#explaining the feeling of having a thought that's not-yours and not-in-words in a way that a) makes sense and b) isnt repetitive

[jamespotterismydaddy]

On the Brink

joel miller x reader smut

description: you’ve been wanting him for so long but joel can’t bring himself to give you what you want, what you deserve. a near death experience makes him realize how much he needs you

WORD COUNT: 4,2 k words

WARNINGS: smut, angst, age gap, semi-public sex, it’s also fluffy and cute at the start so no complaining about the angst

Your eyes watch him from across the yard with that same look you’ve had for the past few months. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is- he’s not an idiot… but that doesn’t mean he can ever acknowledge it. You’re young. Not a child by any means but for god’s sake, you’re half his age. There will be no entertaining these longing glaces you throw his way.

It was innocent at first, or at least he thinks it was. You would knock on his door, ask for his advice when it came to things like shooting and whatnot. He liked being helpful, useful. He liked that it was him that you came to, not Tommy even if he was known to be a sharpshooter. He thought that you looking up to him was the part he liked; he’s starting to realize that what he really likes is your attention.

“You need some help there, Mr. Miller?” You ask sweetly as he pulls in the planks of wood. He didn’t even see you walk over.

Joel rolls his eyes. You know he doesn’t like it when you call him that. Makes him really feel his age. “Not from you, trouble.”

He was getting the supplies together because part of his front porch was rotting and he’d be damned if he fucked his knee up some more stepping through a weak plank. He could use the help, but he just doesn’t want your help.

“You getting sick of me already?” You say, giving him that ‘kicked puppy’ look that would make any man’s heart melt. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel more than sympathy.

“Course not.” He grumbles. “I did just see you this morning though.”

“What can I say… i’m clingy.” You shrug and grin at him with a smile so bright it could light up the sky.

“Go be clingy with somebody else.” He waves you off as he picks up his pencil and ruler to start marking lines on the wood. “I’m sure any man in Jackson would appreciate it.”

You stop for a moment, like you see something underlying in his words. “That seems to imply that you don’t think my attention is purely friendly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t give you any more of an answer.

“Besides, are you not a man in Jackson?” You ask teasingly, wanting to get more out of him.

He tries to keep his focus on his work so his attention doesn’t feed into your teasing. “That’s different.” He grumbles.

“Why is it different?”

He sighs, keeping his head low but letting his eyes rise up above his glasses to meet yours. “It’s different because i’m an old man in Jackson.”

You frown a little. You know what he means but you want him to explain it anyhow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can’t entertain…” He gestures with his hand. “... whatever this is that you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

He knows. Of course he knows; you haven’t been exactly subtle. You just never thought you would be able to make him say it out loud. “And what have I been doing?”

“Askin’ too many damn questions.” He grumbles under his breath and grabs his ruler to check his cut lines again. What is it all those carpenters say? Measure twice, cut once? That must’ve been a rule he would live by.

“What is it that i’m doing, Joel?”

He stops with his work now to look up at you properly. He seems like he’s about to speak but pauses for a moment, knowing that if he addresses this then it’s out in the open. He won’t be able to neatly pack up this conversation and put it in a safe where nobody can find it. Whatever is going on between the two of you… it’s pandora’s box.

But in the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re flirtin’ with me, sweetheart.”

“I am.” Is all you say in reply, looking into his eyes far too deeply.

He’s a little surprised and was half expecting you to deny it. “Well you shouldn’t.”

“How come?” Your quick little replies are irritating him now.

He rubs his forehead with his thumb, feeling frustrated. You’re not stupid and you know he’s twice your age. You know why you shouldn’t. You know it makes him feel wrong. So why act so clueless?

“It ain’t right.” He grumbles. “I’m too old for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” You say softly. “I would still like you if I was 10 years older.”

“It’s not about you liking me. It’s about what’s good for you.” He sighs. “And an old man ain’t it.”

“I hardly care about pre-outbreak morals, Joel.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you deserve. A man that can keep up with you, take care of you even 20 years from now. I can’t be that.” He looks almost nervous now. He feels the same way he did when he asked Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies. It’s a different sense of care but he still doesn’t feel worthy for you in the same way that he didn’t feel worthy for her.

“It’s you that I want.”

He sighs.

“There’s plenty more age-appropriate men in Jackson who’d be chomping at the bit for a chance with you. You should go and take your pick of them.” He continues, trying his best to push you away. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Christ, he really wants you. But he also cares about you and that means he’s gotta try to nudge you in the right direction.

“I took my pick. Currently, he’s being difficult.” You say and he scoffs as he tries not to think about how endearing he finds your quick wit.

“I said age-appropriate.”

“Well there’s no other man i’m interested in.” You understand why he’s trying to convince you that he’s not somebody you should spend your time on. Maybe there was a time when things like age were more important but it feels miniscule now in the great span of things and besides, you can tell when he’s being self destructive. “So it hardly matters how many there are to choose from.”

He furrows his brows. Joel can hardly understand why it would be him you would want. He originally thought whatever you were feeling was a passing fantasy due to proximity, but it’s starting to appear as if it’s more than that. You’re just so full of light; he doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Y’know I can probably finish up here on my own. I ‘preciate your help though.” It makes him uncomfortable to realize your attention isn’t going to be quite as fleeting as he thought. He doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not that he wants to hurt you. He’s just never been a man of many words.

“Um… yeah okay. No problem.” You try not to show how upset you are but it hurts for him to brush you aside so easily. “Bye.”

You walk off, regretting trying to push his hand, regretting the conversation in general… and most definitely regretting that you agreed to fill in for Tommy on his patrol shift with Joel in the morning.

~~~~~

When he walks into the stables the next day, Joel’s ready to grumble to his brother about how he has no damn coffee left and slept like shit, but is stopped in his tracks when he finds you tacking up Bellard.

You don’t turn around to look at him, you already recognize the sound of his heavy footsteps and besides, who else would be in the stables at 8am?

“I promise i’m not trying to stalk you. I already agreed to cover Tommy’s shift. Ben’s still not feeling well.” You tighten the cinch on the horse, not wanting to have any more whoopsies involving your saddle half slipping off like when you were just learning to ride.

“Didn’t think you were.” He says, already able to tell how your voice is colder. You’re more closed off to him now.

You put your foot into the stirrup and swing your leg over so you’re sat on the saddle. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel.” It’s ironic really, they way you sound so vulnerable when you speak even though you are literally sitting up on your high horse.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He says as he gets up onto his horse as well, giving her a light nudge with his heel to get her moving. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

His false mirror words don’t fool you, the illusion shattered like glass by his nervous mannerisms. You know your conversation with him yesterday made things weird and you’re starting to wish you’d just ignored the whole thing like a normal person. You’d just really felt the need to defend yourself, never wanting to chase a man who doesn’t want you. Even if you have a feeling that he does.

But he ignores it. For the whole patrol he ignores it. The slight crack you saw in his demeanor has melded itself back together and he is back to the gruff man he usually is.

What you don’t see is his watchful eye, ever on you, protectively. You don’t know that it’s the same way that he watches Ellie and Tommy. The only people he would risk everything for, the only people that he makes sure are safe before himself. But it isn’t quite the same, is it? There’s something more in his gaze as it’s cast upon you, a hint of the same longing you have when your eyes fall on him.

“Did you hear that?” Your question puts him on alert right away. He tries to listen and he thinks his old ears are failing him before he hears the crash. It’s coming from a cabin east of Jackson, one that’s been checked through multiple times, even by Joel himself. While patrol routes are changed often, buildings are still checked regularly for anyone that might be hiding out. Clickers are of course dangerous but thinking, intelligent humans are much worse.

“Stay here. I’ll get closer and see if it’s anything to worry about.” He says, like it’s a command.

“I’m your partner, not your sidekick. I won’t let you go in there alone just because you don’t think I make good backup.”

“Jesus, woman ya really think that’s why I want you to stay behind?” You give him a look that says that’s exactly what you think but he doesn’t have time to validate you when there’s a chance that something dangerous is in that cabin right now. “Just follow at a distance then at the very least.”

That’s enough for you so you nod and the both of you hop off your horses and tie them up, not wanting them to spook at the first sign of whatever is in that cabin.

The two of you approach slowly and you try not to flinch at the crashing sounds so you can hold your gun straight. You also don’t want Joel to sense your fear. It’s not helpful for him to be worrying about you. You won’t be a distraction. He moves around the side of the cabin to look through the window and mouths the word ‘infected’ to you, holding up three fingers. You nod to show your understanding and he starts to make his way back, likely to come up with an action plan.

Though he barely makes it two feet when one of the horses whinnies. You both freeze. It wasn’t that loud, right? How good could an infected’s hearing possibly be?

Your answer comes moments later when they burst through the front door, but they don’t hear Joel. You’re the one who is in direct line of the horses.

“Shit.” You breathe out as you aim your gun and make a shot for the one in front, missing the head but hitting it in the shoulder. A shoulder shot doesn’t stop a runner.

“Goddamn it.” Joel acts quick, putting a bullet through the one closest to him with easy precision. The infected drops to the ground.

The one closest to you is still moving fast and you know you need to make this shot because if Joel misses, the last one will be on you before you can even think. You keep your hands steady, too pumped full of adrenaline to shake like you were before, and you pull the trigger.

You hear a gunshot, but it isn’t yours as Joel takes down the other runner. Your gun never fired.

Because your gun is jammed.

You pull the trigger again, and again, frantic now.

It’s no use so you drop the useless weapon. You look down for a moment to draw your knife but it’s too late as the infected tackles you to the ground.

“Joel!” The call rips out from your throat and Joel is sure he’s never heard such terror in anyone’s voice before. Well… not so sure.

You hold the infected back as well as you can, knowing that it’s over if you’re bitten, but you don’t have to push it back for long.

Joel’s gun fires and the shot rings true as the mindless flesh creature falls off next to you. A headshot taken from just the right position so the bullet wouldn’t graze you.

“Are you hurt?” The fear in his eyes matches your own as he kneels in front of you and seems to check you for injury over anything else.

Then he pauses.

“Are you bit?”

The thought comes to you at the same time. You were so dazed during the attack that it’s something you actually have to think about.

“I um… no.” You stumble over your words for a moment before speaking more confidently. “No, it didn't bite me.”

“Good.” He nods and moves on quickly, helping you to your feet.

He starts to move around, checking the infected, checking the house. He’s not focused on you anymore, like he wants to be distracted from the thought.

“One of them probably got bit a day or two back. Didn’t tell his friends and then…” He trails off, gesturing to the bodies. “This happened. Don’t think it’s something to worry about too much though. Probably an isolated event.”

He explains, but he’s rambling. Joel Miller doesn’t ramble. The near death experience is brushed under the rug, but you won’t have that.

“Joel.” You start but he cuts you off.

“I can write up the report for it. I know that’s something you’re not a fan of.” It’s idle talk, nothing of value.

“Joel.” You say his name more firmly now and he looks up at you. “I almost died.”

He clenches his jaw, the tenseness in the conversation now unavoidable. You walk closer and it takes everything in him to not step away. He wants to leave, wants to push it down, but you almost died. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. If he had shot that runner a second later, it would have bitten you, at the very least, and his next bullet would’ve been in your head.

“I know.” He grumbles.

“Do you? Because you won’t look me in the eye.” There’s desperation in the way you look up at him and it’s like he’s staring through you instead of at you.

He lets out a breath and it kills you because you can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s emotion in his eyes but you just don’t know which one.

“Please don’t shut down on me.” Your hand rises to touch his shoulder and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

His eyes finally flicker down to yours and then to your lips for just a moment. He should think about what he’s doing, he knows that. Your age should be enough to put him off, but he almost lost you only minutes ago.

He won’t deny himself any longer.

Joel’s hand lifts to your chin and your eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion as he tilts your chin up. You part your lips to speak but don’t get the chance because his mouth is now on yours. All his hunger and need and desire finally come out as he kisses you harshly. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you against him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t need air to breathe as he pushes his lips against yours and walks you back until a tree stops you. His tongue pushes into your mouth and he groans when feeling yours push back.

He pulls back and you worry that he regrets it, thinking he acted irrationally or emotionally. Those worries are quelled when he focuses his attention on your neck, leaving gentle kisses and sucking on the soft skin just the right amount so it won’t leave any marks. You let out a soft moan as his fingertips graze up your thigh before gripping it firmly and lifting it up against him.

“I need you, Joel.” You whisper so softly that he’s not even sure he heard you correctly.

“Hm, honey?” He still isn’t fully focused as he trails kisses up your jawline.

“I need it.” You whine a bit and he frowns.

“No.” He murmurs against your skin, kisses so soft and featherlight that you can’t be convinced he’s even touching you. “Not here. You deserve better than here.”

“Please. I’ve been waiting for so long.” You slip your hand under the hem of his shirt. “Been so patient.”

A hint of a smile graces his face. “Patient? Sweetheart, you’re begging me to fuck you in a forest in the middle of our patrol.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” Your hand slides up his chest. “You gotta finish the things you start, Mr. Miller.”

His hand grabs your other thigh and he lifts you up so you’re pushed against the tree. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of him lifting you up with ease, like he’s got something to prove. “I know.”

“Then you should learn to watch your mouth.”

You smirk, knowing just how easy it is to rile him up. “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

He huffs as if your bratty little comments annoy him, but you know he likes it. It’s easy to tell by the way his lips find yours once again. His moves are messy and imprecise. It’s so unlike him to be so reckless but it’s you that brings it out of him.

Hands are pulling at clothes and you’re quickly at a point where your pants are off enough for him to touch you. His fingers waste no time pushing past your underwear to tease you. The movements are slow now, just enough to leave you wanting for more.

“Joel.” You try to scold but it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“Hmm?” He’s not focused on your face anymore, no matter how pretty it might be. He’s more concerned with how many fingers he can push inside you before you start to whine.

“Joel.” You pout again as he feels your wetness pooling in his palm.

Three then. He thinks to himself, calculating how long he’ll have to wait to let you adjust to his cock before he can fuck you how he wants. But he already knows he’ll be pushing your limits.

“Shh, baby. Clearly, you’re not as patient as you claim to be.”

You can’t even reply, not with how good it feels when his fingers start to curl inside you. Joel continues the motions for a minute or so but it’s not what you want. It feels so damn good but this isn’t the way you want to finish.

You start to push him away and he stops as soon as he sees the hesitation.

“Everything alright?” He asks and your heart melts at the tenderness in his voice.

“I wanna feel something a little bigger.”

He rolls his eyes. “No damn patience.” He unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his jeans. “I’ll give you what you want then.”

He pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs- his very nice thighs- so he can pull himself out of his boxers. There’s no more slow, teasing actions. He wants to show you what your impertinence gets you. Lifting you back up with just one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance.

As the head pushes in, he watches your face so he can see how you struggle to take it. You won’t speak up though, not after you whined and begged for him to fuck you. He might be a lot bigger than you’ve had before but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it.

Joel doesn’t want to miss the look on your face as he pushes in but can’t help but glance down. The sight of your desperate pussy sucking him in more and more is almost enough for him to finish there and then, but he holds off. He won’t let this be something you regret.

“Fuck.” He groans as he pushes the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. You whimper, hiding your face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your cheeks heat and he starts to pull himself back out again before you hear the slick squelch of another deep thrust.

“Shit, Joel.” The stretch stings but it’s a good hurt.

“I know. I was trying to prepare you but you never fucking listen.” His words sound sympathetic, no matter how harsh they are, but the way he punishes you with his dick seems to contrast that.

His hands hold up both your thighs as he leans you against the tree for more leverage so he can pull his hips back and fuck into you deeper and deeper.

“Mmm.” You moan, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

The way the head of his cock hits just the right spot before slipping up to kiss your cervix makes you feel pleasure in a way you couldn’t previously fathom. You’ve never been fucked like this before and it just makes it oh so better because it’s him fucking you.

Joel’s deep brown eyes feel like they’re burrowing into your soul with the way he’s watching you. He lives for it, your reactions, every little sound you make. It all makes him harder as he slams into you rougher with each thrust.

“You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Taking me so damn well, finally learning how to listen.”

“Dick.” You grumble and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one who begged for this.” His hips push against yours. You didn’t think he’d be able to get even deeper but he does. “Fucking begged, honey.”

“I’m not the one who let go of all my morals for it though, either.”

It’s a dangerous thing for you to point out, almost threatening enough for him to stop. But it’s also another thing he likes about you. You always bite back. There is even some part, some sick part, of him deep down that enjoys how wrong it is. It enjoys that you, being so beautiful and smart and full of life… and so young still want him. You could have any man between your thighs but it’s Joel whose fucking you.

“I’m close, Joel.” You say after his fingers have crept down to rub between your legs. He needs you to finish first, needs it bad.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing around me. Wanna know how you love it.”

His pace never falters as he leads you to the edge, drawing in and out of you with a pace that you didn’t think a man his age could hold. It just feels so good; you want it to last forever, but all good things end eventually.

“F-Fuck.” You moan and he feels it as your walls tighten around his cock. It almost makes him cum instantly but he pushes through enough to lead you through your high.

You’re panting now as he pulls out, spilling himself onto the forest floor. You look up at him as he lets you down gently. You’re scared, scared that it’s over now, scared that this was a one time thing. And he just won’t fucking look at you.

“Joel?” Your voice cracks. God, you hate how you can’t control it.

His head snaps back right away and when you look into his eyes… it’s not regret that you see. “It’s okay, trouble. You did good.” There is something more in the way he comforts you. “We’re good.”

It’s not much of an explanation but it relieves you. You understand him and though he didn’t speak many words, you know what lies between the lines. This isn’t the end of what’s between you.

comment to be added to taglist

@grayandthyme @littledes1re just thought I’d tag my new moots because y’all’s writing inspired me to get back into it :)

[tagged-by-trauma]

The ring

After a lady's words Joel feels insecure, so he shows his feelings in ways he didn't think he could. Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x wife!reader Warnings: established relationship, a little hurt/comfort, Joel feeling insecure, reassurences, proposal, cuddles, but this is basically just pure fluff Word count: 1.7k

You have been married with Joel for years now. You found each other back at the Boston QZ and you he immediately fell for you. He tried to reject this feeling, thinking he could never love again, but after a rough day and a little bit too much whiskey you confessed, and he was feeling like a schoolboy whose crush just complimented his new shoes.

You were walking down the street of Jackson, hand in hand, the sun shining through everything, blinding everyone who was out of their houses. He was talking about his new project of carved owl that he just started, and you were listening to him, his voice seeping into your bones. He was mid-sentence when an old lady dropped her bag in front of you. He jumped into action, letting go of your hand and picking it up, handing it back.

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled warmly, adjusting the bag in her hand, making sure it won’t slip out between her fingers another time.

“No problem, ma’am.”

“You are lucky, my dear. You have an amazing boyfriend,” you looked at her and nodded. You could feel Joel go tense beside you for a moment, then relax into his previous position.

“Oh, actually he is my husband,” you corrected her with a respectful tone, and you saw her eyes widen.

“My dear, then you’re even luckier,” she gave you a final smile and started to walk away, leaving you and Joel standing in the middle of the road. You turned to him, trying to study his reactions, maybe even what feelings were in his mind, but he gave a small squeeze of his hand and stepped forward, continuing the little walk. But after this little interaction you could see something in his eyes. You couldn’t explain what, but he was more distant with you that night, quieter than usual, and his gaze almost never met yours.

—-—

You were sitting at the dinner table, food before you, Ellie up in her room. Joel was in the seat opposite yours, the chicken untouched on his plate, his eyes fixed on one spot on the table. You didn’t know what to do, what to ask, so you just remained quiet and ate your food in silence. He stood up before he even finished, and walked away, leaving you alone in the dining room. Moments later you heard the door of his little workroom open then close, and after that the house was buried in complete stillness.

You stood up, packed away his portion of food, then you washed away the dirty plates and the mugs. You tried to think about what would have possibly got into him. That afternoon he was more talkative, excited to share his plan with you and now, now he was closed off, building his walls up again. You heard the sound of his tools in the other room while you were drying the dishes.

That night you went to bed alone, laying on your side while his was empty. Since dinner he didn’t come out of his office—his little world as he called it—and you couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being there for him, but at the same time you felt completely helpless about his feelings. After years of being together he could still surprise you with his quick mood changes. As these thoughts were swimming around your head, your eyes grew heavy, and in the end, you fell asleep hugging his pillow close to you, inhaling his thick scent.

—-—

You woke up suddenly, jolting out of your sleep when you heard the loud echo of a tool falling to the floor. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you looked around the dark room, still hard to see everything, but one thing you knew, saw and felt was that Joel’s side was still vacant. As you reached out and tapped the soft mattress, you let out a sigh by the coldness of it.

No, he still didn’t come to bed. Not even for an hour.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, back to the door, deep down in your thoughts, you saw the soft streak of light as the door to your shared bedroom opened with a creak. As you turned to face him, Joel was standing there with a remorseful and guilty look on his face. He was still in the clothes he was wearing the day before; hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Joel,” at your voice his whole head raising, but eyes avoiding looking directly on your form.

“Baby, I’m…” his voice broke a little, and you walked up to him, taking his face between your palms and caressing them. For a moment he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh that he has been keeping in himself since the day before, and his hands came up to your waist. “I’m sorry for being so distant, baby.”

“It’s alright just… Tell me what happens in that handsome head of yours,” a little smile spread over his face at your compliment, but it soon faded away as he tried to from words of his thoughts. It may have been minutes, maybe just a few seconds, but you were standing there, holding onto him, offering some kind of reassurance.

“I have been thinking. And I think I came to a conclusion,” he reached up for your hands and intertwined his fingers with yours as he pulled it between your bodies. “Years ago, when I first laid eyes on you in the QZ I knew that you were trouble and I would fall in love with you in a short time,” his eyes were shining in the low light with the unshed tears. You squeezed his hands trying to encourage him to go on. “I tried to deny it. Deny the feeling of being loved, of being in love. After everything that happened, I didn’t think that I could experience such strong emotions again, and I clearly remember that night when I asked you to marry me. It wasn’t much, we were lying in bed, and I just blurted it out. No ring, no big celebrations, just us.”

You smiled at the memory. That day you were both exhausted, working all day at different sides of the QZ. When you got home you were too tired to even do anything else, you just sat down opposite each other at the dining table, eating the little food you had, then fell into bed with clothes on. And in the dark, and the quietness of the room he asked you to marry him.

“Today,” he continued as he saw that you were deep in your thoughts, digging through the memories. “When that old lady called me your boyfriend, something came over me. If you asked me now what, I couldn’t explain it, but I knew one thing for sure,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little object that you couldn’t see in the dim light. “I knew that I want other people to recognize us as husband and wife, and not just partners so…” he let go of your hand and lowered himself to one knee in front of you with the little object—which now you recognized was a wooden ring—held between his fingers. “Will you do me the honour and be my wife, my partner and my best friend for the rest of our lives?”

For a few seconds you just stood there, still processing the image in front of you. You could feel the hot tears spilling from your eyes, streaking your cheeks, but you couldn’t care for a second. You crouched down in front of him, pulled his face between your palms and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes, Joel. A million times yes,” he let out a relieved chuckle and the most beautiful smile you’ve ever received from him. Without hesitation you leaned in a sealed your lips with a slow and tender kiss. No rush, no expectations. His arms came around you, and you pressed your body closer to his. He pulled away for a moment and looked at you with eyes full of happiness.

“I love you,” he took your hand and slowly pulled the little ring on your finger. Your eyes landed on it, and you let out a quiet chuckle in disbelief. It was carved from wood, with a little flower showing on the top.

“I love you, too, Joel, but this…” the words got drowned in your throat as you tried to give form to them.

“I thought that if I couldn’t buy you a real ring, I would make one myself,” his look suddenly turned shy—not something you often saw in Joel Miller’s demeanour. You reached for his hand and caressed his knuckles.

“It’s beautiful, Joel. And it means more than a real ring,” you pulled him into a bone crushing hug, melting into his body. His head fell onto your shoulder, inhaling your scent as your palms drew circles over his broad back.

“Come on,” you leaned back, and stood up from the ground, looking down at him. Moments later he followed you with a loud groan and a hand on his back and the other on his knee.

“Jesus. Remind me next time to put down a pillow,” you laughed at him, and pulled him to the bed. He followed you without a second thought. When your legs hit the edge of it you turned around and pushed down Joel. His hands immediately came up to hold onto your waist, and his eyes filled with pure desire. But as you felt the soft pressure of his palms against the fabric of your pajama shorts, you stepped away. He let out a little groan, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Darlin’.”

“No, not now, Joel. You haven’t eaten anything yesterday at dinner and you didn’t even sleep. So, now you lay back, close your eyes, and good night.”

“But…”

“If you’ll be asleep in the next ten minutes, I’ll let you have your way with me in the morning,” his eyes widened, and with the speed of a seven-year-old boy who was just told he could eat pancakes for breakfast, he laid back, pulled the blanket over him and stayed as still as a statue. You lowered yourself beside him, your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

Tonight, everything happened in a blur, but what you will remember clearly in the future is going to be this moment. The weight of the ring on your finger, his strong arms around you, the whispered I love yous and the emotions that filled your whole body.

[fayes-fics]

An Indecent Proposal

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When your marriage is not what it seems, Viscount Bridgerton is more than willing to provide that which your husband does not.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, extramarital affair, loss of virginity, sex teaching, innocence kink, corruption kink. Nipple play, clitoral stimulation, hand job, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasms, smidge of breeding kink. Background homosexual characters, period-typical attitudes to homosexuality.

Word Count: 6.3k

Author's Note: Long-awaited request fill for @daisfordaysstuff with Anthony corrupting a chaste newlywed who has unwittingly entered a lavender marriage. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading like a trooper. Enjoy! <3

As you wander into the splendour of Bridgerton House, part of you wishes your husband of just a few weeks, Baron Sanderton, were accompanying you. It feels odd to attend a ball alone. 

Now that you are a married lady, it is not really noted, unlike earlier in the season when you were a young debutante, and being unchaperoned would have been considered scandalous. What a difference a few short weeks and a ceremony make.

Earlier today, your new husband, feeling unwell, sent his apologies to the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton but insisted you should attend without him, to enjoy yourself and catch up with your friends. It was a lovely gesture, but also one that makes you sigh, even as you survey the beauty of the ballroom, resplendent with flower garlands wound around every rail and pillar. Your new husband is such a confounding man in many ways. Kind, considerate, thoughtful, never anything but a pure gentleman. Which, while courting, you had expected. It's since marriage that you have become more perplexed. 

Your mama gave you a speech on the morning of your wedding, clumsily explaining how your husband would visit your rooms and to allow him to do things to you. That if you are fortunate, what he does will result in you having beautiful children, and thus worth enduring. You did not dare tell her that you already knew some of what she speaks, having listened to the housemaids with a keen ear over the years. They inadvertently provided much more detail about marital acts that, frankly, you were eager to experience, their recounting so very contrasting to your mother’s version of events. A tingle between your legs when you eavesdropped on some of their more salacious conversations. 

And yet… not once in the intervening weeks since your wedding has your husband visited your bedchamber. Merely bidding you goodnight with an affectionate buss on your temple. Choosing instead to stay up late into the night with his good friend Baron Ledworth, a perennial bachelor, locked away in his wing of the house. Sometimes you wonder why he even married you, when he seems to prefer spending all of his spare time with his best friend; the fondness between them undeniable, especially behind closed doors.

And thus, to your chagrin, you find yourself a married lady but still a maiden, your union unconsummated. You grow, well, increasingly frustrated with every passing day that you do not get to experience that which you have overheard so much about. 

“Baroness Sanderton,” someone greets, breaking your reverie.

“A splendid evening, is it not?” You offer a polite response in return, not wanting to reveal that you don't recall their name, quickly moving on to seek champagne.

You perk up as you spy a whole table with glasses bubbling and grab one, downing it with alacrity. You watch the other guests pile in, craning your neck to see if any of your friends arrive with their mothers, many of whom are still seeking a match. As the minutes tick by and none of them yet appear, you grab a second glass, downing that too.

“Please do leave some champagne for the other guests, Baroness Sanderton,” a refined male voice rings out drolly.

You twist to find a bemused Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most eligible of eligible bachelors, by your side. You are instantly tongue-tied and contrite. Not only that your quaffing habits have been noted, but also by none other than the most handsome man in all of England.

For many a year, you had abstractly hoped that he may be the one to propose, fanciful of a notion though that may have been. You doubt anyone will be able to tame the rake that is Viscount Bridgerton. Still, now that you are a married lady, it appears he is much keener to converse with you than when you were an eligible Miss in want of a spouse.

“I am thirsty, Viscount Bridgerton,” you counter, aiming for nonchalance, even as your skin prickles hot as he continues to linger next to you.

“I thought the Baron sent his apologies,” Anthony’s brow knits.

“He did, but he insisted I attend as I wished to catch up with my friends,” you explain, twirling your empty glass between your thumb and finger, desiring another but not any accompanying judgment. 

“How novel,” he chuckles. “I would have thought you both inseparable in the first flush of marriage. Almost certain you would have caught whatever ails him, with so much time spent in close, intimate proximity.” 

The way his voice drops an octave, hinting at things which should not be discussed in public, has a frisson skittering down your spine. And yet the champagne already has a hold of your tongue.

“Chance would be a fine thing,” you riposte quietly, then instantly are flooded with regret as to what you have let slip, your cheeks heating rapidly. 

Anthony’s whole demeanour changes: surprise and intrigue claiming his handsome face as he grabs the empty flute from your hand and replaces it with another, rounding in front of you now, blocking your view of arriving guests.

“Baroness Sanderton, take my arm,” he enunciates crisply, in a volume you suspect is for other ears. “It would be remiss of me as host not to accompany you tonight, seeing as your husband is unwell.”

Looping your hand into his proffered crooked elbow, you allow him to lead you around the ballroom, still unsure why, but unable to resist the opportunity to be in his presence. Once you have completed a full circuit, acknowledging all and sundry in attendance, you are taken aback when he keeps moving towards a side door. Choosing the moment his mother steps onto a raised platform to welcome everyone, drawing the attention of the whole crowd, to guide you through said exit, unmarked by any other guests.

In the blink of an eye, you are out of the hubbub and being nearly dragged down a deserted hallway as his pace increases.

“Where on earth are we going, Viscount Bridgerton?” you frown, having to take quick, practically skipped steps to keep up, struggling not to spill any of your drink.

“Call me Anthony,” he responds, not remotely answering your question.

He glances around, then tugs you into a room, rapidly closing the door behind you, releasing his hold on your arm as he flicks a key in the lock. A vault in your stomach as you realise this appears to be his private office. A sizeable mahogany desk takes pride of place in a room lined with bookshelves, a plush reading chaise and a fire roaring under a portrait of a good-looking man you assume is his father.

“What did you mean, back there?” he fires rapidly, looking at you expectantly, an energy seeming to be rolling off him in waves as he ushers you further into the room.

“What do you mean?” 

You suspect, but do not wish to jump to any incorrect conclusions, mostly captivated by his animated demeanour.

“Has the Baron not fulfilled his duties as your husband?” he queries, his voice again in that lower register that has goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“I am uncertain that I understand,” you feign ignorance.

Anthony fixes you with a stare so intense you feel frozen in an invisible spotlight. 

“Has your husband not attended to your needs, in the bedroom?" he rumbles, closing in on you, his hand cupping the bottom of your champagne flute, encouraging you to bring it to your lips.

You take a large sip, unable to look anywhere but into his eyes, pupils glittering, the reflection of the fireplace dancing there as you swallow the fizz. He awaits your answer, seeming very keen.

“He has not,” you confess quietly, your voice near cracking, your throat suddenly dry despite the drink you just took.

Anthony’s face looks like thunder. “How dare he!” he snarls indignant. “I knew he had a reputation, but I was hoping it erroneous.”

“A reputation for what?”

Anthony’s lips twist as if reticent to reveal what he knows. “To put it plainly, the Baron has never shown interest in female company. Until, that is, two months ago when his father threatened disinheritance unless he got married.”

You are suddenly reeling and slump back against Anthony’s desk. So much of what Anthony says makes the puzzle pieces fall into place. How out of the blue your husband’s interest and proposal were. How everyone seemed to whisper their surprise that he would so quickly take a wife so early in the season. But he was so very charming when courting you, part of you dismissed it as jealousy of those not chosen.

“He spends most nights with his friend,” you mumble absentmindedly. 

“Baron Ledworth?” Anthony guesses, and you nod. “Yes, he has never shown an interest in taking a wife either,” he adds pointedly.

“Are they…” Your voice falters, reluctant to say the next word, gulping champagne instead.

“I suspect so,” he affirms sagely. “Scandalous indeed, but it does happen, in secret.”

So I will be forever chaste, you lament silently. 

There is a sharp breath from Anthony, and suddenly you realise you must have muttered your thoughts aloud under your breath.

“Your husband may have neglected his duties. But that does not preclude you from finding what you need elsewhere, discreetly. It is surprisingly commonplace for women who find themselves in marriages such as yours,” Anthony advises, a kindling in your belly as he speaks of such.

“Have you ever been party to such an arrangement?” You murmur, curiosity getting the better of you.

He smirks and takes a half step closer, plucking the now-empty flute from your hand and placing it aside on his desk, which you are still perched on.

“I have had no need to,” he shrugs, “but my brother has in the past and found it most… fulfilling. And I am not adverse to such a proposal, should there be one….”

It’s a knife-edge moment of potential and tension. The hissing of logs on the fire is the only noise in the room, save your slightly laboured breath as he draws closer, leaning into you. Your fingers curling into the desk on either side of your hips, certain you would not still be upright if it were not there, your legs suddenly turning to jelly, a roiling in your belly.

“Do you have anything you wish to say to me, Baroness Sanderton?” he inquiries, his breath hot on your face, his damp lips mere inches from yours.

Heart in your throat, you take a deep breath, then begin the boldest request you have ever made. 

“Viscount Bridgerton, would you be willing to…” 

But you do not even get to finish the sentence. For the rest is swallowed by Anthony’s lips, landing squarely on yours, a low, throaty noise as he opens your mouth and kisses you like a wild storm.

Nothing could prepare you for this. Your husband’s kisses have been chaste, pecks on your lips or your face, designed as much for those who observed them as for you. This is wholly different: an invasion. Hands grasp around your waist, hoisting you off the desk and hauling you against his body as his tongue rolls over yours, your heartbeat erratic, a strong, slick pulse between your legs as he crowds into you, enveloping you in his embrace.

“Anthony,” you exhale his given name shakily as your lips part, taking a heaving breath.

It has a primal effect on him, his grip tightening, hands sliding low on your back, cupping your bottom and surging himself into you, a hard mass pressed into your belly. He breathes your name in return, before diving in for more, robbing you of every shred of sense. You are drowning in him, in his spicy amber scent, as you learn to mirror his actions, his approving noise is the very best sound you could swallow.

“How much do you know?” he asks as you resurface for air, his lips skating over your cheek. 

“Of?” 

“Relations between a man and a woman,” he clarifies as he sucks your earlobe lightly, gusting loudly into your ear.

“I have heard ladies' maids talking,” you admit, hands running up his biceps on instinct, a latent power lurking under the structured wool of his jacket.

“So then you know it to be the very best pleasure there is to be found on this earth,” he provokes, mouthing the sensitive skin of your neck, causing shivers to race down your limbs.

“I have not heard them say quite that,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed.

“Then they have not been with the right man,” Anthony asserts in that low register, an arrogance laced in his tone, yet enchanting when it is focused on you. “That door is locked, and no one will notice our absence for hours,” he declares categorically, nodding towards the entry. “Just how much you would like to learn today is entirely up to you, y/n…” 

The power of choice he bestows upon you in this moment is near dizzying, a tremble in your being at the thought of the pleasures that may await. You are once more tongue-tied, unsure even what you are asking of him.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold and swaggering over to the windows, making a show of pulling the internal shutters over the lower half of the pane, so that no one who may be wandering the gardens later during the ball would be able to see in. This space is entirely private, just for the two of you.

Knowing he has your full attention, he then performatively plucks at the buttons on his jacket, dropping it from his shoulders onto the back of the plush-looking reading chaise, his dark grey brocade waistcoat following suit, causing you to stutter a breath as each button pops open. Then he is prowling back towards you, rolling the loose sleeves of his white shirt up around his elbows, his toned forearms flexing delightfully as he does so.

“What did you decide y/n?” He teases as he draws close, his scent stronger now. That same cologne, but also something else that is all Anthony: his skin, his essence. It makes your mouth water.

“I do not know,” you offer honestly, as he tilts his head to one side as if assessing you.

“Hmmm, I suppose ‘tis too much to ask someone unfamiliar with what awaits them to know what they need,” he concedes, pulling you back into his arms, the press of his musculature so much more pronounced with fewer layers between you now. “I propose I try some things and you shall tell me if you dislike them?”

You nod enthused, and his responding smile has your insides melting.

“Good. Now turn your back to me,” Anthony orders, swirling a finger in the air, a subtle clip to his tone that has you obeying before you even realise it.

You jolt as warm fingertips trail down the notches of your bare spine above your dress, goosebumps erupting in their wake. Then his breath is warm in the tendrils of your hair, held in an elegant updo, as he slowly unbuttons the little pearls holding your dress together. You have only ever had a lady's maid undress you before. A quivering in your belly as his fingers instead pluck at the fabric, a singular knuckle tracing each notch between the lacing of your stays underneath. 

You have to lock your knees when two warm hands sweep up to your shoulders and push the fabric from them, your gauzy dress fluttering away and pooling in a circle around your ankles. Grateful for the fire, you now stand before him in just your stays and thin chemise; still, your shiver has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

You ache for him to touch your skin, pull you into another confounding kiss. But instead, you stay still, squirming slightly in your silken ballet shoes as Anthony’s deft fingers start to pluck at the criss-crossed lacing of your stays. You breath in short pants as your breasts bounce with each tug, the structure soon falling from your torso and discarded upon the floor.

“Turn around, my sweet,” he murmurs duskily in your ear, bestowing a term of affection upon you that liquefies a hot mass behind your ribs.

You do as asked, a tremble in your skin as he rests a knuckle upon your clavicle. 

“Do you know your own body?” he asks, your faint frown causing him to expound: “Have you touched yourself?” 

That knuckle slips lower, skating the top of your breast now.

“T-t-touch myself where?” You garble out, your mind scarcely able to keep pace with his questions.

“For starters… here.”

You inhale raggedly a featherlight brush over your nipple, like a live wire, even through your cotton chemise.

“I have not,” you stumble, tongue heavy, a tingle where he lingers. 

His fingers unfurl, and he lightly pinches your nub between them. You gasp and sway towards him, a sudden lightning bolt zipping between your legs.

“Oh my sweet, the things I could teach you….” he sighs sinfully, and it sounds like the very best threat in the world.

His touch gets heavier, the pinch more pronounced, your mouth slackening. But just as you think it may slip into an unpleasant ache, he smirks predatoryly and releases his grip. Your whole being throbs with need, a sudden pulse of blood to your nipple, amplifying the molten heat deep inside. It makes you want to hurl yourself upon him. Experience everything he has to offer.

And so, throwing caution to the wind, you tug the neckline of your chemise open, widening it until it slips over your shoulders and falls to the floor under his hooded gaze. 

“Teach me, Anthony,” you implore, standing naked before him, save your knee-high silk stockings and slippers.

There is a growl, and suddenly you are picked up in his arms, bridal style, him carrying you across the room, your shoes slipping from your toes with his movement.

He lays you down upon the chaise, its soft tufted velvet tickling your naked shoulder blades as he stares down at you, as if laid out as a delicious buffet. Your eyes are drawn to a bulge in his trousers that makes you swallow hard, clamping your legs together. That is likely his ‘cock’ you have heard talk of.

“Do you wish to know how a man can pleasure a woman? Or do you wish to learn a man’s body more intimately, how to please him?” he pitches, noting where your gaze has wandered, a shrewd quirk to his lips.

“Both,” you splutter, and he chuckles richly.

“Oh, you are the very best kind of innocent,” he asserts, looming over you. “So very keen. Your husband is an utter fool.”

His fingers are back on your breast, this time on your bare skin, sliding to capture your nipple again, pebbling hard under his touch, all-consuming, making your spine arch off the sofa.

“But all the better for me,” he opines, a smugness to his tone as he swaps to your other nipple, seeming so pleased at your responsiveness. Your lips tingle, wanting more of his heartstopping kisses, knowing it will sweep you into a riptide you do not want to be rescued from.

And he seems to intuit such, bending down to capture your lips, a moan bubbling up from within you and vibrating over your tongue as it parries with his. Lowering his whole body, his shirt chafing your darkened nipples, the rough wool of his trousers as he insinuates his legs between yours. You cling to him, the muscle under the thin material, unable to form words as you catalogue all the splendours of a man lying atop you.

He breaks the kiss, his lips sliding hot down your throat then lower still, sucking upon your clavicle, shuffling lower, his cock a hot press into your mid thigh as he traps your right teet in his mouth, and again you cant upwards, so much heat and suction, a beeline for that engorged slick ache between your legs.

You softly call his name, your hand flying reflexively into his thick, lush head of hair, scraping your fingernails over his scalp as he feasts upon you, moving to your left breast, his saliva cooling on your right puckered areola.

“You will tell me if there is something you dislike, will you not?” he quips, his brown eyes shining as he tilts to observe your slack-jawed expression.

“Do not stop!” You beseech, tilting your breast back towards his lips as he laughs carefree and goes back to teasing you so resoundingly.

His hands trail down your flank, to the flare of your hips, squeezing your flesh, the noises he makes as he feasts upon you just ratcheting you higher, a need burning brightly between your legs.

“I am burning between my legs, Anthony…” 

You don't mean to voice it, but you cannot censure your mouth from your tumbling thoughts.

“Good,” he growls, surging his hips so the contour of his cock is unmistakable, the wool abrading the softness of your inner thigh.

“Will you be removing your clothes too?” Your query is tinged with hopeful curiosity, a yearning to see a man, this man in particular, without clothing.

“I could bring you untold realms without removing a stitch,” Anthony asserts, tone dripping with that conceit which is so attractive. “Just my fingers and tongue … “ he adds, licking a wide stripe up your sternum, before moving back up to your lips, one of his hands sliding between your bodies.

You cry out into his mouth as his fingers slip between your thighs, the slightest touch on the swollen nub nestling there making you buck up.

“See?” he smirks, staring down at you possessively, as he unhurriedly flicks a mere fingernail over that bundle of nerves.

“What is that?” Your wide-eyed question makes his laugh echo into your ribs.

“That, my sweet girl, is what you should have been playing with. Every time you felt that odd fizzling low in your belly when you looked upon a man? This is what you should have done,” he intones, his touch getting firmer as you moan and writhe under him. “Gone home and touched yourself here. But then, if they taught you ladies as such, I doubt we would ever see you out in polite society again…”

He looks inordinately pleased with what he is doing to you and his own witty assessment, as all you can do is bite your lip and ride his fingers, a slick, wet sound growing louder as he plays with your body. 

“So delectable,” he murmurs, kissing you more, all open mouths and teeth, you moaning into him wantonly now, something building inside you that feels almost perilous, a feverishness that makes you rash, impetuous, your hands plucking at his shirt, needing his skin upon yours.

He withdraws his hand, and you whine at its loss, but stare transfixed as he brings those now glistening fingers up to his lips. So close you can almost smell your scent upon them, honeyed yet tart. You gasp as he plunges them into his mouth, his eyes closing as he sucks his own fingers. You are quite sure this is not what ordinary men do; so debauched, untamed in his enjoyment of your flavour.

Releasing his digits with a wet pop, he suddenly rears up and, crossing his arms, tugs his shirt up and off, it sailing away in an arc as your eyes feast upon his physique. You have seen artwork of shirtless men, mostly in religious contexts, but none seem quite to compare to Anthony Bridgerton. A fuzz of hair over his torso thickest in the indent between his pectorals, but fanning out across his broad slab of chest. A line also runs down the centre of his tapered waist, disappearing temptingly into his trousers. You ache to know how far it goes, wanting to trace it with your fingers.

“Go ahead,” he goads, as if intuiting where your thoughts have gone, courage seizes your hands. 

Your fingers plough into the thatch, surprised by how soft it is, tracing all the lines under his rapt attention.

“Soft…” you mutter, petting him, letting your touch slide brazenly down over his belly button, sweeping the top of his trousers. 

“Keen, I see…” he smirks, but you can't help but match his smile as he starts to undo the buttons at his hip, more than willing to show you that which you are curious to see.

He athletically jumps up to standing, towering over you as the buttons relent and his trousers hit the floor. You suck in a breath. There, nestling at the end of that trail of hair, is his cock. Much larger than you had expected, the solid cylindrical mass curved up towards his washboard stomach, tapering at the tip where it is flushed with a darker hue. Beneath it, a twin sac that droops. An instinct to touch has you making to sit upright, but a quelling hand on your shoulder halts you.

“Lie back, my sweet, just watch,” he murmurs, his other hand circling a fist around his cock and moving the skin there up and back down with one swipe as he groans. You observe, fascinated as he repeats the motion a few times. “This is how you handle it, do you follow?” he checks, and you affirm, keen to be allowed to copy his actions.

He crawls over you again, seizing your wrist and guiding it towards his cock. His lips ghost yours as you grab hold of him unseen, his face filling your entire field of vision. Velvety smooth skin over a stiff mass, your fingertips just touching your thumb as you encircle him.

“That it…” he encourages, his eyes intent on yours as he huffs delightful little noises over your lips, you slowly pumping his cock in your hand, getting used to its dimensions, its shape. The warmth and weight are wonderful; you cannot help but speed up a touch, his approving groan your guide. You pause as a substance drips onto the side of your fingers as your hand travels up to his tip. 

“‘Tis normal,” he rapidly assures, but he whimpers when you pull your hand away.

Bringing your fingers up to your mouth, much as he had previously, he makes a noise of garbled surprise as you follow his lead. Your tongue darts out to lick the substance from your fingers, intrigued as to what it might be like. The singular flavour makes you pause, uncertain if you particularly like it. Not bad, but not as sweet as that which you could taste in his mouth from your own body.

He mutters a curse at your actions, you unaware of the effect they have upon him. Suddenly, with a snarl, he tugs your fingers from your lips, diving down for a kiss that is more desperate than any previous, lowering his entire being flush to yours once more, so much naked skin-on-skin contact as he plunders your mouth.

“Are you entirely certain you want this?” He checks, his voice changed to a touching sincerity—such a tender contrast to his ferocious kiss.

“Yes I am more than certain,” you confirm, running your nails down the play of back his muscles to emphasise your point, his cock searing against your throbbing clit.

“Are you aware of what happens next?”

“Your cock goes inside my quim,” you sate, parroting words you have overheard.

“Well, yes, but not quite yet, my sweet,” he advises over a warm chuckle. “For I have not yet prepared you for me. I should, as this is to be your very first time.”

Anthony’s touch glides between your legs, but this time, he barely brushes your clit. Instead, he sweeps lower, and you startle at the novel sensation of a finger pressing into you, a trickle of wetness leaking onto your bottom as he does so.

You are certain your face is a picture as he slowly rocks into you, going a fraction deeper each time, your slick juices easing his way, your vice-like grip on the rounds of his shoulders, the anchor you need. Your gaze pings between his face, watching you closely, and down your body to where his toned, hair-dusted forearm curls between your thighs, tendons flexing with each gentle push.

“You have just enough of an opening for me to do this, my sweet,” he tutors softly. Then a different finger presses lightly on a spot that causes a little twinge to tug inside. “But this barrier shall soon be broken… by me,” his voice turning a touch gravelly. “Only me,” it's throaty and possessive, leaning down to capture your lips bitingly.

He adds another finger alongside the one buried within you, making you moan over his teeth with how full you feel. The motion of his hand speeds up, cleaving your walls open over and over, your pussy clinging tightly to his knuckles.

“That’s it, you take me so well,” he lauds breathily, a faint quake in his being, holding back from being too rough. 

“I… I am ready for you, Anthony,” you appeal, bowing yourself upwards into him to underline your message.

You mewl as his fingers retreat from your pussy. An odd bereftness, as if something is missing without him inside you.

“Am I so very glad your husband is otherwise persuaded,” he declares, but gives you no time to respond, for he kisses you so many times that you lose count, almost light-headed as he barely allows you time to draw breath. 

Then his hips move, pulling your legs wider apart and, as your tongues meet, you stutter loudly at a sudden blunt, hot pressure between your legs that can only be his cockhead.

“This may hurt a little,” he counsels, pulling up to stare into your eyes, his pupils utterly blown.

You bite your bottom lip, but give him a look that permits him to continue, gasping as the pressure builds. There is a stab of pain that is momentarily searing before he groans and slides deeper. Your eyes go wide at the persistent stretch, magnitudes more than his fingers, your channel forced open by his cock. Every inch you are certain is more overwhelming than the last, seeming to take forever until he halts, a warm sac resting upon your bottom.

“How is that, my sweet?” His ask is soft and he drops a delicate kiss on your cheek.

So many sensations in your being at once: the throb in your distended clit mashed hard against his pubic bone, a light burn in your tendons from your thighs being pinned so very wide open, the heat radiating from his body cloaking yours, that insistent pressure inside; entirely alien but so very enthralling.

“I-I-I feel very full,” you profess, haltingly.

Your choice of words seems to make him puff with pride. “I am going to move now,” he explains, cupping your jaw gently.

Without breaking the intense eye contact, he draws back until just his tip remains inside you, then ploughs back in, you moaning loudly as your breath stolen from the potency of it all, your pussy pushed wide by his invasion. No longer any trace of discomfort, just a zing of pleasure that races from your core all the way to the top of your scalp. A cloying need for him to crash into you repeatedly, curling your fingertips into his bottom to telegraph your desires.

He more than takes your hint, initiating a rhythm that has you moaning loudly. He wraps around you, his lips on your neck as he fucks into you in a wave, a squeak of protest from the chaise as he does so.

“Be as loud as you wish,” he murmurs hotly into your skin, “no one shall hear us above the sounds of the ball.”

Indeed, only as he utters such, do you become cognisant of a muffled cacophony leaking through the thick door for the first time since you entered the room—music in the ballroom, and chattering voices in the grand hallway competing with each other. 

And so you do, unfettered, vociferous, letting him know how much pleasure you feel coursing through your entire being as he surges into you, each noise you make seeming to catalyse him further. A growing looped call and response between you. You never expected the marital act to be this all-encompassing. How people talk of anything else seems impossible to you. You want to shout from the rooftops, want always to be entwined naked with this man, your body alive, a symphony racing under your skin, as he takes you somewhere truly magical.

“Do not stop…” You repeat, this time through clenched teeth, greedily grabbing at his shapely rear as it flexes. 

“I will not, not until you come apart,” he attests, his chest hair mashed into your pebbled nipples, as he moves over you. A pressure building far inside, your pussy leaking copiously around him, onto the velvet beneath you. But both of you pay no heed, only chasing pleasure.

Your hand flies up to the chaise back behind your head, needing an anchor, to match him halfway, force him deeper than he has ever been, a primal desire for him to leave an impression within you. He groans as you meet his thrusts, looking upon you with seeming disbelief, such wild abandon in your choices. 

A trickle of sweat tracks down from his hairline over the curve of his cheekbone, and you push up to seal your lips first to that salty track, then clumsily to his lips, needing more of his intoxicating kisses, skating an edge that makes your lungs restrict, all your muscles taut.

“What is happening to me, Anthony?” you gulp, a tide rising throughout your being.

“You are so, so close, my sweet,” he rasps, his voice low, scratchy. “I can feel you fluttering around me, just a little while longer, and you will know true bliss…” 

His silky promise makes you more determined, your pussy rippling around his cock, his tip seemingly steely as he ploughs deep, speeding up even more, an erratic desperation behind his moves that suggest he is similarly afflicted.

A hand worms between your bodies and you scream as his fingers strum your clit, so very swollen and coated in slippery juices. Your fingernails dig into his back as your entire being snaps into a technicoloured synesthesia, nudged into an oblivion, breath stolen, pulse racing, eyes clamped shut. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock as he howls into your ear from the pressure you exert. You whine at the sudden loss of him withdrawing rapidly, a slick tide following him as he splashes warm ropes of fluid onto your folds, barely pulling out in time.

“Fuckkkkkkkkk” he pants, collapsing over you in a manner that is almost suffocating, your bodies both tacky with sweat and cum, your lungs fighting for air under his mass.

“Anthony…” you croak.

He comes to his senses, rearranging your pliant, exhausted body on the oversized chaise so that he is curled around you, your spine pressed into his chest. 

“That was magnificent,” he opines, his lips crushing into your messy hair, your updo now entirely worked loose by the repeated jolts into the velvet.

You hum in agreement, hazily attempting to file away so many wondrous things about this seismic experience. Your combined fluids are tacky between your inner thighs as you snuggle back into Anthony, finally returning to yourself enough to make a query.

“What was that? That came out of your cock?” 

“That is my seed, my sweet. That which makes you with child.”

“Ohhh!” you exclaim, suddenly piecing together what your mother had said.

“You are a married lady and still they do not tell you such?!” He scoffs.  

“Not in any detail. I was told to endure what my husband may do to me, for that will give me a child,” you shrug.

He laughs incredulously, then twists you under him, hovering over you, a teasing quirk tugging at his lips. “Was that such a terrible experience to endure?” Anthony jests.

You can't help but grin impishly. “Utterly dreadful, my lord,” you volley back, a newfound confidence bubbling within, something profound about your womanhood. “And you did not even have the courtesy to leave me with child…”

Something dangerously feral ripples over his handsome features.

“Do not tempt me, Baroness….” he cautions, his baritone vibrating into your ribcage.

“If my husband will not, perhaps you can…” You goad, knowing you are playing with fire for all concerned; such a scandalous, almost indecent, proposal.

“If he continues to abandon his duties, I shall have words with him.” Anthony proclaims fiercely.

You suck in a surprised breath. “You shall speak with the Baron yourself?”

“Why should I not? This provides the cover he needs to continue his dalliances as he sees fit, while to the outside world, the Barony line will continue. And it also allows for us to be intimate, for as much as you wish…” He reasons, nuzzling your jaw.

“But what of your duties?” You counter. “A Viscount cannot evade his need to marry any more than a Baron can.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, then fixes you with a blistering look. “But until that day….” 

His lips seize yours, and any other thoughts scatter to the wind. And before you know it, he is teaching you something else new, this time parting your thighs with his broad shoulders and burying his face into your folds, you screaming to the chandelier above as all around Bridgerton House the festivities continue.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Anthony taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @divaani @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies @urfavnoirette @cinnamoodles @blackdxggr @alexandrainlove @witty-wallflower

[bullet-prooflove]

Night Thoughts: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol

Summary: You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.

The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.

Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.

You wake up to the sensation of Pope’s palm smoothing across your stomach, his hand dipping underneath the fabric of that t-shirt of his you’re wearing, his fingertips caressing your bare skin.

“She’s kicking again.” He whispers in the darkness, his voice filled with wonder as he chases the movement. You roll over onto your side, your face inches apart so you can look into his dark eyes. “Does it happen a lot?”

“All the time at night.” You tell him, snuggling back down into your pillow. “It’s something to do with the movement during the day rocking them to sleep.”

“So at night when mommy rests, it becomes an all out party.” He summarises, tickling the space where his daughter nudges against his hand. “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping so good?”

Nothing escapes this man, he’s been back in your life for almost forty eight hours and he’s already picking up on all of your shit. It’s kind of nice in a way because you’ve spent the majority of this pregnancy alone up until now.

“Partly.” You say with a sigh, looking down at the baby bump between the two of you. “The baby, she just brings up some thoughts, ones I haven’t figured out how to make peace with just yet.”

“What kinda thoughts?” He asks, propping his head up on his arm so he can give you his full attention.

“The fact I don’t have a parenting blueprint.” You tell him. His eyebrows furrow into a deep frown as he waits for you to explain. “My mom died when I was seven and my father…” You don’t say anything more than that but Pope knows what you’re alluding too. He was not the kind of role model anyone wants for their daughter. “I just don’t want to fuck her up like the way our parents fucked us up.”

“Well we have a roadmap of what not to do.” Pope tells you, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind your ear. “We already have so much love for her, we read the books, you take vitamins, attend doctors’ appointments. That’s already lightyears ahead of our parents. And the parenting classes will get us more prepared, everything else we’ll be able to figure together. The two of us”-he gestures between you- “we’re a team and we’ll support one another through the tough spots.”

The fact he’s here, saying those words, looking towards the future… You can’t express just how reassuring that is to someone who was a single mom this time last week.

“You have so much faith in the both of us.” You say as his thumb chases over the apple of your cheek. You clasp his hand to your face, your lips ghosting over the hollow of his wrist.

“You always tell me I’m not my history.” He reminds you, his whiskey coloured eyes soft as he looks at you. “You aren’t yours either. The two of us are going to break the cycle, raise our daughter to be happy, let her be a kid until she decides to become the president or an astronaut or whatever the fuck she wants. She’s going to have choices and opportunities that we never dreamed of and that’s because of us, because we decided to be better, do better. We made that decision, that’s how I know we’re going to be good parents.”

“Fuck.” You drawl, your forehead coming to rest upon his. “You’re so good at this already Andy.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his arm encircling your waist, drawing you even closer into the shelter of his form.

“Yeah.” You confirm, as his palms smooth over your back, rubbing soothing circles over your sore mucles. “I think you’re going to be an excellent daddy.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sinnahsaint]

I’m more likely to over explain (well not over explain exactly but some folks think it’s too much) in brackets because I usually have a lot more to say than what I actually start to say ((or type in this case) which is of course why I find verbal conversation so difficult) and although I’ve seen this pattern of communication portrayed on screen and stage (portrayed? screen and stage? seems my vocabulary has shifted (which is what often happens when I’m trying very hard to be precise and understood)) it’s not actually something I can produce verbally since the thoughts are often [overlapping/simultaneous/out of order?] which makes me jump around the paragraph as I write.

I also use the square brackets for “insert-correct-word-here” type of thoughts. I developed that as a way to avoid derailing my train of thought when I couldn’t decide between some options (or couldn’t find the Right word (or even to express that there is more than one Right word)) because I can just keep chugging along knowing that the *vibe* is there and I can puzzle it later or decide to leave it as is.

Since it’s hard for me to know the right label for my “tone indicator” or even what I’m feeling about a post as I write it. I’ve explained to anyone that will listen that 99% of the time I’m trying to be kind and helpful. If you think I’m being a sarcastic bitch, consider what the message you just read would mean if I honestly meant every word I said and none of the ones you assume I meant.

I do wish we had known more about AuDHD when I was a kid. I could have been amazing if I hadn’t have had to unlearn so much.

/Whole thing, just honesty straight from my brain to your eyes.

I'm going to say it. The (word in parentheses) meme is way better for tone indication than tone indicators

[brokenbough]

Thinking of mean!Ghost who just... does it wrong.

At first, you were into it. Yeah, maybe you liked being manhandled in bed, liked when he squeezed just a little too hard, liked when he put you where he wanted.

And yeah, maybe you liked being told what to do, liked challenging him only to lose in the most delicious way.

But you've had sort of a shitty day and being called dumb time and time again hasn't had the best effect on your already decaying sense of pride.

"Cmon doll." He sneers, the way you like, pulling your hair a little to get you to look at him.

You'd usually like it, but now it just hurts and you think it's giving you a headache.

He doesn't clock his mistake immediately, only realizing when your wrestling his hand away from you, mumbling about him being too mean.

He's confused, rightfully so, because usually you'd be pulling him closer, asking him what he'd do if you didn't listen.

"Can't hear ya, speak up." His says with his usual gruff tone. He tries putting his finger under your chin, making you look at him-- just the way you like it-- but you're pulling away and he just doesn't understand.

"You're being mean." You say again, unable to look at him.

He tilts his head, looking like you just told him the sky isn't blue.

"You-- huh? You said you liked that." He says, defensive. Like you're the problem. "That's what this whole thing was." He argues as if you're not just trying to have a conversation with him.

"Yeah, but you just..." you start, mulling over your next words. "I... just not right now." You explain.

His words aren't as reassuring as you would've hoped. The opposite in fact.

"So, you just pick and choose when you feel like being degraded and I'm supposed to read your mind?" He says more like a statement than a question. Blunt as ever. Something you usually like but now he's sounding like a dick.

"I didn't say that, I just--"

"That is exactly what you said." He scoffs, pulling away. "Come to me when you're in a better mood, yeah?" He states curtly before just leaving you there to sift and sort through your actions and his words.

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

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room. You start to question most of everything, wondering if you were in the wrong and overreacting or if he was being a dick to you. You question if you even want to be around him anymore.

He doesn't give you much choice in the matter because he's at your door at the end of the day, incessantly knocking.

You open the door, much to your annoyance. "I thought you didn't want me around until I was in a 'better mood'." You say, immediately coming in with the venom.

He realized around noon that he was in the wrong and would take whatever you threw at him. He should've listened to you instead of painting you as the bad guy because you didn't stick to a set of rules he made up in his head.

You hadn't followed the agreement in his head, and he had blamed you for it.

He knows now you weren't something he could put in a mold and control. You had feelings too. You weren't a mind reader either.

The silence between the two of you stretches on before he sighs, shaking his head.

"I was being an asshole. Sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. You.." you quiet down. "You hurt my feelings." You admit barely above a whisper.

He sucks in another breath. "I know. I..." He mulls over his own words, looking at you properly now.

Your face was tear streaked, puffy, red eyes and cheeks. All accompanied by dark circles under your eyes.

It wasn't in him to feel bad, but it made his stomach churn and chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to.

"I was being mean, and you didn't like it. I understand that now." He finally says, forefinger under your chin. But he wasn't squeezing, he wasn't grabbing, he was... holding. "I'm sorry." He says again.

You stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to give in just yet, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. Accountability and an apology.

You huff, rolling your eyes at him and pulling away from his hand. It pains him in a way he can't describe. He isn't sure what to do as you take a step back, looking at him again.

His hand falls back down to his side but you haven't shut your door on him yet and that sliver of hope is carving its way up and up and over each vein, climbing higher and higher before burying itself in his chest. His very heart.

"I'll be nicer." He coos, looking at your reaction. You almost seem to recoil at the very thought.

"I don't want you nicer, Simon." You say quickly, the thought almost laughable. Almost.

"Then what do you want?" He says, his voice sounding more pleading than he intended.

"I- I don't know. I just... I don't want you nicer, but I don't want you mean right now." You explain looking at your fuzzy socks, wording it the best way you could.

"Alright. I can... I can do that." He answers as if he knows exactly what you mean.

A breath of relief flooding between the two of you at the same time.

"Don't cry over me though. 'M not worth your tears." He says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your face again. You hadn't even noticed you started crying again. He doesn't know if he can live with himself knowing he made you cry.

When you start full on sobbing, he pulls you to his chest, walking the two of you backwards into your room, into your bed. You curl up to his side, clinging to his shirt. And despite how uncomfortable he is-- your tears wetting his shirt and all-- he lets you. Cause these tears aren't for him, they're for the shitty day or week or month you've had. That he can live with.

He doesn't question or prod. He just stays.

Plus, he's sure you'll tell him all about it in the morning.

[sturnioz]

‘UNFAITHFUL’ — CHRIS STURNIOLO

pairing. chris sturniolo x fem!reader genre. angst. word count. 3.1k

❝you don’t get to talk about love, chris. not after what you did. love doesn’t look like that.❞

content warning. cheating, insecurities, cursing, heartbreak, breakdowns, shit relationships and shit friendships.

authors note. still on a writing hiatus, just in my feels and wanted to do something. this is very angsty and yet again, no happy ending. no part twos either. (sorry)

You had always been wary of the closeness between your boyfriend and your best friend.

It wasn’t jealousy—at least that’s what you told yourself. You wanted them to get along as it would’ve been awkward if they didn’t. But sometimes, their smiles felt too private, their touches lingered just a second too long, and the way their eyes found each other in a crowded room made your stomach twist in knots.

Still, you ignored it. You had to. After all, these were the two people you loved the most in the world. You told yourself it was all in your head, that your own insecurities were painting them in such a bad light. And even when they started spending time with you, you silenced the small voice beside you that begged you to question it. 

You were too blinded by happiness. You were happy that your two favourite people in the world had not only cherished you deeply, but also got along so well.

But now, standing frozen in the bedroom doorway after returning from visiting your parents, your breath catches in your throat—ragged and shallow—as your eyes burn, the tears blurring your vision, but unfortunately not enough to hide the sight in front of you. 

Chris, the person you thought you’d spend forever with, is tangled up in the sheets with Ani, your best friend. Their naked bodies move together in a way that leaves no room for doubt that they’ve done this before, and the sounds that spill from their lips pierces through the air.

“Oh my god!” It’s Ani who notices you first, her face contorting in horror as she turns her head at the right moment. She scrambles to grab the blanket to cover herself as if that will erase what’s already been done.

Confused by her outburst, Chris props himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing for a split second before his gaze finds yours. His eyes widen in panic, his face draining of colour as the realisation hits him like cold water.

“W-wait, wait, wait,” he stammers quickly, shoving Ani off him as he stumbles out of bed, his movements frantic and clumsy as his hands shake, reaching for you. “It’s not—it’s not what it looks like, I—please, let me just—I need to explain.”

“Don’t touch me,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the lump resting in your throat. You take a step back, your hands trembling as you push him away from you.

“Please,” he begs, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. The tears begin to well in his eyes, but they only make you angrier. “Please, baby. Don’t—don’t do this. Just hear me out. Please—”

You can’t bear to look at him any longer, so your gaze shifts to Ani who is sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the blanket to her bare chest. Her face is flushed and her eyes are glassy with bubbling tears, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. The guilt etched across her face says enough.

Turning away from both of them, you spin on your heel and walk out of the room, your legs trembling beneath you which makes it harder for you to move in a straight line. Chris calls out your name, his voice cracking, but you don’t stop. You can hear him fumbling behind you, the sound of his feet hitting the floor as he hurriedly follows while grabbing his boxers, pulling them on in a rush as he chases after you.

“Wait!” he cries, his hand catching your arm just as you round the corner. His touch burns, and you yank yourself free with a sob, slapping his hand away as the tears stream down your cheeks. 

You’re shaking now, your chest heaving with every breath as the weight of what you’ve just seen crashes down on you.

“Please… please, baby,” Chris pleads, refusing to let up. “Just listen to me, okay? Please. Don’t walk away from us—don’t throw this away.”

You freeze, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. “Don’t walk away from us?” you find yourself repeating, words riddled with disbelief. “Are… are you serious right now? You walked away from us the second you started fucking her!”

Chris flinches, his face crumpling as your words cut through him. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, breaking into a sob as he takes a step closer, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t—please, just don’t go. I love you. I love you so much. I love you.”

The pain in his voice only deepens your own, and you shake your head repeatedly, your tears falling faster as you try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his own tears mingling with yours as his grip tightens.

You want to push him away, to scream and curse and hate him with every fiber of your being, but your body betrays you as the sobs wrack through you. Your knees buckle beneath your weight, and Chris catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you tight as you collapse against him.

He holds you like he’s trying to piece you back together, to try and mend what’s been broken as his own cries echo yours. He strokes the back of your head and whispers apologies you don’t want to hear. 

Chris loves you—he swears it, over and over again—but love doesn’t fix anything.

He loves you, but he’s destroyed you too.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Chris whispers softly as you stiffly sit across from him at the table in the café. The room feels too calm and chilled compared to what’s brewing inside you both. It’s been a little over a week since you last saw Chris, having pulled out of his arms and bolting out of the house in a rush after your breakdown. “I’m, uh.. I’m happy that you came.”

“You and your brothers didn’t exactly give me a choice,” you reply coldly, and the embarrassed flush that creeps up his neck tells you he knows exactly what you mean. His brothers had practically begged you to hear him out, to give him one last chance to explain himself.

You had agreed, but not because you wanted to. You had agreed because you needed the closure—you needed answers.

Your hands tremble as you rub them together for warmth as you can feel them tingle with numbness. Chris notices this instantly. Of course he does. He always did have a way of reading you—knowing what you needed before you even had to ask, and just like he would have done before, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours.

“C’mere, let me—”

“No,” you yank your hands back before his warmth can touch you, despite craving the heat that emits from his palms. You refuse to let him soothe you. Not now. Not after everything.

Chris flinches at your harsh words and actions, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just… I didn’t—”

 “Can you just tell me what you wanted to say?” you interrupt, your tone a lot colder than you meant it. 

“Everything that happened that day… it didn’t mean shit,” Chris jumps straight into it, his voice raw and desperate as he leans forward on the table. “It was a huge fucking mistake, okay? And—and I don’t even know how it got that far. I fucked up. Bad. I know that. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I didn’t want it to happen. You… you’ve got to believe me.”

You let his words hang in the air, only hearing the distant clatter of cups and the coffee machines humming. Then, you speak, your voice steady but ice-cold. “How did Ani get into the house?” 

Chris freezes, his face paling. His lips part like he’s about to respond, but no words come out.

You press on, “How did her clothes come off? How did she get naked in our bed? How did you end up inside her?” Your breath hitches for a moment, the bile rising in your throat. “Did she do it all by herself?”

Chris’ expression crumbles, and you believe he might actually break down right here in the middle of this café. But instead, he shakes his head quickly, his hands trembling on the table.

“Ani means nothing to me. Nothing. But you mean everything to me, you always have,” he says, licking his lips nervously. “You’re the first woman I ever fell in love with, okay? And I swear to god, you’ll be the last.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back, unwilling to let him see you cry. Chris, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide as his shoulders shake slightly, his bright blues red-rimmed and glassy.

“I just… shit, baby. I love you so much, and I can’t forgive myself for what I did. I’ll never forgive myself. Ever.”

“Chris,” you speak his name, and his eyes snap up to meet yours, something desperate and hopeful swimming in his irises. “You don’t get to talk about love, Chris. Not after what you did. Love doesn’t look like that.”

Chris opens his mouth to respond, but you hold up a hand to silence him. “You don’t get to apologise either. You don’t get to tell me it was a ‘mistake’ and that it ‘doesn’t mean shit’ because you made that choice in the first place. You chose her.”

He shakes his head quickly as his tears fall freely. “What? No... no, I didn’t choose her, baby. I—”

“And you can’t say you love me when you were in bed with another woman. In the same bed where we shared our first kiss. In the same bed where I gave you my virginity. In the same bed where we made promises about our future together.”

“W-we can still do that,” Chris stammers, filled with fragile hope. “Baby, look at me. We can still keep those promises, okay? We can still have that future,” his hand twitches on the table like he wants to reach for yours. “We can fix this, I swear—”

“What are you not understanding?!” you cut him off, your voice rising in a way that startles even you. Chris flinches back at your volume, his wide and tearful eyes locked on yours. “That promise was broken the second you got into bed with Ani. You fucked up everything we had. Everything.”

“I…” his voice cracks as he tries to speak. “I’m so sorry,”

His shoulders sag, and he wipes his nose and eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, looking like a pitiful man who’s just lost everything—and he has. 

You shake your head, tears now spilling from your eyes as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to ground yourself. You turn your head away from him and toward the window, watching the world outside as it moves on without you, and your stomach churns as you spot couples strolling by; their hands intertwined, their faces lit up with the kind of love and happiness you used to know.

One couple walks past, laughing as they nuzzle into each other’s arms, and the sight makes your chest tighten, their joy feeling like a slap in the face to remind you of what you’ve lost too. 

It feels cruel, like the universe is mocking you.

You swallow hard as the bitterness consumes you. The thought of someone else’s love life makes you feel sick. It’s as if their happiness is rubbing salt into a wound that’s already bleeding you dry. 

You want to run. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to disappear.

Actually, you just want to go home. To go home and to shut the world out.

“I’m gonna go,” your voice is quiet, but Chris hears it loud and clear as you push yourself up from your seat, zipping your coat as your hands tremble.

His eyes widen in panic, and he shoots to his feet. “Wait—wait, please,” he begs. “Don’t go. Please just… just stay a little longer. I—”

“Don’t contact me again,” you say, watching as he blinks, taken aback. “We’re done. For good. We… we’re never getting back together, Chris… not after this.”

Chris’ tears fall harder as he chokes out, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Before you can stop him, he grabs your arm and pulls you into a hug. You freeze as his arms wrap around you tightly—desperately—and you let him hold you, only because you know it’ll be the last time. You pat his back awkwardly, the gesture hollow and distant, but you don’t pull away. You let him cling to you as he sobs into your shoulder, his body shaking against yours.  

Finally, he loosens his hold, his tear-streaked face tilting to meet your gaze. His eyes are all red, swollen, pleading. 

“I love you.”

“Goodbye, Chris.”

And with that, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the café, refusing to look back at him as you push open the door—not even when you hear his broken sobs behind you.

“Chris hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s not eating either,” Nick says as soon as he walks through the front door of your apartment. He doesn’t even stop to take off his jacket as he heads straight for the sofa where you’re curled up under a blanket, a pint of ice-cream nestled in your lap. “He comes out of his room with bags under his eyes. Sometimes he doesn’t come out at all. It’s… it’s getting concerning.”

“Shame,” you mutter, scooping a spoonful of vanilla ice-cream and shoving it into your mouth. You keep your eyes glued to the TV as you pretend Nick isn’t even there. “Did you know the actor in this is forty? He looks twenty-seven at most… insane.”

Nick glances at the screen. “Haven’t you already seen this episode?”

“Yep.”

Your attention stays fixed on the TV as the main character and her love interest bicker back and forth over something stupid, and you let out a soft scoff, spooning another mouthful of ice-cream into your mouth.

It’s so much easier to focus on fiction problems than your own.

However, Nick doesn’t take the hint.

“Chris said you’re completely done with him, like, I’m talking there’s no chance of you two getting back together,” his words come out slow and cautious as he eyes you. “I think you should reconsider, you know? Maybe just give him one more chance to fully explain himself. Just the two of you—no distractions.”

You glance down at your phone, ignoring the knot tightening in your chest. “I think it’s supposed to be really sunny tomorrow,” you say lightly, opening your weather app. “I might head down to the park or something.”

Nick blinks, baffled. “Are you even listening to me? Chris is—”

“Oh my god, Nick. Just stop!” 

The words explode from your mouth before you can stop them, and Nick physically recoils, his eyes widening in shock with his hand firm against his chest. You throw the blanket off your lap and rub your palm against your forehead, exhaling heavily as the frustration burns through your veins. 

“You do this all the time… Chris did that, Chris did that. Chris feels like this, Chris feels like that—I don’t care!”

“Hey… calm—”

“Look, I know he’s your brother. I get that, but you’re constantly talking about him. You bring him up in every single conversation we have now, and you’re pitying him like he’s the victim in all of this!” The tears begin to well in your eyes as your voice cracks, but you don’t stop as you feel the anger bubbling up, making you powerless to contain it. “Chris wasn’t the one who got cheated on, Nick. Chris wasn’t the one who had to find a new place to live. Chris wasn’t the one who walked in on the love of his life balls deep in his best friend!”

Nick raises his hands in a defensive gesture, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to—”

“You know, you haven’t even asked me how I’m feeling. Not even once,” your voice wavers now, raw and broken as you stare at him with tears dripping down your cheeks. “You come over just to shove information about him down my throat. You… you’re making it impossible for me to breathe. It’s like I can’t even catch a break from him even though we broke up four weeks ago. Four weeks, Nick.”

“I just wanted to—”

“So, what do you even tell him when you see him?” you cut him off, your tone sharp. You’re aware that interrupting him all the time is starting to affect him as his jaw tightens a little, but you don’t care. “Do you tell him how shitty I’ve looked or felt? Do you tell him that I cried for days until I was too numb to cry anymore? Do you tell him that I spent weeks wallowing in self-hatred wondering when I had become such a shitty girlfriend that he felt the need to cheat on me? Do you tell him that I blamed myself for all of it? That I thought I wasn’t good enough?”

Nick stares at you, stunned into silence. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as he looks down. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. “I try to cheer him up, okay? He’s a—”

“You try to cheer him up,” you repeat with a bitter, humourless laugh. You sniffle, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “That’s great, Nick. That’s all I needed to know.”

Nick frowns as he takes a step toward you, “You’re taking everything I say the wrong way—”

“You’re a really shitty friend, Nick,” you cut him off once again, and the words hit him like a punch to the throat. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump and his face falls. “It’s good to know where I stand with you on your friendship scale. Or are you only acting this way because it’s your brother? He gets a free pass?”

“I…” he opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out as he looks at you helplessly.

“Just get out of my apartment,” you say firmly. “Go console your brother… make sure he’s all fine and well,” you turn on your heel, heading toward your bedroom with every intention of shutting the door and locking the world out. 

But before you turn the corner, you pause, glancing back over your shoulder to see Nick who hasn’t moved an inch; standing there frozen with his eyes filled with tears and guilt as he stares at you.

“I don’t want to see any of your faces again.”

©STURNIOZ 𐔌 . all rights reserved

[laceyluvver]

Summer Lovin’

summary: a hot one night stand ends in an unfortunate coincidence. wc: 2215 warnings: SMUT (mdni), piv, unprotected (wrap it), one night stand, riding.

____

The boiling hot florida sun beat down mercilessly, warming your skin as you relax back onto your beach towel, looking up into the blue sky. The beach was relatively quiet, only commuters and people who wanted a good spot. However, the sun was still shining and your tan was slowly building.

Slowly, more families filter onto the beach turning from a quiet peace where you could hear every bird chirp, to splashing, screaming and sand in between small toes.

You sit up, almost packing your bag and getting ready to leave when something catches your eye. He’s tall, dark hair and absolutely jacked. He kicks some sand behind him as he throws a ball to a small blond boy. He catches it and the man runs over to him, picking him up and spinning him around with a smile on his face. You were shameless ogling.

They go back to throwing the ball to each other. After five minutes, the man runs over to his bag, taking off his shirt. Suddenly, he looks up and the pair of you lock eyes. He smirked. Shifting your eyes back down to the untouched book in your lap, eyes moving over the words but not taking any of it in.

Then, a woman with blonde curly hair made her way over to the pair, hugging blonde boy. The wife, you assumed. Realising your fun was over, you pack up your bag and leaving the beach.

____

The night at the resort was much cooler, a light breeze pulls through the resort, making your hair sway slightly. The bar was busy, the dance floor was bustling and the music was loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Ordering some sort of tropical cocktail, you sip on it through the swirly straw, you hear a voice behind you.

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking that?” You spin around and it’s the man from earlier.

You smile. “Aren’t you too old to be drinking that? Might make you senile.” You nod to the beer he has in his hand.

He pulls out the bar stool next to you and sits down, leaning on the bar.

“How was your book?” He asks, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t you have a wife?”

Taking a sip of your drink you turn your head to look at him.

“No, the kid is my son, but the woman is his aunt.” He explains.

“Well then, my book was very interesting.” You reply, now turning your body towards him. “Came with a view too.”

“You are not shy.” He states, laughing and his shoulders shake. “How old even are you.” He asks.

“Twenty five, you?”

“Thirty eight.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, just staring at each other.

“Ten years, I hope i’m not too young for you.” You laugh.

“You’re not.” He responds simply.

“On vacation?” You ask, downing the rest of your drink.

“Yeah, I got two weeks off of work. What about you?” He ushers the bartender over and gets you another drink, the same as before, then a scotch neat for himself.

“I’m moving state, while the movers get my stuff to my new house I stopped off here.” You explain and thank him for the drink.

Suddenly, your favourite song comes on and you hop off of the stool. “Cmon you have the come dance with me.” You grab your glass and start walking backwards.

“Now that’s something I’m too old for.” He laughs and leans back.

“Well suit yourself.” You shimmy backwards onto the dance floor and stare at him and shook your hips to the beat. Spinning around, your skirt fanning out as you twirl.

“Come on.” You mouth to him at the bar and flap your hand towards him. Finally, he stands up and wanders onto the floor.

“I don’t dance.” He says from behind you, leaning down to your ear.

“Well too bad, I do.” You laugh and feel a hand slide up your ribs as you lean back into his hard chest. You can feel his pecs from under his polo and his other hand grips onto your hip.

"I like this dress." He murmurs into your neck, his nose pressing into you and his hand on your hip grips tightly.

“Thank you, it was expensive.” You giggle as the two of you sway to the beat, feeling the alcohol you take another sip of your drink.

The two of you sway and he spins you around so you’re now face to face. “Hey,” You whisper.

“Hey.” He responds, you look into his eyes and see that they are the same mesmerising shade of brown as his hair.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” You whisper, your finger running up the centre of his chest, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Yeah.” He nods, and you take his hand and lead him through the dance floor and into the hotel. The long winding and repeating halls of the hotel started to make you slightly nervous. Finally getting to your room you click open the door with the keycard and shove him into the room.

You are then quickly pressed against the closed door and he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso. Then finally your lips press against his and you let out a sigh, all of the previous nerves dissipating as your hands snake into his neat hair, leaving it a disheveled mess.

You pull away quickly. “I don’t know your name.”

“Aaron.”

You tell him yours. He reconnects your lips and you slide your hands downwards, and run a finger along his bulge, feeling the zipper on his slacks.

“You certainly don’t take things slow.” He sucks in a breath and now your whole hand cups him and you run your tongue up the length of his neck.

“Mm, why would I waste precious time.” You hum and start to leave a small hickey on the side of his neck.

He lets out a deep grunt and pulls you away from the door and quickly throws you onto the small bed. Your back hits the clean hotel sheets and you bounce lightly.

Crawling up the bed, he shoves a hand under your dress, pulling down your panties and shoves it into his back pocket.

Meanwhile, you pull up the bottom of his shirt and see the same sight from earlier on the beach. This time close up and personal. “Even better close up.”

You flip around and straddle him, kissing down his chest leaving light lipstick marks on his pecks and down through his abs. You can feel his fingers tugging gently at the roots of your hair, and you make your way back up to his face leaving another light kiss on his lips before pulling the top of your dress down.

“Holy fuck.” He whispers and his hands immediately branch out and massage you gently, his long fingers delicately brushing over your nipple, making you gasp.

As he gropes you, you slide your hands down to his slacks, pulling the button open and yanking down the zip. Then making quick work of his boxers.

“Oh my God.” You whisper in shock at the size of him.

“What?” He asks.

“You’re fucking huge.”

He gets shy at that and a light flush runs over his cheeks. “Well I’m not a small man.” He chuckles.

You feel his hands sliding down to your dress, then pulling off the bottom half. Leaving the both of now completely undressed and staring at each other.

Shuffling up, you grab him and start to slowly sink down onto him. He groans, you gasp and paw at his chest hair.

“So big.” You whisper breathlessly and slowly grind back and forth to get used to his size. He grabs at your hips and guides you slowly before you start to bounce up and down, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

You swept your hair back, tits bouncing in his face as you make small noises, trying to not disturb the rooms next to you.

Suddenly, he pulls you to his chest and starts fucking up into you roughly and you can’t help the loud, eye rolling sound that fell out of your mouth. “Aaron.”

You can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “There we go.”

He keeps up the rough pace and the headboard starts to bang against the wall and your moans and his groans start to get louder.

“Oh fuck.” You almost scream as you get close to the edge and you can tell he is too, by the faltering pace of his strokes.

Whimpering, your legs shake lightly and he pushes you over the edge with one more deep stroke hitting directly on your sweet spot.

Aaron pulls out, cumming inbetween the two of you and you both lay there for a second, before you start giggling.

“That was so fucking good.” You sigh and roll off of him.

“Agreed.” He chuckles, then shuffling off the edge of the bed and going into the bathroom then coming back with a wet cloth. Cleaning the both of you up he sighs. “I should head back, I’ll need to see Jack when he wakes up.”

You smile. “You here for much longer?”

“No, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. You?”

“Me too.” You can’t help but disappointed that you’ll never see him again. “Well, I’ll let you go.” Wrapping the hotel robe around your frame, he gets dressed and heads out.

“Thanks for the-.” He starts but you cut him off.

“Thanks for the..” You smile and give him a small wave before clicking the door shut and flopping back on the bed.

It wasn’t till the next morning that you realised that he’d stolen your panties.

“Motherfucker.”

____

“Hotch has a hickey.” Derek says as he watches his boss stride through the bullpen.

“What?” Jj spins around on her chair and whips her head around to look at him.

“Well he did just come back from vacation.” Spencer says, shrugging.

“Now what are you guys gossiping about?” Rossi comes up behind them placed his briefcase on the floor.

“Hotch has a hickey.” Emily explains.

“Well good for him.” Rossi answers simply then heads up to his office.

Rossi walks into Hotch’s office and slowly shuts the door behind him. “Well I guess someone had fun on vacation.” He laughs.

“So everyone knows.” Hotch replies simply and continues writing.

“Of course.”

Back in the bullpen, the rest of the team look through the window expectantly.

“So unfair Rossi gets all the deets.” Penelope sighs leaning on Derek. “We could give great advice.”

“I think that’s why he doesn’t tell us.” Jj smiles.

Before Penelope can respond the elevator opening catches their attention and out walks a woman, formally dressed carrying a file.

“Can I help you?” Emily asks.

“I’m looking for an Agent Hotchner, I have an interview.” You say.

“Oh yeah, I’ll take you up to his office.”

You follow behind her nervously as she knocks on the door.

“Hotch, your interview is here.”

She opens the door wider and you are greeted by an awfully familiar face. A flicker of shock flashes through your eyes but then you remember you’re surrounded by profilers, steeling your expression, you give a small wave.

“We will continue this later.” Rossi says pointing at him, filing out of the office with Emily.

“Take a seat.” He says, motioning to the chair infront of his desk.

“Here’s my credentials.” You say awkwardly and hand over your file, avoiding his eyes.

He flicks through it slowly and reads through everything thoroughly.

“You have great agent experience, lots of field experience for someone your age.” He states. “Show me your profiling skills.”

“What.” You stutter out.

“Look out the window and profile my team.”

You stand and look out the window.

“The blonde got ready in a rush this morning. Her clothes are similar but not from the same set. She is closest with the two women on the team, the other blonde and the woman who showed me in here.” You start. “The bald guy is the joker, he’s making everyone laugh, has a crush on the colourful blonde. And they’re also all wondering why they’re staring at them.”

“Good.” He says simply, turning and sitting back at his desk. “Expand on the crush comment.”

“His body is turned towards her, he wants to make her laugh the most and looks happy everytime she leans into him.” You sigh.

“I’m not sure if you’ll be a good fit for our team.” He starts.

“I think you should know I come heavily recommended by Strauss. And she wouldn’t be too happy if you turned me away from this role.” You respond.

You see his jaw clench. “Fine. You can have the position.”

“Thank you.” You say with a tight smile and stand up. “Let me know when you want me to start.” Walking towards the door of his office you pause and turn back.

“Oh and I want my underwear back.”

____

Hey gang!! i’m finally back and writing!! sorry if this is a bit shit as it’s been so long but i hope you enjoyed. PLEASE LIKE FOLLOW AND REBLOG!!!!!!

let me know if you want a part 2!! or leave requests in my inbox!

[afroslacks]

Hiii idk if you’re still taking requests but I was wondering if you could do something where Micheal during an interview for Sinners he accidentally lets it out that when building smokes character that he had to draw from his own experiences in fatherhood. Which shocks the public because no one knew he was married let alone had a kid.

So he decided to put out at one of the premieres with his wife (reader) and nearly one year old baby (baby was born during filming in 2024)

Sorry if that doesn’t make sense🥹

Sinner’s press tour is up and running. The cast has been everywhere for the last couple of days. Michael, Wunmi, and Hailee are seated across from a female journalist who just entered the building. The journalist sits down with a warm smile on her face and white flashcards in her hands.

“Hello everyone, you all look so good today!” she says warmly, hoping to make everyone feel comfortable.

Michael is seated in the middle between both actresses, nodding his head while adjusting his chain and the special watch that has a message engraved from you. He always wears the watch because it brings him comfort on days like this—days when he’s extremely busy and wishes he could be with you and your baby girl, who was born recently.

“Thank you, we’re happy to be here,” he replies with a beautiful smile, gesturing toward the journalist.

“Truly,” Wunmi adds softly, nudging Michael’s shoulder as a subtle signal of gratitude for actively engaging—even though she knows his mind is at home.

Hailee sits there smiling as she rocks back and forth with her legs crossed in her chair. The journalist clears her throat.

“Now that we’ve got pleasantries out of the way, let’s get started, shall we?”

All three actors agree silently.

The journalist asks, “So Michael, since you’re playing two different characters in this film, how were you able to differentiate the twins, specifically in their relationships with Annie and Mary? Because the relationships are completely separate from one another.”

Michael nods as he takes in her question, preparing his response.

“That’s a good question. Stack is the more impulsive, hot-headed twin, so you can imagine his relationships with women being the same. He’s seen as a womanizer—breaking women’s hearts and moving on. But it’s also seen as a front, because Mary is the woman he wants. He has to act a certain way to deny himself his desire for her. When they do get together, you can definitely feel the tension and passion between them.”

After the first half of his answer, he clears his throat before continuing.

“Smoke, on the other hand, is the calmer twin. He typically keeps to himself. The trauma they experienced impacted him a lot more, so he retreats emotionally. I wouldn’t consider him much of a womanizer, because the only woman who stole his heart is Annie. Their relationship is deeper—they have history, and he’s the father of her child. He welcomed fatherhood. I’m the same way—”

His eyes go wide, and he shuts his mouth the moment he realizes his mistake.

The journalist furrows her brows. “I’m sorry? What do you mean you feel the same?” she asks.

Michael mentally rolls his eyes, realizing he now has to talk his way out of the mess he just created.

Wunmi quickly steps in. “What he means is, since he eventually wants to become a dad, he’s ready for the idea of fatherhood. Right, Michael?” She turns to him, giving him a flawless save.

He perks up, smiling at the interviewers. “Of course! My bad, I’m just really tired right now, so the words are coming out a mess,” he explains.

The journalist glances between the cast members, unsure if they’re being honest. After a moment, she lets it go, understanding that people make mistakes.

“Oh, okay. For a second, I thought you were a father.”

Wunmi, Michael, and Hailee nervously laugh, trying to steer attention away from Michael’s slip-up.

One hour later, after the interview is posted, Michael’s words start circulating online.

You’re sitting at your mansion on the couch, watching television while fiddling with the large diamond on your finger. The baby sleeps quietly in the crib next to you. Your best friend sends you a link to the clip with a message that says: "Check it out."

Pressing the link, you watch the clip. You scoff, shaking your head.

“I know this nigga didn’t just open his mouth,” you mutter, typing a message to your husband telling him to call you as soon as he’s free.

You and Michael have been together for five years total—dating for two and married for three. You recently had your baby after waiting a while to enjoy each other’s company. You met at a work event and immediately hit it off, but decided to keep your romance out of the public eye so you could enjoy your relationship in peace. You both agreed to hold off on telling the public for as long as possible.

But… that might not be an option anymore.

As you sit on the couch, you scroll through the comments—and people are not letting that slip slide at all:

I knew he had a family. That’s why we don’t see him much.

Michael, let me find out you’re married. I’m gonna find your wife.

Oh no, I’m not sharing my man.

Hello, I’m the wife he has a secret family with. So y’all can back off—thank ya!

It don’t matter if you’re married—we can still make it work, baby.

Whoever he’s with is lucky. They get Smoke AND Stack.

Where is the wife? I’m trying to find her.

That’s just a few of the comments. You take a deep breath to calm your beating heart.

Your phone lights up with “Hubby” flashing on the screen. Swiping green, his face appears.

“Hey, baby,” he greets nervously, noticing your scowl.

“Don’t ‘hey baby’ me. Michael, what the hell was that?” you ask, stepping into a quiet area of the house so the baby can keep sleeping.

“I’m sorry—I slipped up. I stopped myself as soon as I said it,” he apologizes, hating to see anything other than happiness and pleasure on your beautiful face.

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out and hit the floor.

“You better do damage control. We agreed to keep this private.” The threat is crystal clear in your tone.

After a few moments of silence, he mutters, “Or… you could come with me to one of the premieres?”

You pause. Silence fills the air.

“Michael, are you serious right now?” you ask, brows furrowed.

He scoffs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We agreed to be private to protect ourselves from the public. And now you want to throw that out?” You clarify to process what he’s saying.

“I know, baby. But I don’t wanna hide forever. I want to let the world know I’m taken and happy—so they’ll back off. We don’t have to be super public. Just let them know one good time, then keep it moving,” Michael confesses, hoping you’ll agree.

You sigh deeply. “Fine. But the baby can’t come—it’s too loud, and I don’t feel comfortable showing her.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you,” he says, smiling.

“I love you too, punk.”

[narcjsistx]

i’ll just say sae itoshi x THAT bad bunny commercial. i know you know what i mean <3

you don’t know exactly how long you’ve been locked in your room, you just know that your phone has gotten so hot from overuse that now you have to rest it on a pillow. you thought paradise would be a place of eternal beauty, not a 46-second clip. but you’re okay with that too

you giggle to yourself, eyes fixed on the screen and legs swinging, as you hit the replay button for the umpteenth time in the past hour. the same melody you've heard on loop fills the room, while you watch the screen, biting your lip

"again? seriously?"

you turn toward your bedroom door, where SAE ITOSHI is staring at you with a bored — maybe slightly confused — look. you pause the screen, your eyes returning to the same subject in the video, now just a few feet away from you

"don’t blame me. that video is criminally good"

he sighs, walking over to the bed and lying down next to you, gently nudging you aside him as he wraps an arm around your waist. he looks at your phone screen with an exasperated expression, pressing the on button just to see your reaction up close. the same clip plays again on the screen, and you sigh, resting your head in the palm of your hand as you watch that masterpiece that is your boyfriend in calvin klein boxers

the same scene plays on loop on the screen, something you’d compare to eternal glory: a pair of boxers from the latest calvin klein collection hugging the curves of your boyfriend’s hips, drawing attention to his pronounced v line. the catchy melody and clever lighting, combined with the disarming beauty of real’s midfielder, highlight his physique, ending with a soft 'snap!' as the waistband snaps back against his pale skin

"you’re pathetic"

you shift your gaze slightly from the screen — just enough to catch the faint smirk on your man's face. you’re about to respond, but your words are silenced by a soft kiss on your lips — just enough to make you look at him and decide you'd rather not say anything. he tightens his grip on your waist, gently massaging your skin as he rests his head against you

"it’s just a commercial"

"it’s not just a commercial, it’s the reason i believe i’ve been blessed by someone. otherwise, there’s no way to explain all this man just for me"

"you talk like im not right here. you don’t need a screen when you’ve got the real thing"

you feel a light massage on your side, gentle circles traced by his calloused fingers. his lips leave a wet kiss on your shoulder

"and yet it seems the ‘real thing’ doesn’t want to see me obsessed with him"

"trust me, seeing your comments under those edits was enough. you're pretty obsessed with me cariño, mh?"

"did you seriously look up edits of yourself?"

"only to watch my girlfriend fight other girls. that's hot"

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[edwardslvrr]

it’s sooo so hot here ☹️ buttt it’s inspired me!! spencer bby sprouting facts when ur in the hospital after collapsing at work from heat stroke. ur so stubborn and he’s warned u about the signs bc the temp was slowly creeping up but you promised him that u were fine

I TOLD YOU SO ☆ spencer reid

✦　　　.　　before they left for work spencer warned reader about the hot weather and how she should stay hydrated and not be in the heat for too long, all goes well until she passes out on in the field.

AUTHOR TALKING -> babe the way your brain works, mwah mwah!! anyway queen hope you enjoy

WARNING -> mention of passing out and heatstroke (pls be careful with the hot weather, take care of yourself!!)

She was packing the last of her things, whilst her boyfriend was rambling on and on about the heat and how she needed to protect herself. She knows he means well but it’s seven in the morning, who has so much to say at this time?

“Did you know your brain is especially sensitive to heat?” Spencer starts again, a whole new fact. “High body temps can cause confusion, irritability, and eventually unconsciousness.”

“Okay, Spence. I love you, but it’s 7 in the morning and I’ve slept 5 hours. Can we do this after I have some coffee?” Yn kindly begs her boyfriend, as she yawns and rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

He’s quiet for about 5 minutes as he follows her to the kitchen. “Drinking coffee in hot weather can actually dehydrate you slightly because caffeine is a mild diuretic.” He stopped as he notices her confused expression.

“It increases urine output.” Spencer explained the word, and continues rambling when she nods understandably.

“So while one or two cups won’t harm most people, relying on coffee instead of water in the heat can increase your risk of dehydration.” Spencer rambles off, as Yn grabs a bottle of water from the fridge instead of the coffee she was about to drink.

“Thought you were getting coffee?” Spencer frowns.

“Changed my mind, my sweet genius.” She smiled, standing on her tippy toes to give him a kiss. “Need to make sure I don’t increase my urine output.” Yn teases, as he just looked confused.

The couple makes their way out of the house and get to Yn’s car, while Spencer is passenger princess again today. “So be sure to reapply sunscreen every two hours. SPF 30 or higher. Even if it’s cloudy! Did you put sunscreen on just now?” Spencer asks, for the third time this morning.

“Yes, sweet Spencer, I did.” Yn smiles as she gets in the car.

“And avoid energy drinks.” He gives her a knowing look. “They have caffeine, which can increase heart rate and mildly dehydrate you. But if you have to have caffeine, balance it with extra fluids.” And he continued to ramble on..

The team were called out to investigate a series of child abductions in Virginia, close to home this time luckily for the team. Hotch assigned both Spencer and Yn to interview the parents of the last missing child.

“We know-” Yn stumbled over her words, as she wiped the sweat off of her forehead. “We know this isn’t easy.” She gently tells the mother of the girl as she felt Spencer’s eyes on her.

“But anything you can remember, any detail, could help us find your little girl.” She practically breathes out, struggling with the heat.

“She was just… gone.” The mother started explaining, as Yn excused herself for a minute when she started to feel lightheaded.

Spencer looked back at her, with a concerned look, before trying to refocus on the mother’s story. “I looked away for one second at the park, and she.. she was gone.”

“That’s a very common tactic for abductors.” Reid started to explain, as he tried to spot his girlfriend somewhere but she disappeared when he turned around. “They often wait for a momentary distraction. It’s not your fault.” He calmly explains, trying to reassure her that it isn’t her fault.

The father started to get more angry. “How is that suppose to help?” He angrily points asks. “This doesn’t bring her back!” His voice raises even more.

“You’re ri-” Spencer started saying as he hears a loud thud from outside. “I’ll be right back.” He tells the parents, as he was already halfway out the door.

And that’s when he saw her, passed out on the floor.

Quickly grabbing his phone to call Hotchner, as he crouches to sit beside her and try to wake her up. “Need help here, now!” He basically yells into the phone.

“We’re on our way, Reid. What’s happened?” Hotchner calmly asks Reid, trying to understand why he’s so panicked.

“Yn, she, uh, passed out. I think a heatstroke, I need help now!” He explains between breaths, his brain completely shutting off and not being able to think straight anymore in this panicked state.

“Okay, stay calm. I’ll get an ambulance, move her to a cooler place and make sure to cool her down as much as you can. We’ll be there soon.” He explained quickly over the phone, as Spencer hangs up quickly and does exactly what his boss just told him to.

It’s been an hour since Yn passed out, currently she’s in a hospital bed with cooling blankets and the AC cranked up. And Spencer Reid sat on the chair next to the bed, only focusing on her breathing.

He’d been sat there for as long as he could, in the same position as the team was sat in the waiting room - expect for Derek and Emily who took over the interview and would arrive at the hospital as soon as they could.

“Spence-” You wince, your throat hurting. Spencer gasped, as he finally saw you waking up.

“Oh, you’re okay. Don’t talk, I know it hurts.” He kindly tells her, his hand grabbing hers as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. “Dehydration dries out the tissues in your throat and vocal cords. which makes talking feel scratchy, or even painful.” Spencer explains.

“Wha-” She tries to say but her throat hurts, so she just looks at him with tears in her eyes.

“You passed out. From heatstroke. Which, by the way, I warned you about this morning—multiple times” He gives her the ‘I told you so’ look. “I said, and I quote, ‘If your skin stops sweating and feels hot, that’s bad.’ And then what happened? You stopped sweating and collapsed”

“They gave you two liters of IV fluids. You were severely dehydrated. You also weren’t wearing a hat, or sunscreen.” Spencer rambled on, as Yn just looked at him guilty. It hurt to know he was only trying to protect her from this and she got in this exact situation.

“I’m not saying ‘I told you so’… except I am, just a little, because I did. I told you to stay in the shade. I told you to take breaks. You didn’t. So now you’re here. And I-” His voice breaks. “-I was scared, when I saw you lying there.”

He looks back at his girlfriend to see her crying, and immediately feels guilty.

“Just… don’t do that again, okay? Next time I offer you water, just drink it, no complaints.” Spencer smiles, giving Yn a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, even when you don’t always listen to me.”

[oddlylovingaddiction]

Part 1: here , Part 2: here , Part 3: here , Part 4: here , part 5: you’re here!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don't have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family, Reader x Conner “Kon-El” Kent (romantic.). Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest

TW: Angst, abuse in the form of neglect, descriptions of anxiety, reader’s dead mom gets brought up, pregnancy.

You made a good choice to spend the day in bed, your body felt almost like mush and you had no energy to do anything but relax in the comfort of your husband and bed. You could hear your joints pop every time you stretched almost like bubble wrap, your belly felt a comfortable full from the breakfast and lunch Conner and watching your favourite show? Absolute bliss.

But the gnawing feeling in your stomach is still somewhat there, and Conner notices it. “You feeling okay?” He nudges your side playfully making you laugh softly.

“I’m fine, I just think there’s just the residue of anxiety that’s kind of lining my heart, you know what I mean?”

He chuckles, “oh I know that feeling. It feels like it’s chewing on you.”

“Exactly!” You smile, happy he understands what you’re talking about. “Perhaps I feel this way because I’ll eventually have to talk to my family about what I saw… I’m really not looking forward to that conversation.”

There’s a moment of silence, you don’t expect him to reply just to listen. The TV sounds kind of muffled as you stare at his hand unconsciously, you can feel him staring at you as well. The setting sun gently cracks through your curtains and shines on both you and him, almost illuminating you both like you were some tragic scene from a movie. Two people who needed their family but ended up creating their own. Conner brings his hand down and towards your belly, gently touching it before awkwardly pulling away.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters which catches your attention, making you look up at his face.

“For what?” You ask confused at his sudden apologetic behaviour.

“The fact I didn’t tell you that your family were superheroes.” He whispers, his face scrunching like it was physically hurting him which earned a soft chuckle from you.

“Oh please, don’t be sorry. You didn’t know I was a Wayne. Still have my mother’s maiden name after all.”

“Yes but…”

“No, you didn’t know and you said it from the first time you revealed the fact you were superboy along with telling me about the other super Kents, that you didn’t want to tell me the other heroes identities to protect me. I respected that so neither of us knew.” You firmly reply, you don’t want him to feel guilty by your other family’s mistakes.

“Yes I know but if I had known that you were in that house and I had met you earlier maybe I could’ve protected you from getting hurt.” He genuinely looks like he’s about to cry. “I never want to see you crying. Especially the way you cried on the floor like that.”

You softly laugh again, “jeez, if I had known I was marrying such a caring man, I’d probably have married you sooner.” You pinch his nose teasingly, to which Conner makes a fake ‘gah!’ Sound like it’s personally hurting him even though it’s definitely not. Perks of being a super. “I remember the first time we met drunk at a bar and the next morning I remember I caught you trying to leave me your number on the nightstand.” You suppress your laughter. Conner groans at the memory.

“Don’t remind me of that okay?”

“Remind you of what? The fact you tried ditching your future spouse?”

“I wasn’t doing that! I had work to do and you were still asleep so I thought it would be okay since you would just call me later.” He whines dramatically

“I don’t knowww…. Seemed like I was nearly ditched, because how do I know you would’ve picked up?” You grin at his exasperated expression.

He trips over his words momentarily struggling to explain himself before he sighs, “You know what? Keep believing I was going to ditch you hot stuff, because no matter what in the end we got married and have a beautiful child on the way, so no matter what I see this as a win in my books.” He gloats patting your pregnancy bump, as you scoff playfully.

Conner gentle rests his hand there as you both bask in soft marital bliss before you both suddenly feel a soft kick.

“We should sign the kid up for kickboxing.” You laugh.

“Does it hurt or something?” He asks concern once again blooming on his face.

“Surprisingly yeah. It’s not super painful but still a bit uncomfortable. That’s the thing about pregnancy nobody tells you that the kicks hurt.” You shake your head shrugging.

“It’s lucky the baby can’t catch any sunshine otherwise those kicks would just hurt.” He huffs making you laugh.

“Yeah lucky me otherwise this would all be way messier. Thank god I’m not see through.”

“You may not be see through but I do have X-ray—“ he says making you laugh before getting cut off by his phone ringing.

He glances over at the phone and gives you an apologetic look, “one second love.” He says kissing you on the cheek before grabbing his phone and walking out the room. You decide to relax and rewind the movie since you both weren’t paying attention at all.

“WHAT THE HELL YOURE DATING ONE OF MY SIBLINGS AND YOU DIDNT TELL ME?” Tim yelled into the phone which made Conner wince and pull away, he did say he’d call Tim later but to be honest he was kinda just saying that to get Tim off his back.

“I didn’t even know dude! It’s not like you both share the last name either and you never mentioned having another sibling.” Conner groans annoyed that he had to be stripped away from his love, however he does his best not to be too mean to Tim, he is… was? his best friend. Honestly he’s not sure where he stands with Tim right now. The love of his life was neglected and Tim took part in that neglect, even if it wasn’t deliberate. But that doesn’t erase him and Tim’s history, he was someone on his side during the rocky times of his life before you came into the picture.

But Conner also knew about your history. It was something you bonded over late at night as you stared down at the city, both of you sat on the edge of a random building, he remembered that moment because he never felt more understood and in love in that moment. If you asked him it would probably be that moment he decided he wanted to marry you, not only because he felt seen but when you looked down at the traffic below, the soft yellow lit up your face making his heart feel like it had stop beating. He swore in his vows to protect you and not let you get hurt ever again, especially not like that.

And he’d be damned to the hell inside his head if he saw you on the floor crying again.

He knows you’re not bothered by the fact you were sobbing on the floor, he remembers you telling him about your childhood and how you used to do the same thing occasionally when something triggered the memories of your mother who you told him had passed, so it’s no wonder you’re probably less shaken up about that part. But he can’t get it out of his head.

“How could you not know?! We even look alike!” Tim squawked breaking Conner’s train of thought and bringing him back to reality as he furrowed his brow, pulling his phone away a second to think about what he just heard before putting it back to his ear.

“You’re both not even biological related to each other though?” Conner monotones.

“Still though.”

Conner rolls his eyes, before replying “anyways to be serious, I… I’m not sure what to do.”

“What do you mean ‘what to do’?” Tim replies confused, his voice a bit concerned.

“You know, I.. our friendship.” Conner pauses, the silence is deafening from the other line. He’s not sure what to do, he cares about both you and Tim. It’s just that if he were to choose, it would be you. “I want to stay friends but.. I just..”

“… I get it.” Tim’s voice doesn’t sound malicious or angry, maybe a little sad? But he didn’t sound like he was crying. “I understand man, A spouse and a child on the way, of course you’d be upset and worried especially about it all and you’d want to stand by their side, it’s only natural.” He paused not saying anything for a phew seconds before adding on.

“I never knew how much I was hurting my own damn sibling, I thought it was the right thing to do. I wish I never listened to Bruce, the damn man probably couldn’t tell a hug from a threat and now I can see not just I but this entire cursed family fucked things up royally.” Tim’s voice cracks as he sounds like he’s about to cry. “Hey… how is…” He trails off, too nervous to say your own name but Conner was the same way. The whole situation made your name feel like glass that could be shattered, it made them both nervous but Tim far more. Like he never deserved to say it in the first place.

“Doing well. We are just watching a movie in bed, it was a rough night but we are doing well, including the baby. To be honest I think we are lucky that nothing else happened, stress isn’t good for anyone especially pregnant people.” Conner gives a forced laugh trying to make the situation lighter.

“Yeah.” Is the only thing replies, and Conner winces when he hears soft sobs on the other line.

“Hey man. We.. are still friends. I still care about you… just right now-” Conner goes to say but is cut off.

“I’m not crying over that dumbass, it’s the fact I made someone cry like that… that’s making me cry.” Tim sniffles, and Conner internally sighs in relief because he really didn’t want it to be because of him. “I’m going to fix this okay? I’ll work on my family here, it’ll take a bit but just make sure both of you are okay alright?”

Conner smiles softly before replying, “Yeah, if you need help call me okay? Though knowing you, you probably will because I don’t mean to brag but I am literally super—“

“Alright wrap it up.” Tim snorts smiling softly, “I’ll… call you later.” He adds on softly

“Alright.”

Then Tim hangs up and Conner breathes a sigh of relief finally feeling like a small weight was lifted off his back but that didn’t the largest weight.

What about you? Will you end up reconciling with them? Do they really deserve your forgiveness? Abuse is abuse even done with the best intentions. It made him anxious. But for now he knows you are waiting for him in bed and that’s what he needs to focus on.

Worry can come later. You come first and always will.

[p-artsypants]

“I’m sorry for even thinking it. I just…” she sighed, unable to find the words to explain how she felt. When it came to Hiccup, feelings weren’t simple anymore. They were complex, dynamic. Good! But not easy to understand. He made her feel so much, in ways she never knew was possible.

She smirked. Ancient man. “Babe, Mildew is the closest thing to an Outcast we have in our village. He’s done it to himself because he’s mean and cruel.” She swirled her freehand in the water. “There’s a place called Outcast Island where we send those that are truly worthy of being sent away from society. In the last hundred years, Berk has sent one man there. Alvin the Treacherous, for the crime of multiple murders and attempted assassination of the Chief.” She smirked. “So that’s the bar. If you haven’t murdered people, you probably won’t be an Outcast.”

“I know what you’re going to say. Berk isn’t perfect, we hold grudges, we butt heads, we disagree about stupid stuff. If you become human and you come and life here with us, there probably will be a few people that don’t like you. It’s just the way humans are. But, you’ll be one of us, and Berkians stick together. Even if they don’t like you, they’ll look out for you. It’s how our village works. We’re stronger together.”

“And Mildew is the exception to the rule. I don’t know why he’s so hateful, but he is. But come harvest time, you bet your dorsal fin that everyone who can will be up on that hill helping him with his stupid cabbages.”

“Most importantly, I love you, Hiccup Haddock. I’m pretty sure my parents are coming to love you too. I’ll be fighting for you every step of the way. Those that matter will come to see how wonderful you are, tail or no tail.”

As she held his hands, she noticed a roughness on his palms. She turned them over to see abrasions from a fall. He wasn’t bleeding, but it was obvious his fleeing hadn’t quite been so graceful. She didn’t comment on it, just kissed the wounds and held his hands again.

“Well, you’d still have your tail fin,” she said, ruefully. “But I suppose you never would have met Gobber either. You wouldn’t have learned about your parent’s history. You wouldn’t have gotten to see the forge or the Stump Day parade. Heck! You probably wouldn’t have gotten to walk! Hop? Walk-hop.” Her smile faded slightly as she thought over the tone he’d said it with and all she knew about his pod.

“Babe, what were you doing on shore that day?”

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[itsblueflamebae]

Hotspot

synopsis: did you just find mac’s hot spot?

wc: 624, without actual programming stuff

cw: suggestive, double-clicking (oh!), mac receiving

notes: read with caution! gender neutral reader. extremely sensitive mac (which is canon, right?). mac x programmer!3dmodeler!reader. yes, i included some 3d modeling shenanigans in text because it’s funnier that way. ignore how bad and inaccurate it is please, and please tell me you understand the word pun with hotspot. potential part 2? not beta-read.

You double-click on the Python tab because… Well, it’s better that way, is it not?

You mostly did your work quickly, in silence of your house, so you could hear the thoughts of quitting and the persuasion to stay for the sake of your salary. But today, your precious glasses rest on the bridge of your nose, and your non-dominant hand is held by Mac. Your fingers are intertwined and their thumb gently glides over your skin.

"Are you sure you don't need the help of a professional?" They asks, peering into your face.

Your fingers tap on the keyboard, and Mac feels it like a dance of your fingertips on their skin. It's so fleeting that it even tickles.

“I am professional, my love. Just sit back and relax," you reply to Mac, smiling contentedly.

hotspot = {

“side”: “right”,

“x”: 50,

“y”: 70,

“icon”: “a”,

“alpha_out”:65

You stop, trying to figure out what's wrong. Your eyes scan the screen once, twice, as your hand reaches for the mouse.

"What are you—" Mac is about to ask, when they feel a new wave of electricity running down their spine.

Of course, you move the mouse so slowly that it's almost painful. Mac bites the inside of their cheek — you're not doing it on purpose, they think, but they're enjoying it. There was a sheen of sweat on their forehead – not enough to wipe off, but it tickled their skin. Just a little more, they thought, if you touched the mouse again, if you clicked the left button twice, their shirt would stick uncomfortably to their back. The skin of their palms was warming.

"I can see you fidgeting," you tell them as soon as you cast a curious glance.

“Have I ever told you how fitting and delightful your glasses look on your face?” They asks, translating the question. “You should wear them more often.”

“So should you,” you say, pointing my finger at their nose.

Ah, that's where you made a mistake.

“alpha_out”: 65,

You didn't put a space, silly.

“MC,” Mac calls you by your name.

“You know, I don't understand why my company needs a hotspot right now. It’s so strange. I'm thinking about adjusting the transparency here, and I'll change the position and depth.”

Mac listened and thought that it wouldn't hurt to change the position, and you could change the depth of where your fingers are. Damn it, do you really not understand what you're doing to their system, or are you pretending? You start typing again. They felt more than a pack of numbers, the order of energies increasing to a gram of staticity, the final dilemma and drama, the output of the reaction percentage, which is akin to zero. Oh, Mac felt something more than just numbers of your code, and craved more, so much more that it was barely balancing on the desire to devour and be devoured.

“alpha_down”: 100,

“alpha_over”: 85,

“action_up”: “script_scenel”,

“z_index”: 10

}

“MC,” they call you again, because you've never looked so hot, all engrossed in your work, explaining something that only the two of you can talk about.

Oh, Mac will overheat soon, and it will be your fault.

You chuckle and wipe your forehead with the back of your forearm.

“Oh, I know,” you smile. “But you'll be patient, won't you?” You stroke your finger up and down, up and down.

Of course they'll wait. Just promise to finish what exactly you’ve done, alright?

[23bilss]

hi beautiful, could you write some college professor!billie × college student!reader smut/headcanons?

college professor!billie x college student!reader

headcanons

| ★ ; idkkk how to do headcanons…

| ★ taglist ; @billiesmainwife @bilswifee @st0nerlesb0 @si1verl4ke @bitchesbrokenpromises @bxllxebxtch

meet me after class?

billie watched you like a hawk while teaching, she took a liking into you. her head filled to the brim with fantasies of what you both can do together, she restri— more like, surpressed the feeling of her obsession with you. the bell rung, loudly, snapping her out of the trance she was stuck in

“well have a nice day everyone, please do the homework assigned to you on the files. ill email you all tonight.” she yells for every adult and everyone groans before scurrying out the room

“y/n, stay back. i have a request for you.”

jealousy

billie always had a thing for you, ever since you walked into her class and sat down. she always hated when you sat down next to your boyfriend, your boyfriend was in the way of her being in your life. she always dreamt of you whispering in her ear, her listening to your soft voice on a cold winter morning. billie loved you, she couldn’t admit that. she was 29 for christ sake and she’d get fired if she ever dated you. fucking bitch.

i cant stop.

everyday, she thinks about fucking you, having her head in between your thighs. watching you be ever so desperate for her, she couldn’t stop. she needed to stop before she did something drastic, before she gets fucking fired and ends up alone in her house with no, she would want…you? with her, forever.

my love

everyday in class, billie calls on you. her exact words are, “yes, my love?” and you blush—hard. it never fails. she says it so casually, like it means nothing, like it’s just another phrase she tosses around without a second thought.

your friends ask you, “what’s that about?” “does she say it to everyone?” “are you two…?” the same fucking question, over and over.

you wish you could fuck her. only one can hope.

hush.

she always says your name a little softer than everyone else’s, like it’s a secret. like if she said it even louder the class would find out, her love for you is unconditional. why did she fall into the trap of young lovers?

“your secrets safe with me” they always said.

the eyes are the window to the soul.

billie has this habit of locking eyes with you when she’s explaining something to the class, like you’re the only one there. it makes your heart race every time. she knows shes staring at you, she doesn’t care. inside, shes craving you.

write me a letter

sometimes she’ll scribble little notes in the middle of your essays. not just feedback, but things like “you made me think,” or “this line stuck with me all day.” you tell yourself it’s nothing, she does this to everyone, you’re not the only one. right?

keep this a secret, please?

she begs you, pleads you. everyday she does, she trusts you but not fully enough to say “hell yeah thats my girlfriend” across the stage on graduation day. shes scared if you get mad at her you’ll tell, she cant lose this job. if she does her reputation is ruined forever.

[acrosstheujiverse]

hihi ur introvert uji w reader headcannons came on my for you AND IM So GLAD omg i love it sm.

we see alot of introvert uji w the extrovert members but can u do a extrovert partner please 😭🙏

dynamics of an introvert and extrovert

【📂】 summary: scenarios you have with your introverted boyfriend, woozi, as an extrovert. 【🖇️】 pairing: introvert!jihoon x extrovert!reader. 【💿】 genre: FLUFF!! 【🧺】 tags: so sweet it makes your cheeks hurt from smiling; MY HEARTEU.  【📦】 w/c: 833

📬 — author’s note！thank you for your request, anonymous :)) sorry this took some time to write. i enjoyed working on it and hope you like it!

« dynamics of an introverted couple | main masterlist | (SOON) »

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it was at the annual high school talent show that you first fell for jihoon. he was one of the vocalists in a five-piece band, and his voice brought a kind of warmth to your heart.

you had talked with the other four members—jeonghan, joshua, seokmin, and seungkwan—but never once with jihoon. seeing him after the band’s performances was rare. you could never get the timing right.

it wasn’t until university that you finally had the chance to befriend him.

your love for jihoon would be loud—meaning everyone knows you two are dating. don’t get it twisted—you don’t talk about jihoon all the time. it’s just that when the topic of relationships comes up, you just happen to have a lot of loving words about him.

people notice how, whether he’s with you or not, your eyes and whole demeanor just scream “in love” the moment his name is mentioned.

you never fail to shower him with all the love you have—from whispering sweet nothings in bed to surprising him with thoughtful gifts.

jihoon sometimes wishes he could say the things to you that you so easily say to him.

“happy birthday to my ray of sunshine,” you once told him.

jihoon was confused. a ray of sunshine? you nodded eagerly and explained how—even though he’s quiet—he has a powerful presence whenever he’s on stage. like the sun, he lets his music speak for him.

sometimes… your love could be just… a bit overwhelming for an introvert like jihoon. sometimes, the way your energy fills every room, your endless words, and your bright, unfiltered affection make him retreat into the quiet corners of his mind to recharge. it’s not that he loves you any less—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. your warmth sometimes feels like too much to hold all at once, and jihoon needs those silent moments to gather himself and return to you with a full heart. but no matter how much he needs space, he never doubts the depth of your love, even if it’s louder than he’s used to.

you were one of the few lucky ones who ever received a long text message from jihoon—seungkwan was the other one.

you knew that jihoon would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“you were never hard to love, ji.”

you were always aware of his subtle gestures of affection—more than even he knew.

for jihoon, you would be his stars. you and he are of the same mind and body, but of different magnitude and abundance.

“unlike the moon, you don’t need the sun to shine. stars emit their own light. you shine brightly without me… but you shine more brightly with me.”

you once overheard him telling jeonghan, “they’re the chaos that makes me feel alive… but also the calm that brings me home. they’re like a supernova—blinding and explosive in presence, yet the light they leave behind lingers in quiet beauty for ages, guiding me even when they’re not near.”

you thrive in crowds, while jihoon thrives in corners. at parties, you’re the life of the room—he’s the person standing behind you, holding your drink and your jacket, quietly smiling because you’re shining.

jihoon always listens to your stories with an unreadable face, but later he’ll casually reference a small detail you didn’t even think he was paying attention to.

he’ll walk you to your class or the train station even if it’s out of his way—he won’t say much, but he’ll pull your hand into his pocket when it’s cold.

you once told him, “i love you,” at a crowded campus café and he went completely red. he didn’t say it back right away—but that night, he sent you a playlist titled “if i could say it better.”

jihoon won’t start pda, but he doesn’t pull away either. the first time you kissed his cheek in public, he stared straight ahead, then later texted: “can we do that again?”

when you’re venting loudly about something, he just lets you go off—then offers the most practical, well-thought-out advice that makes you pause mid-rant like, “how are you this calm?”

he sometimes writes lyrics about you, but he uses metaphors so layered even you have to ask, “is this one about me?”

you like grand gestures. he likes quiet consistency. you bring the spark; he keeps the fire going.

you once tried to surprise him with a flash mob dance (it was seungkwan’s idea). he panicked, ran the opposite direction, and didn’t stop blushing for three days.

on days when you feel overstimulated or burned out, jihoon wordlessly tucks you into bed, turns off your phone, and lies beside you with his hand resting over yours.

you said “i love you” first. jihoon said it second—at 2 a.m., curled around you, with your name whispered like a secret he finally let himself say out loud.

your relationship is like a sun and a star—separate lights, different intensities, but existing together in the same sky. never competing, always orbiting.

- fin.