you.
Broad shoulders acting as spreader bars, Frank hooks your knees over them. Spreads you wide, deep, your legs down his back. By the plunging neck of the lingerie, he rips two fingers down it, breaking your tits free. Both of his hands bind around the edge of the table, veins swollen channels up his forearms, disappearing into the biceps that ensnare you.
Fuckin’ folds you in half. Growled grunts knock out of him in time with his hips. The pace stutters as pressure builds in his gut.
“Gonna fill you ‘til you fuckin’ leak,” he says, a man possessed. “Ain’t gonna be able t’walk without thinkin’ ‘bout me. That what you want?”
You nod, but it’s not enough.
“Words,” he coaxes, a gentle reprieve. “Use your words, baby. C’mon. Lemme hear you, huh?”
“Yes,” pure bliss, your nails hooking into his sides as your eyes roll back. “Yes, Frank, fuckyes. Wanna feel you in my stomach for days after. Want my legs to shake every step I take. Forget my own fucking name—”
“Nuh-uh, nah, ain’t f’gettin’ your name. You’re m’ fuckin’ wife. Mrs. Castle. My wife. You got that?”
As you reach your peak, Frank’s name tearing from your lungs as you claw into him, Frank plows two more balls-deep ruts before he’s spilling hot ropes of cum into your pulsating cunt with the guttural mercy of your name.
There’s nothing left but panted breath, sweat, and chocolate cupcakes.
Frank unfolds you gently, without a word. A bead of sweat trickles from his sweat-logged hair, easing your legs from his shoulders. With a kiss to each knee, Frank places your legs down on the table, cock burrowed deep in you yet.
Lingerie hanging on by willpower, you lie beneath him. Winded, blissed, dripping his cum. Heavy, hazy eyes follow his every move, the silent praise in his fingers as he carefully tucks your breasts back into the lace. He drops his head, pressing a kiss to the swell of each one. Then the sweat-salted curve of your neck. The soft line of your jaw. And finally, the parted line of your lips.
“You okay?” he murmurs, a gravel dredge, nudging his nose against yours.
“…I think I’m gonna need a wheelchair.”
Crickets.
Then—
You both laugh.
You bubble.
He rumbles.
“Le’s start with a cupcake, yeah?”
“Frank, are you seriously—?”
“Oh yeah.”
Dick in you, still riding the high in aftershocks, Frank reaches beside your head and grabs a cupcake. Settles back in, elbows on either side of your head.
Hovering inches from your face, ass cheeks out, Frank takes a bite equivalent to half the cupcake. Groans all over again, eyes fluttering.
“Good thing ‘m still in you. Think I came again,” he praises with a mouthful of cupcake, frosting smeared on his bottom lip. “Need your pussy ate f’this one, sweetheart.”
“That good, huh?”
“Need broads t’flirt with me more often.”
“Ass.”
“Great idea, pretty girl. Flip over. Gonna eat this off your ass, hm?”
“Frank—!”
Laughter rings through the kitchen. His impish chuckle. The slow, lazy smooch of kisses and murmured nothings. More laughter when he plops icing on your nose. And… other places. Different noises when he cleans up the mess he makes.
One thing about you and Frank?
This is it.
You. Him.
Handling trouble as it comes your way.
Trouble isn’t always blood and guns, remember.
Sometimes it’s dog shit cookies and a goddamn temp.
Trouble can’t touch this.
Frank won’t let it.
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— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your cat can’t read the room and trots in anyway because she’s hungry.
the room smells of sweat, sex and love. you don’t know how many times he’s made you come, lost count after the 3rd time. all you can really think about is the weight of his body caging yours, pushing you both deeper into the mattress, the sheets wrap loosely around his legs, yours tight around his waist, locked and refusing to let up.
the sounds of skin slapping echoed the room, rang through your ears loudly, but his pace didn’t falter, if anything it got faster then slowed just enough to have you whining in frustration. his fists, slightly bawled, rest on either side of your hips.
“always feels good when you’re wrapped around my cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice raspy and slightly broken, a small chuckle vibrates against your neck when your hand flies up, grabbing the back of his arm tightly. “that’s it, hold onto me, i ain’t going anywhere and neither are you, babygirl.”
true to his word, he doesn’t let you go anywhere, keeps his hard chest practically pinned down against yours, thrusts slow and rhythmic. your nails sink into this skin of his arms deeper each time he slides back in, cock stretching you out perfectly. “just like that,” you whine, hands slipping from his arms to his sides, nails raking up and down the skin there before making their way back to his arms; where you cling tighter. “love you.” you murmur softly into his shoulder when he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck.
“love you, honey,” he pants, grinding his hips against yours slowly to the point your lips part in a silent moan and the arch of your back has your tits pressing harder to hist chest. an action he welcomes happily because he’s groaning and growling into the small space of your neck, fisting at the sheets when your cunt clenches around his cock. “my angel, could stay like this forever, so warm, wanna stay buried in you for the rest of my life.”
neither of you hear the slight creaking sound of the door at first, completely absorbed in each other too much to care, too in tune with meeting each others thrusts to feel the subtle chill soaking in and then suddenly when it’s only the soft sounds of both your moans, a loud meow rips through the entire room.
his body stills completely at the sound, slowly lifts his head from your neck, you see his hooded first but you can also see the hint of confusion lingering beneath as he looks down at you. “the hell?” he mutters hoarsley, turning his head so slow you’d think he’s broken.
sitting completely still in the bedroom doorway is your cat, tail swishing behind her with a slowness that only happens with two things. one, she’s doing it to spite you both. or two, she’s hungry and demands all the attention in the world. “you’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffs, albiet no anger or annoyance behind his words.
your cat stares, almost like she knows what she’s ruining and does it all over again. meow!
his eyes narrow at the second meow, and his hands finally move from beside your hips to your stomach, dragging them down slowly before sighing in defeat. “okay, she’s not kidding.”
“no, she isn’t.”
“i fed her before we even came in here!” he huffs but makes no effort to move. hell, he hasn’t even made a single move to pull out of you either.
“that was before, and now she’s hungry again, so go on,” you pause, grinning up at him smugly. “time to feed your daughter, daddy.” you teased, giggling with a choked gasp at the way his cock twitches inside you. “oh?”
his eyes widen slightly at your seductive tone and shakes his head quickly “nope, no, we aren’t doing this. m’gonna go feed her like the royal diva pain demands.”
your giggle doesn’t last long, a warm melodic sound turns into a whine when he’s pulling his cock out slowly with a wet pop! your walls flutter around nothing while your eyes, despite being hooded and dazed, followed him. lingered on the firm muscle of his ass when he slipped off the bed, before widening, a shy smile on your face, at the sight of his cock despite seeing it so many times. still hard, angry red, slick with your wetness.
“nothing you haven’t seen before, sweetheart,” he catches that look on your face while tugging on a pair of boxers, the fabric rubbing against him causes him to hiss. “i’ll be back soon, honey, don’t miss me too much.”
by the time he slipped out of the door, leaving you alone, aside from the muttered words coming from him in the kitchen, you slumped back down onto the bed, chest still heaving but you didn’t move to run after him. your thighs still tingled, twitched at the reminder of him being inside of you not that long ago.
sighing softly, you turned onto your side, curling up and smiling to yourself into the pillow. the sounds of his muttering and sighs getting louder. and you can’t help the laughter that leaves your lips at his sudden panicked shout.
“no! stop! we use the litterbox not the floor, oh my god! she’s gonna hate me, use the litterbox please!, honey, the litterbox, right there! oh you hate me so much that you want her to hate me too huh?”
warnings/tags mdni 18+. smut. pilatesprincess!reader. failed cock warming hehe. super nonchalant from both parties. mentions of a hard on/being turned on. theyre lowkey both freaks. videoing themselves. raw, p in v, fingering if you squint
you always sat on his lap, didnt matter where you were. restaurants were an exception, finding sitting beside each other had to be enough. you became a part of him whenever he found himself in a chair, gravitating towards it as if he subconsciously told you.
there was nothing more comfortable than fitting perfectly in your boyfriends lap, so thats where you were headed.
already showered for the evening, your hair styled and clothes picked out for the morning- you walked into the living room where rafe was sat on the floor in front of the puzzle. he leaned back gently, you coming and sitting on his lap.
he held his nose on your shoulder, "you smell good." mumbling while leaning around you and fitting the puzzle piece. you sipped from your water bottle, looking at the television playing the third season of yellowstone. "we should get a ranch." you spoke softly while setting down your water and situating yourself on his lap.
rafe chuckled, holding a hand to your bare thigh, feeling the cotton of your cheeky underwear. "i think youd enjoy it for a week and then hate it." he answered, removing his hand and holding both arms around you.
you leaned into his chest, crossing your legs and feeling the muscle under his. he would move you if it ever became uncomfortable, so far only twice hes asked.
your body raised higher than usual with his inhale, and you looked from the side of your eye, brows furrowing loosely. he continued the puzzle, humming gently under his breath. "this one" you sat up again, reaching for the piece and handing it to him, leaning forward and pointing to the open spot.
he set it in the spot, pushing down on it with a pointer finger. you uncrossed your legs and sat up quickly, stepping over rafes arm and running to the kitchen on your toes.
coming back with a bowl, "i got this recipe from malia," you said while he held his arm out again and you sat down. holding a chocolate covered blueberry for rafe, he leaned forward and wrapped his lips messily around your fingers.
you giggled, scrunching your nose up and wiping your hand on his shirt. "oh god," he made a face, holding a hand to cover his mouth. "semi-sweet, sorry." you told him, with wide eyes before shoving a handful in your mouth.
you kept the bowl in your lap, facing the television again but with a straightened back. it wasnt long before you were just as invested in the puzzle, feet on the floor and knees bent, still sat on rafes lap who has had a boner since she fit the first piece.
you repositioned, bending your knees so they were on the sides of rafes hips. his mouth about fell open, "jesus christ-" coughing while he pulled his arms back and held them on your hips. you hummed under your breath, posture still unbelievably perfect, and rested your elbows on the coffee table.
half paying attention to the show and half focused on finishing the puzzle. you tucked your feet into his sides as if on instinct, sitting up and leaning forward. rafes hands were still on your hips when you bent over. "can we try something?" he blurted, voice raising an octave higher.
"what?" you asked, still looking at the grouped ones at other side. "you wanna just," he took a pause, "sit on it?" you furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to your boyfriend whose eyes hadnt left your ass. "sit on it?" you asked, he humming in response.
nodding, "just sit on it." pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as his hands palmed the back of your thighs. "sure."
"wait, really?"
you looked at him, "yeah?" asking as if he wasnt the one to suggest it in the first place. turning your head in front of you again, you let him guide your hips down. you held a piece between your fingers while resting your back against his chest.
you stared at the tv, arms slightly raised and knees spread while you slowly sank down on him. he held a hand to your hip and one around your waist, head pressed to the side of your torso.
a quiet moan passed your throat when he bottomed out, you sitting perfectly on his lap again before clenching your torso to sit yourself up again. he kept his eyes screwed shut, not knowing how long he honestly would last.
you were so warm, so comfortable and so at home. you clenched around him, feeling your heartbeat race faster. you swallowed deeply, rafe leaning around you again to continue.
minutes pass before you reached for your phone, the slight movement caught rafes throat while you sunk back on him easily. your nails clicked against your screen, pausing while thinking of the rest of your response. the more you sat with him inside you, doing everyday things, the more he felt his control slip.
you leaned back, leaning against his chest again and feeling him hit deeper. he held his breath, he should have known better with how much youre constantly moving anyways. he lifted a hand, holding the side of your face and tracing his thumb over your lips.
tapping his fingers on the table while feeling you kiss the pad of his thumb, keeping your lips puckered. you turned your phone landscape, pressing your thumb on the record button. rafe gave a sweet smile to the screen before reaching for your phone.
he flipped the camera, leaning back before gently pushing your hips up, recording you coming off of him before he flipped the camera to himself again and rolled his hips up to meet yours. giggling under his breath from the moan that slipped past a hand over your mouth.
he saved the video, deleted it off of snapchat, locked your phone and fisted the shirt you wore. your eyes widened, knowing exactly what was coming when he held the side of your underwear with his thumb and thrusted back into you.
your eyes rolled and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. hips raising and him following, over and over, until he pulled your arm back and you hit into his chest again. hand holding the side of his head while you rolled your hips lazily into his. his fingers gripped your hip, other hand reaching for your phone again.
he pulled up the camera, keeping it on the both of you. he held your chin with his hand, arm wrapped around your neck gently. you stopped your movements, looking up at the camera when he lifted his arm, showing you sat spread on his lap.
tilting your chin to the side, he found you in a messy open-mouthed kiss. bringing the phone back to the two of you. your arm was still raised behind him, his arm still around your neck while his tongue shoved deep into your mouth. you raised your hips, bouncing on him gently before he pulled away from you.
he set the phone down, folding your legs in front of you and coming up on his knees. at his hard thrust forward, he set the phone up against your water-bottle. bent over the coffee table with your arms extended out. rafes thumb tucked into your mouth, and eyes comfortably shut as he rammed into you.
"oh my god, oh my god," you moaned past his thumb, throwing your head down and whining while you squeezed your legs tighter. he fell backwards again, pulling your hips with him.
you were in an awkward position, hands holding the edge of the coffee table, back arched and legs tucked tight together. rafe sunk himself into you again and it took the breath from your lungs. profanities leaving your mouth as your shoulders sagged.
he rolled his hips into yours, knocking his head back against the couch while feeling his abs tighten. "im gonna cum, baby," he warned.
you took over, lifting your hips and slamming back down into him. the noises were enough to get him off, you making them was even better. you tucked your forehead, shielding your face you knew was scrunched tight at pleasure.
"fucking shit" rafe cursed, legs trembling while you snatched the phone and lifted it up. his head was still thrown back, your hips coming up and slamming down hard. another string of curses before he pushed you down onto him and pushed as hard as he could into you.
he gasped when you clenched around him, feeling his fingers dig deep into your hip.
you passed the phone to him, turning it to your back while you slowly pulled out of him. you moaned again feeling his cum drip out of you. pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when feeling his fingers slowly push into you.
"such a clean girl until it comes to me," he purred, flicking his fingers inside you. you gasped loudly, holding a hand over your mouth. "scream for me, baby," he said through a chuckle. "shut the fuck up." he pushed his fingers harder into you, angling them deeper.
"fuck, fuck," you cried while feeling your high come. rafes mouth opened, feeling how much of him spilled out of you at your own orgasm. coating his fingers and slipping down his hand. he leaned back, showing the camera his view before slowly shaking his head.
"god- i love it when youre nasty." he groaned, palming your ass while you made it to your feet. "i need another shower."
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: rafe is a groaning and moaning mess while fucking you deep into the mattress. that’s it.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: sexual content, smut, kissing, unprotected sex, p in v, rough sex, very descriptive, swearing, basically just smut without plot.
𝐖/𝐂: 0,4k
rafe’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart on his rumbled bed sheets as he knelt between your legs. there was no light besides a small lamp on his nightstand, casting a soft orange glow over his bedroom. the air hung thick between your heavy breathing. he palmed himself, stroking himself slowly, preparing himself. he gave his already hard cock a few pumps before he pressed the head of his cock against your slick pussy.
with a low grunt he pushed forward slowly, making you both let out a gasp. he buried himself to the hilt inside your tight little hole in one rough, deep thrust. your walls immediately clenched around him, not used to him being buried so deep inside you yet. “fuck rafe…move..” you moaned loudly, brows furrowed together and your fingers digging into his biceps.
“relax baby i got you.” he managed to get out, before pushing his hips forward again, tearing a moan from his throat. “fuck you’re so tight.” he slammed his hips into yours slowly, making you let out a whine of pleasure and pain. soon you both found your rhythm and the only thing you could hear was the wet slap of skin against skin echoing though the room and rafe’s needy moans. you couldn’t believe how loud he was today. his voice cracked into loud, unrestrained moans. you looked up at him and saw his brows furrowing together, sweat beading on his temples and dripping onto your flushed, full breasts.
“just like that.” your pussy started to clench even more around him, making him push himself inside you even deeper. “fuck i love you.” , “god i love you.” , “fuuuuuckkkk” was all you could hear him say. his thrusts became more fast paced, pressing you even deeper into the mattress. the faster he got, the louder he got. “cmon give it to me. fuck, take it, baby. take it” he intertwined your fingers with his like he always did. you felt your legs begin to shake and his thrust became more sloppy, slicker than before.
“fuck rafe i’m gonna cum.” you moaned loudly, desperate for release. “cum for me baby, make me proud, cmon.” and then you heard it, that whimper he accidentally let out directly in your ear, that did it. god, he sounded so needy and desperate. your walls clenched around his big fat cock. the feeling of you clenching around him made him moan out loud. he thrusted into you a few times before you felt his warm cum filling you completely, there wasn’t a single drop that hasn’t filled you.
“shiiittt..” that was the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him. your thighs shook uncontrollably even after he put his hands there to soothe you. his breathing was heavy, and he was still buried deep inside you, making you whimper.
“i love you.”
𝐀/𝐍: help i made this in like 15 minutes i hope u guys like it!!(not proof read again, sue me.) im gonna throw my phone out of my window bc why am i so nasty.. this was kinda RUSHED but i needed to post badly. also thank u for all the likes and new followers on my first work i posted a few days ago ily<3
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