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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: @avis-writeshq says -

HELLO HELLO jumping on your 2k celebration reqs because 2K OMG SO DESERVED ‼️🫶

may i perhaps request a spencer reid x fem!reader fic please 🥹 maybe him post prison w new reader and she follows him around everywhere because she’s just instantly enamoured to him 🤭

thank you so so much lovely and congrats again !!!

Description: thirteen years in the fbi and ten weeks in prison does a number on Spencer, only when he arrives back in the office he meets the sunshine rookie that seems rather taken with him.

word length: 2.6k (this really ran away from me)

warnings: post-prison Reid, slightest age gap, Spencer dealing with coming home from prison, gun shooting?

authors note: hozier’s new song 'Too Sweet' + post-prison reid is a need, not a want.

He smelled her french vanilla perfume before he even knew she was there. But then again, it was all he could smell the minute she waltzed into the office with a tray of coffee, like someone had stuck a sweet dessert in the oven and baked it on full.

“Good morning!” She chirped, winding an arm over his shoulder and setting down a take out cup and a little chocolate donut on his desk, “Pen said you like chocolate, and I mean who doesn’t like chocolate, right?”

She was potent when she was so close to him, and in one single breath he caught a whiff of her shampoo, before she had flitted over to her side of the desk that sat opposite his, where Morgan once sat. Noticing his hesitance, mistaking it for discontent she paused, almost spilling her own beverage over the potted plant she kept by her keyboard, scrambling to set it on the surface.

“Y-you do like chocolate right? I mean they had strawberry too, I can switch yours with JJ’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-” She splurged, and her face was much too worried considering it was a matter of a donut, particularly considering he was already eying up the way the thick chocolate was melting in the pastry bag.

“Chocolate is great, I love…” He held up the bag to read the label with squinting hazel hues, “Cocoa Caramel delight,”

He had never heard of it.

He had never even seen this brand, but he wanted to quell her nerves even in the slightest. The BAU didn’t have the funds for a new keyboard, let alone time to send her to the ER if she ended up spilling her coffee over her hand.

She seemed convinced, and he offered her a small smile, not exactly his most enthusiastic, but then again he hadn’t been much of a morning person since he’d come out of prison. He liked quiet, he liked a moment to himself before Penelope called them into the round table for briefing. But she was sweet, too sweet perhaps for the dark nature of their job.

He could already see it chewing up her perky disposition and spitting her right back out within a year. It happened to the best of them.

But she smiled back at him, a million watt grin that made him think maybe he was being a little cruel. She was still brand new, still trying to make friends and he remembered how hard he tried when it had been his first few weeks on the team. He turned his gaze away from her in shame, reading the way she’d written his name on the cup in a pink sharpie, framing it with two doodle hearts.

She all but skipped away, sensing he didn’t feel like talking much anymore, and he heard Emily exclaiming she was ‘A caffeine angel sent from the heavens,’ as she handed her the drink. He watched her braided hair disappear down the hall as she bounced over to Penelope’s lair.

He picked at the cocoa caramel delight with a kind of self loathing he was familiar with, the french vanilla still a saccharine sugar in his nose.

She caught him again; though this time he felt her bristle past his arm, watching the bullets pierce the target paper with an accuracy that only came from fourteen years of practice.

“Do you reckon you could teach me how to do that?” Her cadence was light and airy, and he had to stop himself from jumping, from slamming the butt of the gun into her nose on reaction, because he knew she meant well, even though she had no idea how damaged he was.

He was still out of sorts from having to look over his shoulder at every second of the day, and he was surprised he was holding it together so far. He supposed shooting the shit out of a target helped.

Because it was just her, looking at him with soft eyes and a smile that could start wars, and he knew she had no idea the effect she had on the walls he’d tried so hard to build in prison.

She must have mistook his look for annoyance, because she was quick to fumble with her own loaded gun, taking a step back in retreat, worried that she crossed some line she didn’t know he’d drawn.

“Or I could get Luke to show me, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just am really a shit shot and I know that’s pretty useless in the field-” It wasn’t until he flicked the safety on and took a step to follow her did she look at him again hopefully.

“No, I’d be more than happy to show you,” He cleared his throat, setting his pistol in its holster and stepping behind her as she lined herself up for the fake body meant to resemble an unsub, “We all have to start somewhere. Show me your form,”

She raised her arms up in front of her, aiming for a few seconds for the spot in the centre of the chest cavity, her finger reaching up for the trigger.

She shot once, her face hardened for the first time he’d ever seen, and they both watched the paper rip about half a foot down the unsub’s leg.

“See, in my head it’s hitting dead centre and then by the time I shoot it’s wiggling all over the place,” She explained, scratching her neck and frowning at the paper body, “I don’t suppose unsubs are willing to stand still and wait while the rookie figures out her shot,”

“Your hips are perfect, wide stance means you get more stability against the ricochet,” She tried not to simper at his words, or the way he sidled up behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders as if he’d known her for years, as if JJ hadn’t told her how much he hated other people’s germs, “It’s in your shoulders you’re losing balance, try relaxing a little,”

But she couldn’t not when he was breathing down her neck, rubbing those long fingers over her shoulder blades trying to get her to straighten out her posture, hoping he couldn’t feel the way her chest rattled with nerves.

“Relax,” He reminded, trying not to chuckle when he felt her shake her arms out as a means of hiding the way her skin had warmed under his rough touch, “You know, my unit chief taught me how to shoot. I wasn’t at all good at it when I first started,”

“Oh really?” She asked, her breaths feather light as he reached around her and adjusted her grip on the gun, “H-he must have been a good teacher,”

“He was the best,” Spencer agreed, brushing off the fact she was all but putty beneath his hands, “Three steps for the perfect shot; front sight, trigger press, follow through. Always keep your head forward, always keep your dominant finger ready, and wait until you’ve shot to drop your stance,”

She looked up at him in admiration, and her soft smile was back as his own musk of laundry detergent and chamomile soap encompassed her as his arms did.

He brought one of those big hands to the back of her head, moving her with gentle ease to look back at the target, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke: “Focus, what’s step number one?”

“Front sight,” She echoed him, fixing her shoulders with determination as he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. Taking a deep breath, she murmured to herself under her breath the next step as her forefinger rested over the trigger. She pulled it after a moment of courage, and froze in spot as she watched it hit where the stomach would sit.

Not a perfect shot, but certainly a lot better than she had been doing.

Her eyes widened behind the thick protective glasses, and her hands became fists above her head as she squealed in delight.

“Did you see that- did you see!” She yelled over the sound proof ear muffs they both wore, and he was quick to grab the gun out of her swinging arms, clicking the safety on for her before she could end up blowing a hole in the ceiling.

“Very good, give it a few months you’ll be a natural,” He complimented with a smile as she clapped her hands in glee, buzzing on the spot as if she’d chugged five energy drinks or doubled up on her coffee for the day.

He tried ignoring the way his chest warmed seeing her so happy because of him, especially when she looked at him like that.

“You said you needed those files, Dr Reid,” She’d appeared again, like she always did, and he had barely enough time to glance up from the paper he was already inspecting before he was hit by the perfume again, and he looked up to see two bright eyes watching him hopefully. Her arms were piled high with easily a box full of folders he had asked Anderson to find for him, and he saw the way she strained slightly to keep them held tight.

“Jesus! Let me help you,” She prayed he couldn’t feel the way her heart thumping against the manilla folders as he leaned over to take them out of her grasp, the way her eyes fell to his light smattering of facial hair as his lips were little more than a few inches from hers. Even when his hands brushed hers, and he seemed to realise she was staring, watching her scramble to look somewhere else other than his amused eyes, embarrassed he’d caught her, “Thankyou. And just call me Spencer,”

“Thankyou,” She echoed, shaking her head with a girlish smile on her face, her cheeks warm with humiliation, “I mean you’re welcome, any time,”

For the sake of her self preservation he waited until she turned around to smile to himself, pretending he didn’t see the way she muttered under her breath, or that she almost walked straight into the filing cabinet on her hasty exit out of the office.

“Seems like you have a shadow,” Emily’s voice met him as he heard her heeled footsteps approach, and they both watched their newest team mate almost bump right into JJ as she kept her head down, stroking her hair nervously, “She was super excited to meet you when you were away, said she went to one of your guest lectures you did with Hotch a couple years ago,”

His brows shot into his hairline, something warm flourishing in his chest when he saw her peek back to see the two of them watching her, and she immediately darted for her seat for an excuse to turn her back to them.

Spencer smiled again, running a hand through his curled locks as if he was trying to think of something else other than the joy that had over come his features.

She certainly was charming, in an incredibly girlish way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought it. He hadn’t heard Penelope giggling so much since Morgan had left, nor did he miss the way Rossi and Emily watched her darting around in the field, chasing after her as if she needed one of those leashes people had for toddlers.

Or the way Luke had had to talk her out of bringing a stray cat back to the BAU just two days ago because ‘it looked sad and lonely’.

She was only eight years his junior, and yet he felt like the job had made him too hard, too mature, too tough against a softness like hers.

Girls had never really been interested in him, at least not for him as Spencer Reid, not as SSA Dr Reid. He had the occasional fling, even Maeve in the grand scheme of things had been a budding romance at best, and just the thought of Cat Adams viper-like eyes had him shuddering.

He barely wanted anything to do with women at the moment, at least that was what he’d told himself every night he’d been fighting for his damn life in prison.

But it was almost too easy to feel this way about her, like he couldn’t drink in her sweet smell or even sweeter voice fast enough, or bathe in her gaze that melted like rich chocolate when he took a glance her way.

He didn’t bring it up with her until they were the last few people filing out of the office.

“I can drive you,” She chirped, almost dropping the contents of her bag everywhere as she rooted for her car keys, and before he could protest, because it was like all he could see now was how eager to be around him she was and he wasn’t too sure he could keep himself from opening pandora’s box, she jingled her keys, that of course had crochet bluebells hanging from them and all but danced past him into the elevator. “Come on, you can have shotgun,”

“I’ll be the only passenger, doesn’t that mean I automatically have shotgun?” He asked, following behind her as she stood in the elevator with a beaming smile, her finger clicking the ground floor button a bunch of times even though it made no difference how fast the doors closed.

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to be the best shotgun you’ve ever had. I’m talking you can be Miss Daisy and I’ll be your Morgan Freeman,” And as if her spirit was infectious, he shook his head with a hidden chuckle.

There was a minute of silence between the two as she played with a loose thread on her cardigan, and it was then he took the chance to ask her the question that had been burning on his lips all day.

“You didn’t by any chance go to University of Pennsylvania, did you?” Spencer asked, noting the way her eyes fell to the floor and how she licked her lips nervously.

“Yeah,” She replied cautiously, fingers clenched tightly around her keyring, “I know it’s not Caltech, but it was pretty good-”

“Didn't you see my lecture with Hotch?” He asked, and his smile widened tenfold when her hands slapped over her cheeks that burned with horror, moving quickly up to cover her eyes, “Little birdy told me you were quite excited to meet me-”

“Oh, Emily,” She groaned, burying her face in her palms, avoiding his teasing expression like the plague, “I knew, I knew she was going to tell you, I’m surprised she didn’t tell JJ first, unless she did and our whole team know I was some crazy girl who liked the FBI agents so much she switched her major,”

“You switched your major for me?” He asked incredulously and he only laughed harder, one of the first times since he’d come home, when she groaned louder, turning away from him entirely.

“Shut up, I did not swap my major for you,” She bit back, and she finally met his gaze, her expression an embarrassed wince, “I just… liked the material. You were very compelling,”

“Did you have a poster of us?” Spencer wanted to stop teasing, knew he was being a little cruel, but how could he resist when she shrieked in between laughter, shoving his shoulder with mortification.

“No,”

“Did you kiss Hotch’s picture before bed like an obsessive fangirl?”

She gestured to him vulgarly as they left the elevator and headed for the car park, and it made a huge difference to the usual adoration she watched him with, but maybe, he thought, it made him like her even more.

“No more shotgun for you, you’re going in the trunk like an old rug,” She snapped, though he could tell she was still horrified by the way she avoided his delighted hazelnut gaze.

“Like an old rug?” He feigned hurt, but when they sat in her car, she finally looked over at him with something vulnerable and yet affectionate, like he’d seen her for all she was worth. He reached over the console to squeeze her hand gently, not missing the way her palm clammed beneath his and she struggled for words, so he continued for her, “That’s really no way to talk to your idol, you know,”

Spencer swore his chest felt lighter than it had in months watching her laugh like that.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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mcondance · 1 year ago

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bubble pop electric ｡𖦹° spencer reid

18+ backseat sex duhhhh, afab!reader but no terms like ‘girl,’ just female anatomy, spencer’s fingers make an appearance again wowww, reader is in his lap, 1 direct hozier quote sue me, i’m still working on my writing style which isn’t important i just wanted to note that. you can listen to bubble pop electric by gwen stefani if you wanna feel the vibes, a bit unfinished i guess but i didn’t know where else to take it

tonight i’m gonna give you all my love in the backseat

the shuffling of clothes is almost the loudest thing in the car, only beat out by you and spencer’s heavy breathing and pounding hearts.

your whines and moans slip straight into his mouth— the two of you seem to have forgotten what it even means to separate from the other. you give him perfect notes like he’s playing you from the inside out. your kisses are all sloppy, unfocused and focused at the same time, spit-swapping between the two of you, his groans vibrating in his chest and into your mouth.

he curls his fingers up to kiss that spot inside you so deliberately your mind blanks, and you’re conflicted on what to focus on. his lips, or his fingers, or his sounds, or all of it at once.

yeah, all of it at once sounds great.

“you’re so pretty,” he confesses after one kiss and before another. he pauses for a second, to look. you’re so beautiful above him. the white light of the street lamps shines in through the car windows and illuminates your skin. you glow obscenely beautifully, so beautiful his brown eyes get glossy in awe.

he kisses you again, and you kiss him back like you’re begging for it. you’re always begging for it, always wanting to be wrapped up in his lips and sliding your tongue against his all messy.

you think you know insanity, that you’re as fucked as you can be right now, but that’s until through one loud pass and another you pick up the sound of the slipping and sliding of his fingers. your cunt sings out into the car and he breaks the kiss to shoot his eyes down between your legs, watching wide-eyed the lewd display you two have created.

how lewd it is.

he breathes raggedly, all keyed up. he can feel his blood boiling hot with how turned on he is.

it doesn’t take long for him to slip his fingers out of you and for the both of you to fumble with your buttons and clothes and zippers.

spencer’s nothing if not disgusting— he can’t help but rub his cock through your wetness, pupils dilating even bigger as he watches you cover him in sticky slick. its heavenly and horribly filthy all at the same time, how he taps it against your clit, softly, huffing out a laugh when you jump a little above him. the whine that leaks out of your throat is met with a hum of his own, a little sound of admiration.

spencer laughs when he sinks in. your whine is so melodic he finally tears his eyes from your cunt to your face, and god, he’s so fucking glad he did. your eyebrows are turned down, nose scrunched and lips pressed together. your eyes, hazy as they lock with his.

looking up at you is how he wants to fuck you always (at least, until he fucks you another way, it always changes). his hands find your waist and they dig in a little, slowly guiding you on his cock.

fuck.

a groan from spencer’s slack lips is what breaks the hanging silence in the car. the hypnosis that grips you both is shattered and his honest sound makes the heart between your legs pound and jump and you bring hips down on him just a little harder.

“oh my god,” he moans into your chest, his cheek rubbing against your shirt. “shit.” he’s rarely ever reduced to expletives to express himself, but when his hands are digging into your waist and you’re grinding on his lap like sin, he can’t find anything else to say.

you run your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull him, desperately, closer. lines have faded and been crossed and fucking in the backseat of a car shouldn’t feel this soft, but it does. your soft whines and moans and his earnest groans smooth out the rough edges of the circumstance, and leave sweetness in their wake. but its still lewd. it’s still sensual. he’s still fucking up into you, the sound of you two rubbing against each other still swirls in the car, he’s still cursing against your chest.

exhilaration flows through you. you and spencer never take anything too serious, especially with each other, and to be pulled over in his backseat, fogging up the windows and probably making the car shake, is what you and spencer do. it’s on-brand; of course you’d get so turned on you’d have no choice but to take it to the backseat.

it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened, though. and it’ll happen again.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x black!reader #mcondance 2024

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pedroshotwifey · 1 year ago

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Do you think you could write a nervous Joel fic... like he's older and a single dad and hasn't dated in a REALLY REALLY long time...but he's still really sweet, maybe he has to stop and eat reader cos he's about to cum too soon or something 🤷‍♀️😭

Hey, babe!! So I hope this is what you were hoping for! It's super tender and I did end up listening to Hozier for a good portion of it, so do with that information what you will 😅

Also, I kind of did something a bit different and wrote it more from Joel's perspective, but it's still in 2nd person (pronouns = you)! Pls lmk how you feel about it ❤

Pairing: Older Joel Miller x afab!reader

Tags/warnings: Age gap (not specified), piv sex, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, established relationship, (almost) premature ejaculation, accidental love confessions 🤭, self deprecating Joel™, big dick Joel™, kissing, stuff I'm probably forgetting

W/C: 1.9k

Summary: Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more.

What Matters

“Are you sure, baby?”

Joel watches as your eyes flick up to him, only kindness and patience in them. Even as you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him to you, he still has a sense of cautiousness in his movements. You’ve probably lost track of how many times he’s asked you if you’re sure.

“Yes, Joel, I’m sure,” you laugh breathily.

You’re both lying in his bed, completely bare. There’s a soft summer breeze coming in through the window and rustling the sheer curtains. The sun’s going down, but just barely, causing a perfect golden hue to coat the room. He can’t help but think that you look even more gorgeous than usual in this lighting.

Joel tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he softly kisses your jaw and nuzzles up to you. He’s not stupid, he knows that you know he’s just trying to waste time, but you let him. You’re so fucking sweet like that. Always making him feel so wanted and appreciated. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you in this way, but that he’s worried he won’t be perfect for you. He wants to be able to show you affection in the same way that you show him.

But what if he can’t?

You’re younger, after all, and he’s not been with a woman in so long. Maybe not since Sarah’s mom. If that’s the case, it’s been about fifteen, sixteen years. Point in case, you’re probably used to boys who can last longer and can make you come every time. What if he can’t? What if it’s been so long now, that he only lasts a couple of minutes?

It terrifies him, the prospect that you may be disappointed in his performance. What if you decide to leave him because he’s not enough to get you off? No, he realizes, you would never do that. You’re so good, so thoughtful and generous and patient. You’d wait for him, help him get back to the point where he used to be.

But that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good for you now.

“Joel?”

His name falling from your lips has his head raising back up. You look into his eyes with a desperation that he simply can’t ignore.

“Please,” you whisper before planting a feather-light kiss to his lips. He nods slowly before he can think about it.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And he does, he knows it. He just hopes he can do it right.

You’re already prepped. He spent probably half an hour fingering you to orgasm even though you had begged for the real thing each time you fell apart on his hand. It’s another thing he was worried about—being so big. Joel’s not a super cocky man by any means, but he is aware of his…attributes.

He watches you carefully as he grasps his cock and guides it to your slippery entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes in, giving you about an inch each time he thrusts. His jaw goes slack once he’s about halfway in. You’re so fucking warm and wet and inviting. He keeps going, trying to keep his breathy whines at bay. He’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s felt something other than the palm of his hand around himself.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes as he bottoms out. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets his head hang next to yours. He already feels like he might blow his load at any second. You bring a hand up to cup his head and thread his curls through your fingers, holding him close. His breathing is heavy when he lifts himself back up to look into your eyes.

His heart seems to skip a beat when he sees the adoration you’re looking at him with. It kills him every time. And no matter how many times you tell him that he deserves all your affection, he knows he’ll still find a lingering doubt in the back of his mind. There’s a reason the two of you have only been “together” for about four months even though you’ve been shamelessly flirting for about a year.

It was just too good to be true. For such a sweet, gentle thing like you to want a rough old man like him. He was never the one to initiate anything, but he knows you’ve been aware that he had his sore eyes set on you since you met. How could he not? He’s never met anyone so kind and considerate. It was impossible to deny you of him any longer when it was one of the only things you’ve ever wanted for yourself.

“You okay?” Your honeyed voice reaches his ears—or his good ear, rather—and he smiles at you.

“‘Course, baby. Jus’ gotta give me a second, alright?” He can feel his cheeks getting a bit rosy at the confession. “It’s been a minute.”

You nod, still no hesitation or any sign of regret. God, what did he do to deserve you?

Once he collects himself, he pulls out just barely, and a groan tumbles from his mouth to mingle with your soft moan. He’s already starting to sweat from the effort of not coming too soon as he starts to push into you at a slow but rhythmic pace. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and tuck your head into his chest as you whimper with his thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you whine.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so d’ you. “Like goddamn heaven.” And you do; overwhelmingly so.

He cradles your head and lowers the two of you even more to deepen his thrusts. He knows he’s found your spot when your breath catches and you start to tighten around him every time he pumps his hips. Unfortunately, this makes it a lot harder for him to keep his composure.

“H-honey, I have to pull out,” he grits out. He’s so embarrassed, it hasn’t even been five minutes. He won’t last long enough for you to come before him.

But you just nod into him, even though you must be devastated by the loss of your orgasm. “It’s okay, Joel,” you breathily assure him.

He pulls out and squeezes the base of his cock, out of breath. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he starts to apologize.

“I’m sorry, baby, I—”

“Joel,” You stop him by carefully grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “It’s okay.” You nod, waiting for him to do the same before you continue. “Take as much time as you need. I love you no matter what. This does not determine—”

You both realize what you said at the same time. Joel’s eyes widen and his chest feels like it caved into itself. Your lips stay still, parted in the middle of your sentence. Joel doesn’t realize tears have gathered in his eyes until his vision starts to blur and a smile spreads across his face.

You love him. You said it. And he believes you.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispers and lets his forehead rest against yours. “So damn much.” Fuck his age and whoever might see a problem with you being together. He wants this, and you want this, and that’s all that matters.

Then you’re both laughing shakily, pressing kisses to each other’s lips. He only stops to start trailing them down your body instead, watching you writhe as his mustache tickles your bare skin.

“Joel, p-please,” you beg quietly. Joel just huffs a small laugh through his nose as he lays himself between your legs, ignoring his protesting knees as he admires the entirety of you laying out just for him. You look fucking beautiful covered in a thin sheen of sweat atop his sheets, needy and panting all for him.

He doesn’t waste too much time before putting his mouth on your sweet pussy, his tongue dragging up your slit to flick at your clit. Joel moans at your taste, sending vibrations racing toward your swollen bud. Your hips buck as your hands fly to grasp at his hair, tugging lightly and making his eyes roll back.

He feasts on you like his life depends on it, worshiping you with all he has. He takes turns in running his tongue up you, fucking you with it the best he can, and suckling on your clit. He looks like a damn mess as he does so, his eyes not leaving your cunt unless he’s watching your face contort with pleasure. When you make eye contact with him, he knows he must look fucked out and desperate just based on the way you groan and lay your head back.

It doesn’t take much for you to get to the edge, and it takes even less for him to push you over. You let out sharp, whiny sounds as he sucks on your clit and slips a couple of fingers inside of you to grip on to. Your entire body goes tense, and Joel has to resist the urge to smirk against you as you shake with the force of your orgasm.

By the time you’re coming down, he’s back over you and slipping his tongue inside your mouth to share your taste. You moan into the kiss and pull him closer as he once again glides his tip into your cunt. Just as he had hoped, the distraction calmed him down enough to hopefully give him some more time.

You both melt into each other as he bottoms out, the tip of his swollen cock hitting your cervix and making your thighs squeeze his torso. He starts at a faster pace than last time, too deep in his lust-filled haze to even try to slow down now.

You pull away from his mouth to start leaving love bites on his neck, making his cock twitch inside of you with each pinch. He can feel you smile against his skin, and knows that you’ve found his secret. He does like a little pain with his pleasure. You keep going, sucking and biting marks before licking soothingly over them and moving to the next spot. You taste him like you’re addicted, like you could never possibly get enough.

It still doesn’t take him as long as he would like to before he starts to feel his balls drawing up and his thighs start to shake. His head goes foggy as he tries to hold on for you, but it’s too fucking much. He can’t hold it off when you feel so good around him. It’s like torture to stave off his orgasm when he’s thrusting into your soft heat.

“Where d’ you want me, honey?” Joel asks you, his voice strained.

“Inside,” you whisper against his neck without a second thought.

And it throws him over. He groans your name as his body stutters and his balls empty, coating your walls with his milky spend. It seems to go on forever. Each time he thinks he’s almost done, there’s another spurt and another wave of pleasure that tugs him deeper into euphoria.

When it does end, he lets himself half-collapse on top of you. You embrace him with welcoming arms and the two of you catch your breath together in the now dark bedroom. He only pulls out once sleep threatens to take the both of you. A shower, snack, and a glass of water later, you both snuggle up together and fall asleep with content smiles and full hearts.

*****

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thekinslayed · 1 year ago

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Lovely As Can Be

summary | Your path crosses with Osferth's once more, who has blossomed into a different man from the last time you saw him. (based on this request.)

pairing | osferth x maid!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, public sex, grinding, osferth's not a virgin in this one Lord, fluff (lots of it), sharing an orange is a love language

wordcount | 6.5k

song rec | Would That I - Hozier

note | surprise surprise! here's something with our baby monk (who is looking super fine in that gif)! a certain scene was inspired by ophelia (2018), can you spot which one? :D

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

You had been helping the young maids put up the freshly washed linens to dry when you were informed of the arrival of some guests. Wiping your wet hands on your apron, you left the girls to welcome the travelers who were to stay in Mildrith’s inn. Passing by some of the other help scurrying around, you keep an eye on their tasks, giving out instructions when you catch something that would not pass your madam’s standards.

An amused scoff left your lips when you reached the front of the house, a familiar group of warriors awaiting you with enthusiastic grins. Uhtred called out your name, greeting you warmly.

“Ah, King Edward’s dashing knights,” you jested, greeting them all with a smile and a nod.

You were only a girl when you first received the pleasure of meeting Uhtred and his group of warriors. Freshly sixteen, Mildrith had taken you under her wing to work as a maid in her husband’s inn. It was the biggest in town and was frequented by most travelers when traveling south, hence the constant need for help within the establishment. In the first months of your position, you had spent many an hour scrubbing floors, cleaning out bed pans, and pouring mead for guests.

It was a couple of months after your assignment that the arrival of the arguably infamous Uhtred of Bebbanburg sparked much excitement within the town, especially in Mildrith’s inn where they were sure to be staying. You watched, wide-eyed, as the Dane and his group strolled through the establishment, carrying such a commanding presence that everyone had stopped to look at them. Behind the group, you noticed a lanky figure trailing behind them, swathed in holy robes, appearing smaller than the rest despite being the tallest.

‘A Christian monk travels with Danes, how odd,’ you thought then.

You remembered his blue eyes, always wide like a frightened doe. It was clear he was barely a warrior, freshly taken under Uhtred’s wing, but you had treated him with no less respect than you did the older men.

He was a boy back then, and now, standing before you, was a man; Osferth was now a seasoned warrior like the rest of them. When his back used to be hunched in insecurity, he now stood tall, chest proud.

“Look at you, baby monk, looks like you’ve grown some hair on your chest," you commented, hand propping up on your hip. His build now filled out the robes nicely, shapely muscles filling in the loose crevices of the garment.

“Ah, he’s grown them alright, even more down his–” Finan began, but a slap on his shoulder from the king’s bastard had him cutting his words short, bellowing in laughter.

“Very nice to see you again, my lady,” Osferth greeted sweetly, giving you a slight nod.

“Sweet as ever,” you cooed, turning to the other men, “unlike some of ya!”

They opened their mouth to protest, but you quickly led them into the inn, ignoring their complaints of faux offense. You led the men to a long table in the dining area, where the afternoon meals were beginning to be served. The group of warriors sat down, weary and starved from their long journey. You called a younger maid to fetch some mead for the guests, before bringing over some bread and stew.

“Looks like Mildrith has you ordering people around now, eh? No more scrubbing floors for you then?” Uhtred mentioned, making you chuckle while pouring the liquor into their cups.

“She has me watch over the newcomers, especially the clumsy ones, but aye, I earned my right to not be cleaning chamberpots now, my lord,” you responded, placing the jug of mead back onto the table. “Doesn’t mean I don’t get my hands dirty now and then!”

You took a seat beside Sihtric when he scooted over for you, urging you to sit with them. There was a reprieve from the ache in your heels, joints relaxing in relief after long hours of being on your feet. You asked the men about their journey, listening in awe at all the battles they fought and the lands they traversed since you last saw them.

“And they hung us upside down from a tree! I mean seriously, they could have just tied us to a trunk and be over with it, but no, they had to dangle us like some roasted pigs!” Finan exclaimed, hands waving wildly at his retelling. A laugh bubbled from your chest, mixing with the deeper chuckles echoing from the table.

Behind you, some stable boys had passed by in search of some mead to cool off after hours in the hot midsummer sun. Spotting a familiar head of dark hair, Uhtred points to Eadric, turning to you.

“Isn’t that…? Call him over, I want to know if he is keeping you happy as a married woman!” He exclaimed in sincerity. Confused, you turned around to who he was pointing at, before pulling down his extended arm before he could call Eadric over.

“Keep it down,” you said in haste, the smile on your face dropping. All four men looked at you in confused concern, looking at you as your gaze dropped to your lap.

“I am not a married woman. Eadric and I, we did not…” you trailed off, shaking your head lightly.

“What?” Uhtred asked in bewilderment, gaze flickering to your former lover who had walked away to return to the stables. “But you both had been so eager to marry!”

“I know, I know. He, uh, he had a change of heart,” you explained, rubbing the back of your neck. They all looked at you in pity, so you plastered a rueful smile on your face, waving it off.

“Tis no matter, we were young, and we were foolish. I-I’ve moved past it, really,” you reassured them.

“If you need us to do anything, just say the word,” Uhtred said, earning a nod from the rest of the group.

“Aye, Sihtric is quite skilled at making things look like an accident,” Finan said lowly, making you giggle as the Dane nodded eagerly. Osferth sat silently, watching the light in your eyes dim at the turn of the conversation.

“Thank you, but there is no need,” you said gratefully. With a deep sigh, you rose from the bench and smoothed out your skirts. “Well, I shall go see that your rooms are ready, and if there is anything you need, you know where to find me,” you told them, before leaving them to their meals. You were unaware of a pair of icy blue eyes following your retreating form as you walked away, busying yourself with your tasks once more.

Before dusk had begun to settle into the horizon, Mildrith had sent you off to gather some greens for supper from the market. You had hurried to old Hilda’s shop, filling your large basket with greens for the stew as well as some potatoes and grain. You all but waddled back to the inn, balancing the heavy basket on your hip, willing yourself not to drop anything into the damp earth on your way back.

“My lady!” A familiar voice called out behind you, making you stop in your tracks. You lifted the basket higher on your hip, keeping a firm hand on the wooden carrier to prevent it from sliding down further. Osferth rushed to you, taking the heavy basket from your hands.

“Let me, please.”

“I do not wish to burden a great warrior with a task so little, Osferth,” you tried to reason, but the monk had already lifted the weight with ease. He smiled at you, shaking his head.

“No great warrior would deny a lady his aid when she needs it, he would be less of a man if he did so,” he explained, walking beside you back to the inn. An amused smile lifted on your lips, turning to look at the taller man beside you. Your eyes studied the shadows the setting sun cast upon his face, now more structured and manly than you had last seen him. The plumpness of youth had melted and given way to a sculptured jaw, an aquiline nose, and pursing lips. His bright blue eyes once shone with exuberant wonder and apprehension now reflected a more mature wisdom. He carried himself with an air of confidence you had never seen in him before, one that belonged to a man who was sure of himself.

Catching your gaze on him, Osferth turned to you, raising his eyebrows in question. Your cheeks flushed at being caught in the act, your lips lifting into a shy smile.

“You seem so different now than when we last saw each other,” you said. The monk’s eyes caught the way you slightly bit your lip, watching how the plump flesh reddened at the contact.

“Different in what way, my lady?” Osferth asked.

“You seem stronger. More confident,” you told him, trying to pick the right words to describe the change you have seen in him. “Like there is a fire burning within you.”

A smile touched Osferth’s lips as he glanced at you, the corners of his lips curling upwards. Your eyes meet his icy blues, his dirty blonde tresses appearing much darker in the dimming sunlight. A hum left the monk’s lips, keeping his eyes on yours for a moment longer before returning to the road.

“I suppose I have,” he agreed. Osferth’s longer legs made for bigger strides, and the taller man shortened his steps when he noticed how fast you had to walk to keep up with him. He turned his head to look at you once more, “though I suppose I could say the same thing about you, my lady.”

His gaze roamed over your features, taking in your flushed cheeks, the rosy pink of your lips. Surprise sparked in your orbs, making him chuckle when you turned to him.

"You have grown more beautiful," his tone was matter-of-fact, like he was stating a simple truth. The words made your heart flutter, the breath catching in your throat for a moment. You had never been one to be bestowed such compliments, thus making the smallest of praises leaving you flustered. Osferth's eyes twinkled as he continued to stare at you, enjoying the way he seemed to make you flustered in his presence. "You have a certain glow about you, my lady. Like the warm touch of the sun on a summer's day.”

“My, it seems you have become a warrior and a poet,” you jested, earning a chuckle from the man beside you.

As you neared the inn, young Ida had passed by the pair of you, carrying dried linens. You did not miss the way her eyes caught Osferth’s, the man beside you smiling at her. The young maid immediately blushed, ducking her head as she walked by. His gaze followed her passing form, craning his head back as she passed. You ignored the strange feeling in your chest at the sight, returning your eyes to the muddy road.

“I am certain Uhtred and the others had you meeting all kinds of girls around the land, seeing as you are now quite the charmer,” you teased Osferth, bumping your elbow into his. The young monk made a grunt of amusement, turning back to you. It had gone unnoticed by you when he had begun to walk much closer by your side, the back of his hand brushing against the back of yours with the sway of your arms.

“You think I am charming?” He arched a brow at you, a playful tone coloring his voice. You rolled your eyes as he spun your own words back at you, chuckling as the bastard nudged your elbow in return.

“Oh dear, I fear all that time on the road has taught you all the wrong things,” you said, letting out a comical sigh that made Osferth laugh. As both of you reached the inn, you gestured for the warrior monk to hand you the basket, but he refused, telling you he shall take it to the kitchens for you, ever the chivalrous gentleman. You led him through to the bustling kitchens, busy in preparation for supper, where he had dropped the basket. Many words of thanks left your lips at his gracious assistance in hauling the heavy load of produce around for you.

“It is no trouble, my lady,” Osferth waved off. Looking around the area, you subtly reached into the basket, pulling out an orange to give to the taller man. You had secretly bought it for yourself, splurging on a treat you had not seen in ages. You handed it to Osferth, who looked equally in surprise.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, eyes wide at the side of the bright fruit. He took it into his larger hand, lifting it to his nose to smell the sweet scent of its zest, his lips letting out a delighted sigh.

“This was the last one Hilda had, and I just couldn’t help myself,” you said sheepishly. “You can have it, Osferth, for helping me with this.”

“Oh no, I cannot, my lady! ‘Tis yours!” Osferth exclaimed, handing the round fruit back into your hands. You shook your head, pressing it back into his grasp.

“No, please! It is no matter, I am sure she shall have some again. ‘Tis summer after all, and the season brings much fruit into our harvest,” you explained, earning a sigh from the young warrior. You gave him a small smile, placing your hand atop his larger one. “I doubt you can find these on the road anywhere else.”

“Thank you, my lady, you are most gracious,” Osferth expressed, giving you a sincere smile. You stared up at his blue orbs, the corner of your lips lifting into a smile of your own. A strange warmth spread across your chest, making you feel coquettish and timid as the blonde towered over you. The tips of your shoes were a hair inch away from the tips of his boots, his warmth engulfing your entire being. At this distance, you had a direct view of the cleft of his nose, and the way his pupils changed in diameter as he gazed at you.

You were broken away from your trance by the sharp voice of Mildrith, calling you over. Your feet took a small step away from Osferth, clearing your throat. The young warrior sniffled, looking at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I should go, Osferth,” you said, giving him an apologetic look. He nodded in understanding giving you a small smile.

“Of course, I shall see you at supper, then?” He asked, to which you nodded. You watched as the young monk walked out of the kitchen, pocketing the orange you had given him. You couldn’t help the way your lips lifted higher, a girlish chuckle leaving your lips when he gave you one last look before disappearing down the hall, shooting you a roguish smirk.

“Oi! What are ya gigglin’ over there for? Get a move on, missy!” Mildrith scolded, making you jump. You squeaked out a small apology, bowing your head when you passed by her to get on with your work, unaware of the way the mistress of the house shook her head at you in amusement, a small smile breaking out on her own lips.

One thing that attracted the numerous guests to the inn was the suppers. They were always boisterous, rowdy, and filled with music and chatter. Even the townspeople spend their nights at the inn, making the establishment somewhat akin to an alehouse with the drinks that flowed and the laughs that echoed through the room. Tonight was no different, the common hall was packed with guests and local folks alike, and chatter bustled through the air as you maneuvered around the room, refilling cups of ale with the jug in your hand. You greeted your regulars, ignored the advances of some that already had one too many cups of liquor, and kept your eye out on anything else your guests might need. You checked on the younger maids walking around, guiding the ones who were a bit unsure of what to do. When you had first started at the inn, working the suppers intimated you, with your timid nature and clumsy hands. The overlapping noises left you rattled, coupled with the growing rowdiness as the night went on. As you gained more experience and became one of Mildrith’s most trustworthy workers, you took it upon yourself to look out for the newcomers, treating them kindly instead of punishing them for every slip-up they made.

You had quickly exchanged your empty jug for a fresh one at the kitchens before walking back into the hall once more. You heard a voice call you over, turning to Finan who was waving you to their table. As you approached, you spotted the women sitting beside each one of them. You recognized them from the brothel a few doors over, a frequent presence during nights like these in your establishment. It was no surprise that Uhtred and his men had found their companions for the night so quickly, their reputations certainly bearing no lie about their proclivities. Your eyes flickered to where Osferth sat with his arm around a young brunette’s shoulders. You caught the way her fingers toyed with the cross pendant around his neck, leaning into the long expanse of his neck. The corners of your lips dipped slightly at the sight, a strange twinge in your belly. You caught yourself before anyone could notice, plastering a wide smile on your face.

“Enjoying the night, boys?” you asked the table, refilling their cups.

“Aye, good to not be shitting in the woods for once!” Sihtric exclaimed, earning laughs and cheers from his companions. Osferth sat silently, observing the way you rounded their table. He tried to catch your eye, but you seemed to be focused on the jug you held in your hand as you poured ale.

“Why don’t you come sit with us for a while? You are working too hard!” Uhtred urged, to which you only gave a smile.

“Tempting, my lord, but my madam would not be too happy. It is quite a busy night after all,” you said, earning disappointed groans from Finan and Sihtric. You shook your head at their antics, before excusing yourself. For a brief moment, your eyes meet Osferth’s, who had been staring at you the whole time. You gave him a small smile and a nod, before walking away, letting out a sigh as the corner of your lips dropped.

You stood by a pillar, leaning on your weight on the wood while watching the crowd. A man had stood on top of one of the tables, strumming his lute while the guests sang along. In the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure approaching the other side of the column, mirroring your position.

“Alright?” He asked, shooting you a concerned look. Another sigh left your lips, keeping your eyes on the lute player, feeling his gaze on the side of your cheek.

“M’fine, Eadric,” you said with indifference. Neither of you spoke for a moment, letting the echoes of the singing crowd fill the space between you.

“Mm, I know you. I can still read you well, you know, despite how we stand now,” he expressed, a somber tinge in his tone. A scoff left your lips, shaking your head at him slightly.

“Well, considering you can hardly read a few words on a scroll of parchment, I think it best if you stop fretting about me.”

“I will have you know I am capable of discerning whole sentences now, by year’s end perhaps I will be able to read you a sonnet to win your heart once more!” A laugh left your lips at his words, bubbling out before you could swallow them down. Your former lover looked satisfied with successfully getting a reaction out of you, smiling as your cheekbones lifted.

From his place at their table, a young warrior monk watched you and your former husband-to-be. The brunette beside him had been whispering nonsense into his ear, yet he paid her no mind, keeping his attention on you and the way you turned to Eadric, leaning to say something into his ear over the crowd’s noise.

As the night grew darker and the jugs of ale turned empty, you stayed on your feet, cleaning up in the kitchens away from the ruckus, alone. No Eadric, no Osferth, no grimy hand of a drunkard to grab you close. This was your favorite part of the night, to be granted a moment’s reprieve from the chaotic bustle of your days. It was peaceful to have a moment alone with your thoughts like a soft howl of wind on a dark night. Your hands worked mindlessly to scrub the dirty dishware while you let your mind run loose. There was little room for one’s thoughts in a position like yours. The days would often feel autonomic— clean off the linens in the morning, be in the kitchens by noon, and pour ale for the guests in the evening. The surprise of welcoming old friends like Uhtred, Finan, and Sihtric was a pleasant deviation from your otherwise monotonous life.

And dear Osferth. You supposed you had always been quite partial to him among the rest, you were close in age and personality, or at least you were. Where you were timid, Osferth was equally as shy, yet now, he had blossomed into something greater, forging his name into history, all the while you had remained a closed bud still rooted to the soil you had been planted in. As much as you missed the clumsy, doe-eyed baby monk, the warrior sat in your madam’s hall had as much power to render you weak as he did to wield a sword. To be under his gaze had you blushing like a young maiden, and he a dashing knight.

You shook your head, snapping out of your reverie. Osferth had seen many things and met countless faces, surely you did not hold a light to the girls that had come his way. It was no use to be feeling this way, not when he was to leave by the moon’s turn, not when you shall be left alone once more.

Dawn had barely broken through the horizon when you had risen from your cot, stretching your aching limbs with a groan. You had slept for barely three hours, but your body had grown accustomed to your early mornings, often rousing from your slumber with the sun’s rise. The air held a slight prickle of humidity during the summer, giving you no need for furs and a fire during the night. The rest of the inn laid fast asleep, and with the few more moments left to your own, you gathered a clean set of clothes, taking silent steps across the creaking floorboards to step out. The smell of the earth was refreshing, coupled with the morning dew that sprinkled the green grass. It was quiet, save for the howls of mourning doves that echoed through the trees. Humming an old tune to yourself, you made your way to the lake past the thick of the woods, placing your clean clothes on the ground before shrugging off your dress. Clad in only your thin cotton shift, your bare feet padded on the soft soil to approach the lake’s edge. You dipped a toe in, testing its temperature, before stepping down the shallow surface. The water held a slight bite of cold, just how you liked it. You took careful steps across the soft earth, the water rising higher up to your waist. You bent your knees to fully submerge yourself into the cool water, staying underwater for a moment, before breaking the surface to catch your breath. The water felt wonderful on your skin, even more so as it soaked your hair clean of yesterday’s muck. You bathed peacefully in the lake, scrubbing on your scalp and swimming across the water. You allowed yourself to settle, granting yourself a moment of calm before another busy day. Your eyes closed as you let yourself float on the water’s surface, humming to yourself once more.

The quiet peace of your morning was disrupted when you heard the first sounds of approaching footsteps. Alerted, you returned to your feet, looking around for the source. You had no place to hide, not when you were right in the middle of the forest’s clearing. You spotted a large rock situated against the lake’s edge, covered by tall, wispy grass, prompting you to quickly swim towards the stone and lean against it in hopes of hiding your bareness. Through the grass, you spotted a pair of boots approaching where your clothes had been placed, giving away your presence.

“My, a magnificent fish has come to shore!” A familiar voice called out, echoing through the air. Warily, you poked your head out to catch a glimpse of the intruder, only to find the warrior monk. You felt a relief to be discovered by Osferth rather than a stranger, your lips lifting into a small smile as you regarded him.

“Are you here to fish my lord?” you played along, feigning innocent curiosity. You crossed your arms over your shoulders to cover your chest as you stepped away from the rock, revealing yourself to the royal bastard. It seemed he had awakened not too long ago either, evident from his blonde tresses that were slightly ruffled. His feet took steps closer to the lake’s edge, while his hands crossed behind his back. He flashed you a lopsided grin at your query, shaking his head lightly.

“No, no. Though I am a warrior and have traversed these lands and back, I have no skill for the waters. Perhaps the fish will allow me to admire its beautiful scales instead?” he asked, blue eyes raking over your wet form. You bit your lip as he stared at you, cheeks warming despite the cool air. Stiff buds poked against the wet fabric of your shift, still covered by your arms.

“There are far more handsome fish around here, perhaps you may find some better use of your time with them,” you suggested, making the warrior monk’s thin lips twisted at your words.

“I would rather not, I find this one particularly breathtaking,” he said, looking at you with a gaze that made your skin tingle. Your mind raced with uncertainty, while your skin burned with desire. To be graced with Osferth's magnetic presence had ignited a deep pulsating ache within you, one not easily stoked by any man. Under the morning sun, you gazed upon his face. He was handsome, very much so. The royal blood in his veins graced him with a beauty higher than that of any common man, but all his rugged edges were all thanks to his time as a warrior walking with Danes. You desired him, and now, he stood before you, all yours for the taking.

You looked around, making sure there was no one else in your surroundings, before uncrossing your arms and standing tall, baring your chest to his eye, pathetically covered by the now translucent fabric of your wet shift.

“These waters can get quite lonesome for a fish like I. Perhaps my lord would like to join me?”

You visibly gulped as Osferth shamelessly stared at your breasts, waiting with bated breath for his next move. Keeping his eyes on yours, the warrior monk disrobed. He had been without his cuirass, only his robes and breeches. Piece by piece, Osferth’s pale flesh became exposed to your watchful eye. He had placed his robes neatly beside yours, before removing his boots and unlacing his breeches. A small gasp left your lips when he pulled his trousers off, standing tall with his gradually hardening cock on display. An amused huff left the monk’s lips at the way your eyes were stuck on his length, chest puffing proudly under your gaze. He was well-endowed, this he knew, it was what garnered attention from all those women after all. His long, muscled legs approached the edge, cock swaying with every step forward. A warmth in your belly grew as the young warrior dipped into the water, prickling your skin as his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. Your chin tilted upwards as he towered before you, the difference in your heights making you feel covered in his shadow, protected.

“I trust you had a pleasant evening?” you asked, voice dropping low with the change in proximity. Osferth hummed, giving you a small nod.

“Yes, though I admit, it would have been much better if it had been spent with your presence beside me,” Osferth said. His warm breath fanned across your face, the heat of his flesh radiating against yours, causing a shiver to run up your spine. His orbs flickered across your features for a moment, his hand hovering above your arm, yet not touching you. The corners of your lips shifted into a downward smile at his words.

“My apologies, my duties prevented me from doing so. Though it seemed the seat by your side had been occupied. Either way, you had splendid company, only the best in town for the King’s warriors,” you replied softly. He shook his head slightly at you, sniffling lightly.

“It was not her company I sought.”

His large hand covered the width of your arm, pulling you closer into his space. Your hands placed themselves on his chest upon instinct, while his slithered around your waist. His aquiline nose dipped into the skin of your cheek, breathing in the scent of your flesh. Your eyes fluttered close upon the contact, your heart thumping at the feeling of a growing stiffness poking against your thigh.

“How did you know where to find me?” you whispered in his ear.

“I had stepped out for air after my morning prayers. It was then I caught a glimpse of you, walking into the woods,” he explained, lifting his head to look at you. Your fingers trailed against the edge of his jaw, feeling the small prickling of his lightly growing stubble beneath your fingertips.

“You followed me?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him. A sheepish smile formed on his thin lips, while yours lifted in amusement.

“Tis not safe for a lady to be alone in these woods,” he reasoned, tone light and almost playful. He furrowed his eyebrows in mock concern, shaking his head lightly. A chuckle left your lips, reverberating against Osferth’s chest.

“I know these woods better than you, Osferth,” you replied, to which he only shrugged. “Did the Lord speak to you in your prayers, leading you to me?”

“Aye,” he nodded. His hands squeezed the softness of your arms, before drifting down to settle on your waist. “He all but called me a fool, for letting a beautiful lady walk away from my midst without showing my affections.”

“I am no lady.”

“You can be my lady if you will it so,” he said. Osferth’s calloused hands cupped the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him.

"You have met the most beautiful ladies in the land, and you will meet more. I am but a simple maid, why me?" you questioned, voice dropping to a whisper. A wistful sigh left his chest, thumbs caressing the plump flesh of your cheek.

"A flower may bloom in the most ordinary of gardens," he whispered softly, his voice carrying the weight of genuine fondness. "And yet, it is that very simplicity that makes its beauty all the more extraordinary."

His head dipped close to yours, your lips just a hair's breadth apart from his. "You have always enraptured me, from the moment I had first stepped into your midst," he confessed.

“Do you jest?” You asked, searching for any sign of any sign of insincerity; you found none.

“I do not jest about matters of the heart,” he whispered, leaning his face closer to yours. You couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut when his nose nudged against yours. His lips pressed a kiss against one cheek, then the other, almost in reverence. Your hands on his chest slithered up to wrap around his neck, pressing yourself further into his build. Your foreheads pressed together, basking in its each other’s warmth for a moment before Osferth leaned forward to capture your lips in his. A gasp left you in surprise, though you had quickly softened into his arms. You had let him lead you in pace, clearly having less experience than the well-traveled monk. The only other man you had kissed was Eadric, and even then you were young and had no knowledge of the ways of the flesh. This was different; Osferth kissed you the way a man kissed a woman, a lover, a wife. It was all-consuming, a kiss that bordered on gnawing, coupled with his wandering hands that caressed and squeezed your curves. They were rough despite the fabric of your shift separating his touch from your bare flesh, and as they cupped the sides of your thighs, he silently urged you to wrap your legs around his waist.

You obliged, letting him carry your weight with his hands supporting your rear. His stiff length is pressed between your bodies, its veiny underside pushing against the dip in your folds. A whimper permeated the air between you when he guided your hips to rub against his shaft, one echoed by a grunt from the warrior monk. It was an odd feeling, though deliciously pleasant. It was different from when your fingers would circle your pearl as you lay in your cot, biting back your sounds of pleasure lest someone heard through the thin walls. Your hips began to move with Osferth’s rhythm, grinding your pearl against his cock.

“Osferth…” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his once more. The man had started to pant against your lips, small grunts leaving his lips.

“My lady,” he moaned out, before smashing his lips against yours. The kiss was frantic and desperate, with tongues dancing against each other and teeth clashing. You moaned against Osferth’s lips when his cockhead snagged against your folds, rubbing deliciously against your pearl. The prickling heat in your belly began to grow, but you needed more.

“Please, Osferth,” you pleaded against his lips, before letting out a whine.

“What is it, my lady? Say what you need, and it is yours. I am all yours,” he responded. His eyes met yours, which had turned clouded with a heady tinge. There was a wrinkle in between your eyebrows as they furrowed in desperation.

“Take me, all of me,” you said. Your hand reached behind you, taking hold of his cock to guide it to your slit. With another deep kiss from Osferth, he breached your entrance, sliding you down his length. Your moan echoed through the breeze at the stretch, prompting you to bury your head in his neck. You bit hard into the junction of his shoulder from the slight sting; the lack of intimacy with another man leaving your walls unaccustomed to such a stretch. Osferth’s chest vibrated against yours as a deep moan left his lips when he bottomed out, stilling for a moment.

When the pain in your walls began to subside, your hips slowly began to move. Large, calloused hands remained on your rear, guiding you up and down his prick. There was a slight ripple in the water from your movements, growing into small splashes when your hips increased their pace.

You tugged the collar of your shift down, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Osferth leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking on the stiff bud while a hand massaged the other. Breathy moans of pleasure freely fell from your open lips, singing a tune so sweet to the monk’s ears. Your fingers gripped the hairs on the back of Osferth’s neck, your hips never losing their rhythm. His lips switched to suck on the other breast, leaving soft marks on the supple flesh, marking you as his.

“Do you like this, my lady?” Osferth asked against your skin, before trailing his kisses upward to suck on your neck.

“Yes, oh yes!” you whined. The thought that someone shall hear your moans and discover the pair of you was forgotten with the way your mind grew dazed in Osferth’s embrace. Your nipples rubbed against his taut chest, the fine sprinkle of hair on the milky flesh ticking your sensitive nubs.

“You are the most divine,” the young monk moaned, squeezing your rear. Your lower lip is caught between your teeth tightly, almost breaking flesh as you neared your precipice. The sensation of your pearl rubbing against Osferth’s pubic bone threatened to send you into overdrive, shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The warmth in your core bloomed upwards, starting to spread to your chest. Your walls began to squeeze his cock, signifying the start of your release.

“Osferth, ah, I am going to–”

“Go ahead, my beauty, let it go for me,” he coaxed you. Your release washed over you like a dam breaking through its walls. A whine left your lips as your eyes shut, your features scrunching together in bliss. Osferth’s eyes stayed on your face, watching you get lost deep in your delight. He continued to bounce you onto his cock through your release, before pulling out to quickly tug at his cock under the water’s surface. With the sight of your panting chest right before his eyes, Osferth’s cock released spurts of his seed. The clear water was painted with the cloudy fluid, diffusing into the lake.

Recovering from the euphoric daze that had overtaken you, your eye stared into Osferth’s icy blues. You bit your lip to suppress the gigantic smile that had lifted your cheekbones, a giggle bubbling out from your chest. Your lover merely raised his eyebrows, a smile breaking out on his sculptured features.

“What amuses you, my sweet?” Osferth asked softly. You merely shook your head, before leaning your head against his shoulder in an embrace.

“Nothing, I am merely overjoyed,” you replied. A radiant glow fluttered in Osferth’s ribcage, his lips pressing a kiss against your hair.

After rising from the water and redressing, you and Osferth sat on the grass in silence. Your head was leaned against his, while his arm wrapped around your figure, rubbing your back in comfort. You wished for this moment to last for eternity, that you would not be called to your duties, and him to his own. Alas, such power was out of your hands, thus you willed yourself to savor the warmth of his embrace as much as you could.

You felt him reach into his pocket, turning to look at him in surprise when the orange appeared in your sights. The same one you had given him in the kitchens.

“Why have you not eaten it?” you asked. You could smell the citrussy zest of the fruit in his palm, sweet and inviting.

“I was hoping to share it with you,” he said, making you blush. He began to peel the orange, its scent spraying all over. His grip had been too tight, lacking gentleness with the fragile pulp that ended up crushed under his fingertips. You laughed at the juices that spilled on his hands, before gesturing for him to hand the fruit over.

“You are making a mess! Here, let me,” you offered. The smiling warrior handed the orange to you, watching your gentle fingers peel the fruit expertly. Once the rind had been removed, you had handed it back to Osferth, but he had split the fruit in half, giving you the bigger portion. You let out a delighted hum as the sweetness coated your tongue, savoring the taste you only come by so rarely. Osferth watched you with bright eyes while eating his own.

In the quiet still of the morning, moments before you were to be called back into the inn, you sat with your lover upon the grass. You shared an orange, along with soft kisses and words of tenderness. You knew naught what the end of the moon shall bring you, nor the end of the day, but you had this moment, one you shall always think of fondly.

#bella writes ✍️#this is queued #osferth x reader #osferth tlk #osferth x you #osferth x y/n #osferth x oc #osferth #the last kingdom #ewan mitchell

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littlespoonevan · 7 months ago

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your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 #my fics #3 fics in one week who is she?!?!?!

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studioeisa · 1 month ago

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LOVE&LETTER REPACKAGE ୨ৎ celebrating 10 years with SVT!

i said it once, i'll say it again: caratblr is populated by some of the most talented individuals you will find. incredibly lucky to be in the presence of these greats, whose writing change and challenge the ways we think and the stories we tell. here are some of my all-timers. ‹𝟹

footnotes: some of these work may contain explicit content. please heed the warnings when checking them out. all headers are from u/seventeenzone.

from the vantage point of death by @heartepub

when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed.

there is simply no sugarcoating it: viv is a generational writer on this side of the fandom and beyond. this fic is a bullet point in the long list of reasons why. the tale of hades and persephone is time-worn and sometimes tired; viv makes a version of it that is entirely her own in ftvpod. in a way, this reads like a hozier song—haunting gospel, tender folklore, and understated sensuality. spring has come, and it's because viv has brought it in with ftvpod.

to love and to pound by @pochaccoups

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

char's work is never short of genius, but this particular piece strikes a balance between intimacy and smut that you are unlikely to find elsewhere. the time spent exploring the physicality of the couple—while also touching on sentiments that just feel so inherently seungcheol—really reminds you why she deserves to hold a username referencing pochaccoups. it bears repeating: char is one of, if not the, best writers you will ever find if you're wanting to read about choi seungcheol.

jeonghan drabble by @seungcheorry

it started with a "love, can i borrow a towel? i forgot mine" the first time he slept at your place; you gave it to him, a silly smile on your lips when he stepped out of the bathroom with your towel around his neck.

there is romance in the mundane, and cherry reminds us of that every so often. her writing has proven to be love letters to the slow days and the stolen moments; this jeonghan drabble is among her best work. there's sentimentality in this piece that manages to weave jeonghan so seamlessly into the seemingly 'boring' humdrum of daily life—proving, once again, that love can be found somewhere between takeout and shampoo.

‘til god breaks this spell by @joshujin

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

faith is tricky. faith ebbs like the tide; faith finds itself in the oddest of places. some might say faith exists in good writing such as that of trixie's. 'til god breaks this spell is a heart-wrenching exploration of the religions we grow up with, the convictions we grow out of, and the loves we grow around. this is the kind of story that heals something long since forgotten—so, thank you, trixie, for the absolution.

soul like me by @lovetaroandtaemin

You and Joshua have been friends for most of your life, and you thought that you always would be. Turns out, your feelings for each other are stronger than you thought, but love isn't always enough to keep a relationship strong.

to write humane characters in fiction is a feat that ally never seems to struggle with. soul like me bares intrinsic flaws that i'm sure we would all rather forget. it raises a mirror to the people we become when we are hurting and when we intend to hurt. it begs the question: is love the end all be all? the answer lies somewhere in the fic; as for real life, though, ally continues to chart love in all its forms through her writing.

worth it by @chugging-antiseptic-dye

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

give a an inch, and she'll take a mile. worth it is reminiscent of the impactful writing one might find from classics like fanfiction.net. to anticipate the ending does not soften the blow. there are no gut punches in this story. just the quiet beginning and end of it all, and the sting that stays in the heartbeats that follow. helpless, thy name is mine, because a is bound to continue with these deep cuts in her future work.

elevatory by @wqnwoos

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

hana treats soonyoung with a level of respect so rarely seen in fics where he is at the center. the inventiveness of this story is noteworthy, but i firmly believe it's the emotionality that really makes elevatory shine. anybody who has loved, lost, and gained is bound to find something here—whether it is closure, grace, or nostalgia. i, for one, found one of the brightest writers you might ever find on caratblr.

wings against the wind by @diamonddaze01

The tide pulls in. The stars burn on. Neither of you move.

every time i think tara has reached the pinnacle of her writing, she puts out another piece that shows otherwise. what makes wings against the wind a fic worth coming back to time and time again is the setting of it all. their summers could easily be mine, or yours; all of us were sixteen, and eighteen, and twenty-eight once. there is comfort in writing that reminds you that you are not alone in the grand scheme of things. tara is that extended hand, charting the friendship and romance that we lose to the sea.

on call by @kkaetnipjeon

you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.

i feel like a broken record who has ranted and raved about mj's writing way too often, but with works like on call, how could i not? this is a stellar intersection of humor, intimacy, and romance, in a setting that is just so utterly apt for jeon wonwoo. i knew this way back when, but this fic has convinced me i'd read 50k words from mj. or her grocery lists, even, if she is ever so inclined. before i'm properly derailed by fangirling: reading on call is the best thing you could do for yourself today.

maestro's muse by @ppyopulii

It’s HYBEHAX’s 10th year anniversary, and as the hackathon’s newest Design Team Lead, you are determined to make this year its best year yet.

jay's maestro's muse is an ongoing series that i can imagine jihoon being proud of. reinventing the form is a challenge few truly succeed at; jay does it, and will undoubtedly continue to do it. the world-building in this is simply lovely, and i'm among the dozens of people who await updates with bated breath.

chunhyangjeon redux by @shinysobi

If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard.

as someone who has never been particularly well-versed in historical plots, i was pleasantly surprised to thoroughly enjoy chunhyangjeon redux. it might be easy to say that i come from a place of bias—i know how much work ro put into this piece, from ideation to eventual execution. that would be a disservice to the plain and simple fact that this fic is a brilliant period piece with a strong voice and immense soul.

neurosurgeon wonwoo x reader x neurologist jihoon by @thepixelelf

"He's frozen," you tell Jihoon, eyes set on the operating table and the man at the head of it.

there is no fic i think of as often as this. there's one line here—the ending one, specifically—that has quite literally impacted me so much that i continue to revisit this piece half a year (!) after i first found out. this is not an isolated incident; ursa seems to have a penchant for writing fics that truly stick with you. there's a tenderness to her characterizations that you simply can't replicate, which makes much of her masterlist timeless.

wasteland, baby! by @gotta-winwin

they say love can cure infection.

serena, harbinger of heartbreak, was kind enough to preempt me that this fic would rip my heart out of my chest. that did not make things any easier. wasteland, baby! reads like sand in an hourglass. there's a sense of dread that follows you throughout, but it goes hand in hand with hope. it's that heady cocktail of emotion that should convince you serena is worth reading until the end of the world.

golden promises by @diamonddaze01

And so it began. Minghao, who believed in fate, and you, who didn’t.

golden promises is more than just a crash and burn in slow motion. it's the final notes of your favorite song; it's the quiet beginning and end of it all. if you were to look up 'ache' in the dictionary, this fic would be an apt redirection exemplifying the word. while fate is bastardized in this story, it finds a home somewhere else. perhaps in the reminder that tara is fated to write, because golden promises is a fic that demands to be read.

glimpse of us by @gyubakeries

it's all wrong. when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

you would expect tragedy to shape the form of a fic entitled glimpse of us, but tiya pulls the rug underneath your feet. this fic has a glaring amount of hope despite its heavy angst tag, and i do believe only a write like tiya could strike that balance without it feeling heavy-handed. narrative switches add to the emotional tug-of-war in this piece; redemption is earned, not simply granted. if this is your first glimpse into tiya's work, i urge you to look at the whole picture—it's a gallery worth visiting.

the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine. Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

if we're talking about the art of something, then let this be the art of writing lee seokmin. bennie nails the buildup and dynamic necessary to execute the tropes in this fic, and it can only come from a place of somebody who knows how to write seokmin. the tension crackles like a livewire in this body of work; much of bennie's writing, i believe, comes to life—whether in a kitchen, a record store, or during a game of chess.

something in the orange by @heartepub

remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love.

it would be a lie to claim something in the orange as anything less than my favorite piece of k-pop fanfiction, bar none. this is the kind of story that you think of years down the line, even after you've left a fandom. i don't doubt i will. in sito, viv weaves a pulitzer-worthy story that simply cannot be boxed into the genre of 'apocalypse au'. this is grief. this is memory. this is what it means to be human, captured in 5k words featuring boo seungkwan. i will scream it from the rooftops, i will reconstruct to hell and back—sito is an absolute headliner.

it gets easier by @mercif4l

fingers off the unblock button or you're gonna regret it, girl.

rowan has a writing voice that is so utterly distinct, i could scroll through the vernon x reader tag for hours and find nothing like this. there is catharsis in hurt/no comfort, especially when done well. it gets easier gives you room to wallow, but it also reminds you of necessary evils that await on the other side of self-flagellation.

hello, darling by @sailorsoons

Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. After a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you.

nobody is writing about svt like hali is. her body of work is an outstanding masterlist of alternate universes, spanning genres that touch on the human condition in ways that will leave you breathless. hello, darling is a prime example. the supernatural and thriller aspects of the fic unfold like a jordan peele plot—deliciously tense, intentionally vague, and loaded with suspense.

here, there, and everywhere by @chanranghaeys

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

here, there, and everywhere is an unashamed love letter to lee chan, from somebody who undoubtedly cares for him. like the song goes, hani knows that love is to share—and there is just so much of it in this fic. in between expressions of devotion and charting of affection through the years, here, there, and everywhere brings us to the very core of what it means to have a bias. overall, a beautiful ode to the man underneath the myth/legend.

not so loud by @daechwitatamic

You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed…

not so loud is a masterclass in friends to lovers. jo gives all her characters a level of autonomy that makes this fic a living, breathing thing. i remember sending this to four different people the first time i finished it, with a semi-crazed message of you have to read this. that still stands. this piece is gorgeous, not only in how it progresses the relationship, but also in how it resolves it conflicts and brings each scene to life.

MORE & MORE & MORE!

joshujin's we can be all we need (soonyoung)

100vern's while he's gone (soonyoung & vernon)

mylovesstuffs' a song for the ones who leave (vernon)

svtiddiess' the fae in my heart (minghao)

shinwonderful's freedom of choice

vampsol's a cut to remember (vernon)

vampsol's not a bad thing (vernon)

ppyopulii's hoshi + work song by hozier

etherealyoungk's ramen & fate (seungkwan)

shuacore's warm glow (joshua)

miniseokminnies' the boy who lives on the moon (jun)

#svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fic #seventeen fic #(📦) shoebox #(📑) library

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 5 months ago

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Into my arms

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Masterlist Word count: 773 Sylus x Reader

Summary: Sylus likes telling you about music. You like Sylus's voice.

Author's note: I felt like we all needed a tiny little bit of fluff after seeing those banners.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

He's been yapping for a while now. All the while, sweet sounds play from his record player. Every once in a while he gets up to put on a different record, but he seems to be sitting down a little closer to you each time.

Tension is rising, yet Sylus pretends he's unaffected. You are not pretending, you couldn't if you tried. It feels like your hands are itching to touch him, but you know this is important to him.

This is one of the ways he shows affection. He wants you to know what he likes and he wants input on what you like. His collection is extensive and strange. It goes from Tom Waits to The Beach Boys. From The Cure to Dolly Parton. From Metallica to Jim Croce. Surprisingly, he has something to tell about almost all of them.

He tells you about the differences between The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. About how The Beatles had a good boy image whilst being from rough backgrounds, while The Rolling Stones were from privileged lives and had a bad boy image. He tells you about David Bowie's album Lazarus, a testament to his own body failing and approaching death. He tells you about all the songs mentioned in Hozier's Sweet Music. And about how most people know Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds from the song Red Right Hand while he considers Into My Arms, a raw testament to love and believing in that deity only to ask it to bring his lover to him, a much better song.

Talks on and on about all these beautiful words strung together, about the instruments, about the quality of the recording. You love to listen to him. Love to hear him talk about these things that he seems so passionate about, but he has barely scratched the surface.

All the obscurer things he loves to listen to sneak their way into these moments every once in a while, but still he tends to go for love songs when you're around.

He sits down next to you after changing the record again and looks over into your tired eyes. The night owl that he is, he hadn't considered it is your bedtime already. 'Are you tired, sweetie? We can go to bed.'

You shake your head and position yourself onto his lap with one swift movement, your hands gently laying on his chest. Like two pieces of the puzzle, his hands slot against your hips as he looks up at you like he's looking into a fire. The forever changing warmth of your love enveloping him.

'Keep talking,' you tell him. He nods and starts talking about the record he just put on whilst his thumbs gently rub over the fabric of your bottoms. A song from Jim Croce that almost sounds like a lullaby. Time in a Bottle.

His words intertwine with the music like a baseline. You feel his voice rumble in his chest under your fingertips and move yourself closer to feel it in your own chest. Your arms wrap around him as you lean your head on his shoulder.

Slowly, the combination of sound and vibration lulls you closer and closer to sleep. Your mind gets carried on his sentences, gently floating around. Every once in a while, you hum to let him know you're still listening, but he can feel your breathing slow.

'Let's go to bed. I'm getting tired,' he states, more so for you than for him. But, truth be told, he has been sleeping exceptionally well ever since he's started sleeping in your arms. He stands up with you in his arms, clinging to his body like a koala.

'No,' you grumble, not really noticing he's gotten up, 'keep talking. I like hearing you talk.'

'Alright,' he agrees with a smile and he does.

As he carries you into the bedroom he tells you about all the love songs that remind him of you, all the lyrics that to him feel like they were written about you, all the guitar solos and music breaks in songs that make him feel like you are right there with him...

and he keeps talking until he snuggles up to you under the covers. He takes a few seconds to listen to your gentle breathing. He lays his head on your chest, the thumping of your heartbeat relaxing him like nothing else ever has. You have fallen asleep, and that seems the perfect time for a confession to him.

'But besides all of that, my favorite song is the sound of your voice when you greet me in the morning.'

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mercy-burning · 10 months ago

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A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be...

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out):

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x fem!Reader smut #criminal minds fanfic

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rosaeh · 5 months ago

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boyfriend!jason todd & work song by hozier

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burnin' heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love, I could barely eat There's nothin' sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me

late night patrol during the summer, and jason finds himself starving. but all he can think about is you. not about the food that's waiting for him in the fridge, but you. you, who -he hopes- is sleeping in bed and not waiting for him on the couch. not that he minds much. when you do wait for him -no matter how much he asked you not to- he would find you asleep on the couch, then would pick you up, and lay you down on the bed.

jason doesn't mind. he likes that you actually care enough to wait for him. likes that it gives him an excuse to hold you close.

but he doesn't actually like that you're depriving yourself of your sleep over him -you'll tell him it's really no big deal, but he wouldn't hear any of it. doesn't like that you end up sleeping on the couch, when the bed is much more comfortable, and won't cause you any pain.

anyway, he knows the minute he will be back to your shared apartment, the first thing he will do won't be eating, but crawling into bed with you. holding you close enough to fulfil his starvation.

and there is no other places he would rather be than in your arms.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

and he knows that, if something bad were ever to happen to him, while away from you, he would crawl his way to you too. no matter what it takes him, he would come to you. even in death. because you are home to him.

after all, he already crawled his way out of a grave once, and he'll be willing to do it again for you. with you in mind ? jason knows he would do anything in his will power to come back to you. the mere thought of you is enough to motivate him to do everything. anything.

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear, I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

[...]

My babe would never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me When I was kissin' on my baby And she put her love down, soft and sweet In the low lamplight, I was free Heaven and hell were words to me

because jason does come home to you. every night. whatever happens, no matter the state he is in.

and he is much more careful about that too, now. about the state he ends up in after going out as red hood.

but he also knows that no matter the state you do found him in, you'll welcome him with open arms. willing to take care of him. keen, even, to make him feel at peace, at home. no matter how much blood tainted his hands, you would wipe it off every time.

you would calmly sit him down in the bathroom, and start tending to his wounds. standing between his legs, you would found yourself -more often than not- leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, your hands pushing his hair back gently, your fingers tangling in his white strand.

and under your soft hands, your gentle touches, jason would feel like heaven was in your arms, because it is.

and it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks of him, as long as he has you. this heaven. his heaven. and in counterpart, for this peace you're providing him of, this love he feels radiating from you, he will always come home to you, and do anything for you to not regret it. to not regret betting on him, placing your trust into him like that.

jason is willing to defy death in your name.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #dc comics #red hood #jason todd thoughts #the hyperfixation is getting out of hand #song fic #work song #hozier #did i mentioned i loved him #rosaeh's jason

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sennavytarot · 3 months ago

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pick a card, what does your next partner think of you?

take a deep breath & pick an image based off of your intuition. Remember do not force anything to resonate with you!

pile one:

Your next partner looks at you as someone who is spontaneous and reckless at times. Curiosity often gets the best of you, which can be harmful at times since you may say things that are hurtful in the heat of the moment. It may take you a while to plan how to get there, but most of the time, you are able to get what you want. You are seen as a hard worker. You are a possible realist and plan a lot for the future. You are a diligent person and often find success. You are secure and find pride in your accomplishments. You are also seen as disciplined. Seen as independent, self-sufficient, and able to enjoy life's pleasures. You're the life of the party, with or without your partner, and that's something they admire about you. You naturally attract people to you.

pile two:

Your next partner sees you as nurturing and abundant. They could see you as the mother of their child due to your nurturing nature. They think of you as a long term commitment. However, you have a fear of making concrete decisions, and this may lead to a delay in your relationship. They're willing to wait for you as they want to fulfill you and your needs, putting your happiness before their own. However, they feel your ego takes away from the ability to connect emotionally with you. Overall, they see you as an ideal partner, but you have emotional and personal aspects you need to work on to ensure your relationship prospers.

pile three:

Your partner thinks of you as someone indecisive, someone who tends to give mixed signals, and this frustrates them deeply. They just want to be committed to you; however, your indecisiveness hurts them. They wish you would just make up your mind, stop playing these games with their feelings. They can't blame you because they have baggage of their own that brings roadblocks in your relationship. But they see you guys as a couple that will fight through these bumps in your connection. However, once again, your indecisive nature creates further disruption in your connection. They believe fighting for your relationship will only strengthen your connection. They are sympathetic to your boundaries. But again, I stress, you need to fight for this and make up your mind. If you want it, then simply go for it. They want you to put away your fears and work for this connection to really level it up.

#PAC #pick a card #free reading #tarot #tarot reading #love tarot #Spotify

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ofbatsandballads · 4 months ago

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“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #remy writes 🖋️#not tagging red hood tags bc he’s really not quite there yet in this fic #this is so dark and melodramatic but i also feel like that’s very fitting for jason #idk how i feel after proofreading it but it’s still put together enough to post. I think.

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mcondance · 11 months ago

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angel of small death. billy loomis

summary. billy’s finally found a middle ground between his needs, and your reservations. right?

contains. MDNI 18+, dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex (yay!), “just the tip” turns into full-on sex, billy’s being….. billy, creampie (yay! x2), he gets off on your pain (yay! x3), i say “believer” and “gospel” so if borderline blasphemy isn’t your thing then sayonara, title is from the hozier song “angel of small death and the codeine scene” but it is not required listening for this piece (though, if you want to listen, you can)

word count. 2k

— a word from your author: this started out as me just talking about billy telling you “just the tip” as a bridge into fully fucking you. but then it became me going into detail. but it was fun to write, as i enjoy writing dubcon. billy loomis, i’m ready to be taken advantage of <3

☆ ☆

“just the tip, okay?”

you’ve been holding back with him for a while, only really having sex with him of your own volition once or twice, and leaving him to beg the rest of the time.

he won’t tell you, but he likes when you make him beg to fuck you. when you make him lie and cheat, when he has to distract you from his hands pulling your bottoms off and by the time he’s lining up, you’re so worked up he has no choice but to fuck you. he likes having to play his way into your pants, or shorts, or skirt, when “yes” isn’t flowing readily from your lips like it sometimes is.

and, this time, he’s found a compromise.

“just the tip, okay? just a little, so it’ll still feel good for me and you.” me and you, he says, even subconsciously his pleasure comes first. and you. obviously, he knows you like being full of him. you like knowing what he feels like inside you, penetrating and owning the most intimate parts of you. he knows that, even if you try to contain yourself, you think about being under him or on top of him everyday.

“okay,” you nod, eagerly lying back on your pillows and spreading your legs for him. elation is written all over his face as he walks on his knees between your legs, the same smile that made you fall for him months ago spread across his pretty features.

leaning over you and caging you in between his lean arms, he hovers for just a second. leaning up, you finish the kiss, pulling him down with shy hands twisted in the collar of his shirt. he kisses you deep, the kind of kisses that make your brain fuzzy and have your body getting ready to let him in. he lingers on your lips, taking his time and fucking your mind the way only he can.

it’s a surprise you even agreed to the compromise, with the way your mind starts to call back how it feels to have him all the way inside of you.

he parts from your lips, placing a kiss on your jaw, and then the hot skin of your neck. there, he lingers again, remembering the sweet spot he found the last time he got you like this.

when he finds it, your hips buck against him, a little whine leaking from your throat.

“billy,” you murmur.

“yeah?” he gives back, kissing your skin again. you breathe out in response. it’s damning, and so pretty, and it has something between your legs pounding like your heart in your heaving chest. everything he says, everything he does, every look, every touch, is it for you. billy loomis has captivated and trapped you, and the danger you’re in only sets you alight.

moving farther down, he studies your face with just a quick glance, and, despite wanting to, he doesn’t push you on getting your shirt off. he plans for the future, the outcome he knows he’ll get, and decides he’ll like it better if you have your top on.

with his mind made up, he moves back to your face, positioning himself above you. he kisses you again, and that fire inside you burns anew.

one of his hands moves downward as his lips continue moving against yours, kissing you with such force that your heads move up with it. it’s a kiss like you always wanted before you met him, the kinda kiss you only saw in movies. he makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

that hand crests over the band of your shorts, caressing the soft skin of your stomach, right above the butterflies that flutter there. it moves down again, into your shorts and your panties, and you shiver. immediately, his fingers start on your clit, rubbing and circling and fuck, it feels good.

“billy, ah-” you whine, bucking up against his fingers. your head moves off the pillows, and he follows you, breaking the kiss to watch you squirm under him. his gaze is observing, like a predator and his prey, like a mad scientist and his experiment.

wet and ready, it only takes a couple more passes before he can slide his hand down and slip two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. now, your eyes slip shut and you tangle your hands in his collar again, grinding down on his fingers.

“billy,” you sob, crying out for him like a believer.

and like that scientist in his lab, watching his creation form and morph, he watches you. he watches the furrow of your brow and the canting of your hips. you are his creation, the nasty things hidden inside you brought out by a boy with a sweet smile and sweeter words. he could sell a fur coat to an eskimo, a glass of water to a drowning man.

drowning. that’s what you’re doing. and he’s watching on with a smile, the same sickening smile that grows across his face as you get so wet that you can hear his fingers disappearing inside you.

at another whine from you, he hums “yeah,” a damning sound that your eyes roll back to. your body tenses, all systems overloaded and overcrowded by the sensation that he unleashes within you. it's burning inside you, lava swirling in your veins, red and hot and you can't think, you can barely breathe. his presence above you adds to it all.

like always, you're close so quick. billy knows your body from months of only being able to put his fingers in you, and the couple of times you've let him take you all the way. "i'm gonna—," you choke, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you brace yourself for what you know will knock a couple brain cells loose.

he hums again, and through cracked eyes you see his head tilt to the side. with that, and the way his hand grows a little rougher, you come. it's good for you, like it always is, and it leaves you floating.

but for him, that obstacle is out of his way. now, he can get what he wants.

"you ready?" he asks, soft and quiet.

"yeah," you nod meekly, excited to feel him inside you.

he forgoes any further pretense, pulling his wet hand straight out of your shorts and hooking them in his sweats and boxers just enough to free himself, and you shiver at the sight of his fingers covered in your arousal. that same messy hand hits the middle of your shorts and pulls them and your panties to the side in one swift motion, made easy by how spread your legs are.

he looks up at you as his grabs his cock, nudging your clothes back out of place with his leaking tip. with his eyes locked on you he slips in.

fuck, it’s just like you remember. it’s just like you’ve played over and over again. the blunt, burning pain, the wet slide as he reaches just an inch or two deep inside you, cutting off before he slides in any farther. above you, you can feel those deep brown eyes watching and taking.

a soft breath escapes your lungs, all shuddery and shivery and even though he’s just barely inside you, he feels good. he buries his face in the hot skin of your neck.

he doesn’t take any input from you now. he’s already given in to your wiles in allowing this shy act, and he has no interest in asking you to allow anything else.

“billy,” you call as he starts to move slowly. perhaps the act of casting the crown of himself into you, so shallow, is more lewd than what you’re avoiding. lascivious, maybe, this compromise.

he rocks like this for a bit, taking in the feel of your walls kissing and clenching around the tip of him. fat and thick, he stretches you so perfectly, the searing pain being overtaken by pleasure until that’s all that’s left.

the middle ground is fine, for you, as he rocks in and out of you, groaning lowly.

but for him, it’s not enough. all of you belongs to him, and he wants to feel it. he wants to feel you.

this time, he rocks in a little deeper, opening you up farther for him. “billy. .” you say quietly, distantly aware of his cock pushing deeper than it’s supposed to be. a ragged groan pushes out of his chest in response, something pathetic and needing, like he’s groveling for it.

“billy,” you assert to the blank white ceiling, louder, trying to get him to stop his rocking. but a pang of pleasure shoots up your spine because he’s reached a little deeper this time, and you’re not sure if you want him to stop. this is always how it is with him, so confusing, like your nerves get crossed and the pathways to your brain are blocked by the boy above you.

he doesn’t pay you any mind, rocking father and farther. “ah-,” you breathe, cutting yourself off with a deep breath in as he starts to hit spots he’s only hit a handful of times before. it hurts, a little. the sensation has you squirming and bucking under him as he takes what he wants, forcing himself in and breaking down the barriers you’d set. he groans so prettily. you heat up, somewhat proud to be the source of his pleasure.

it’s rough, and you know it shouldn’t feel this good, but as your bed rocks under you and he fucks his cock deeper and deeper, you don’t know why you even tried to hold back. as he slides deeper, the pain intensifies, but ecstasy soon grasps it and merges with it, the two-sided feeling bringing you to the brink of insanity.

in his mind, billy thanks whoever’s listening as he listens to your sounds rise, listens to whines like you’ve been wounded, those pathetic, layered sounds, the kind he likes to hear from you. they’re the kind that blow his ego up, let him know that the hold he has on you is deep-rooted and ever-growing. he planted a seed of control in you the day you two met, and it’s been his absolute pleasure to water it every day.

finally, he’s as deep inside you as he can be, and he’s outright grinding into you, rolling his lean body down onto you while he looses low groans and grunts and heavy huffs. the discomfort that sits in the bottom of your belly has been relieved, turned into something that hurts in the best way. he feels good, even as your mind reels with the violation. he shouldn’t be doing this, a part of your mind tells you, but your body tells you that it’s fine.

you move with his movements, your body bumping up and down every time he bottoms out inside you. silvery whines fly out of your mouth every time his wiry hips meet yours, the force with which he fucks you tipping your whole being off balance.

it’s good. it’s so good. he’s good, hitting that one spot inside you that has you clawing at his back, your cells scrambling to find something to stabilize them. the sound of his body meeting yours fills the room and it’s heaven, in that moment you feel a new pathway being formed, something in you molds to herald billy loomis’s cock digging in you as gospel.

“shit,” you curse, utterly dumbfounded by pleasure. if billy asked you to give him everything you own right now, you’d say yes and ask if there’s anything else he wants with it. he can sense that in you, that devotion and yearning for him that’s begun to water itself without him having to do anything. you’ve forgotten what this even started out as.

when he moves his hand between the both of you and maneuvers under your clothes to rub hard at your clit, everything in you screams. from your mouth, you sob, your head falls sideways and you grip tight at him, eyes shutting down. he hums harshly. he wants you to come, and he wants you to come now.

and you do, for billy, you’ll come whenever he wants.

he follows soon after, slowing but never stopping his deep strokes.

after a beat of silence, he speaks.

“you okay?”

“yeah, i’m alright.” gratefully, in your voice, he no longer hears that barrier. finally, he’s broken you down.

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x black reader #billy loomis x fem!reader #mcondance 2024

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emmcfrxst · 1 year ago

Text

the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when i’m alone with you); arthur morgan x reader

word count: 2K

warnings: smut!, afab!reader, religious themes (kinda. a bitch loves blasphemy<3), oral (f!receiving), body worship (arthur worships the ground you walk on), multiple orgasms (again, f!receiving), expressively asking for consent because that’s sexy! also yes the title is a hozier reference! feedback is appreciated as always <333

!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!!

The wind blows softly over the half-closed lapels of the tent you and Arthur had set up somewhere around Dewberry Creek, your old, rusted lantern creaking as it sways with the night breeze. The flickering light does not seem to bother your companion, however, as he flattens his tongue over the seam of your cunt, moaning greedily into you. Arthur’s eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as your fingers tangle in his hair, giving the honey brown strands a sharp tug when he delivers a particularly hard suck to your pulsing clit. Your legs close around his head instinctively, trapping him between your thighs, tense muscles flexing against the sides of his face. A soft, breathy apology leaves your swollen lips, the pressure disappearing soon after as your lover pins your body down with calloused hands, brushing off your apology with a chuckle against your skin. You do not have anything to apologize for; Arthur Morgan, a man who has escaped death more than once, would gladly let himself be smothered by your cunt if it came to it. What a way to go that would be, he thinks. The closest to heaven’s gates he will ever get. And although Arthur isn’t a man of religion, he is more than willing to spend every day and every night praying at the altar that is your body, worshipping every inch of you with his eyes, his lips, his hands. Every kiss, every mark you leave on his skin is a holy reminder of the love shared between the two of you; of the passionate nights where Arthur can forget all about his sins and fully allow himself to be bathed in the sacred light of your affections.

“There you go, beautiful. Come back to me.” he coos at you, pushing hair out of your teary eyes, a tender grin on his face. His thumb gently runs under your eyes, wiping away the moisture there as you come back to your senses, focusing on his form above you. The sight of him is like a punch to the gut; blue irises swallowed up by fully dilated pupils, lips swollen and shining with the evidence of your previous orgasms, his beard is soaked through and his breathing ragged. You let your eyes wander down to where his bulge is straining against his union suit, biting your lip. The effect is immediate— his cock twitches under your sultry gaze, a soft groan leaving your lover’s throat.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Arthur warns lowly, calloused hands running over the bare skin of your thigh. You giggle, lifting yourself up to brush your lips against his, your hand running down his chest, feeling his muscles flex under your touch.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, the teasing curve of your smile betraying your oblivious act. Arthur glares at you playfully, hand coming down to squeeze your inner thigh.

“Like ye wanna do real bad things t’me.” He mutters, voice raspier than usual, dripping with arousal. Suppressing a grin, you sit up, letting your hands slide all the way down to cup him through his clothes, thumb gently pressing against the wet spot on his underwear. A sick sort of satisfaction fills you at Arthur’s reaction —pretty blue eyes fluttering closed, his lips part in a strangled moan, hips jutting forward, seeking more pressure. You allow him a few moments to bask in your touch, swirling your thumb around his tip through the fabric and cupping his balls, before taking your hands off of him, leaving him breathing heavily.

“Maybe I do wanna do real bad things to you, Mr Morgan.” you whisper against his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses over his pulse point. A satisfied little giggle leaves you when you hear him cursing under his breath, hips bucking upwards of their own volition. Your victory is short lived, however, as your lover pinches your clit in retaliation, making you cry out. Satisfied, a smug grin on his face, he finally bares himself to you, making your breath hitch. It isn’t the first time you see Arthur in all of his glory —far from it, really, but the sight of how strong, how capable he is always manages to steal the breath right from your lungs. Freckles adorn the robust planes of his shoulders, ascending all the way across the broadness of a back toned from years of hard work; a petite waist and powerful hips curve out into muscled thighs and chiseled calves— Arthur Morgan is truly a sight to behold. He flushes under your heated stare but says nothing —how wise of him, you think, for he knows by now that you would never allow him to look down on himself, not even under the pretense of a joke. You deserve better than the way you treat yourself, you’d told him a million times. And you’ll spend the rest of your life proving it— that he’s worth it, be it through words, comfort, actions or through the passionate entangling of your bodies and souls. Because sex is more than just that to the two of you; it is a way of communicating the love and the needs you have for one another— Arthur, so painstakingly touch starved before you came along, now revels in the physical familiarity you two share. From fleeting touches to lingering kisses, he simply cannot seem to get enough of you; he does not believe the longing in his heart could ever be quelled completely.

Trembling gasps leave the two of you as Arthur slides his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. Jolts of pleasure thrum through your body every time his tip bumps against your swollen clit, your soft cries of pleasure causing Arthur’s cock to twitch.

“Sweetheart, if you keep makin’ all them pretty noises it’s gonna be over b’fore it even starts.” His accent is thick and his voice is shaky, excited little tremors running through his body at your state of undoing —all because of him. He’s made a real mess out of the two of you; drenched, sweaty and needy — thick strips of your wetness clinging to Arthur’s lower abdomen, precum pearling over the tip of his cock and gliding down his length; yes, your lover is more than willing to drown himself in your shared desire, to indulge in the carnality of your bound. Wrapping a hand around himself, he groans behind clenched teeth, sensitive to the touch, fingers quickly getting wet from how thoroughly turned on he is. He, however, remains unashamed, having accepted long ago that he will never be in control when it comes to you —he has never felt so connected with another human being, be it physically, psychologically, mentally or emotionally and he no longer bothers trying to hide the way you make him feel.

Understood. Respected. Appreciated. Loved. Alive. He’d never felt so many emotions prior to meeting you. Had never felt so alive; had never wanted to keep going as much as he has since you walked into his life. You make it worth it.

Letting his lips brush along your brow line, Arthur curls the fingers of his free hand around one of your thighs, spreading you open for him.

“Ye still good? D’ye want me to stop?” He asks, blue eyes roaming over your bare form with tenderness, trying to assess the situation. Even with you soft, pliant and soaked underneath him, Arthur Morgan would never dare to make assumptions about your desires, would never be so single-minded as to claim you without expressed consent from your part. He needs to know you want this as much as he does, wants this to be good for you— he thrives on your pleasure and your pleasure alone; can only feel good if you are. It is one of the many reasons why you love him so deeply, but in your lusting daze, you find yourself too strung up to fully appreciate it.

“Arthur Morgan, if you stop now m’gonna kick your sorry ass—oh!” Your voice breaks off into a pitiful little whimper when his cock teases your entrance, a low, rumbling laugh leaving him.

“As you wish, m’lady.” He allows himself to be playful for a few moments longer, basking in the frustrated little furrow of your brows and your pouting lips before pushing inside in one smooth glide, aided by your shared arousal. Arthur curses under his breath as your cunt flutters around him, trying to adjust to his girth. The blunt ends of your nails leave crescent marks onto the broadness of his shoulders and Arthur clenches his jaw, doing his best to stay still and allow you a moment of reprieve from the sensations that overtake your body. Busying himself with leaving marks onto your skin, he soothes the spots where his teeth have dug into, lips moving from your neck to your chest to take a nipple into his mouth. The loud, broken mewl you let out at the action makes him shiver, goosebumps spreading all over his skin at the sound, but he continues to stay still, waiting for you to give him the permission to go on. It’s only when your legs wrap around his waist that he does finally let himself move, pulling himself almost all the way out before sliding back in with a quick snap of his hips. Another cry leaves your lips at the action, although this time sounding strangled, your cunt clenching around your lover’s cock at the delicious friction he provides you with. Your foot presses into the meat of his ass, encouraging him to go faster, deeper— a silent demand he is quick to indulge in. A series of loud, wet noises begin resounding around the two of you, only motivating Arthur on to thrust harder; your back arching up into him when he starts battering that one spot inside of you, rough fingers coming down to rub circles onto your clit. The moans pour freely from your mouth and into his as he kisses you, tongues tangling together in a messy, sloppy fight for dominance. You’re vaguely aware of the spit trickling down your chin but are far too gone to care; the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with every powerful snap of Arthur’s hips into yours. Already sensitive from your previous orgasms, you rake your nails down his back, trying to warn your lover of your impending climax. Alas, gargling moans are the only thing you can manage before you finally snap; vision going white, body going rigid under his, you repeat his name like a prayer as waves after waves of pleasure wash over you. Arthur isn’t far behind you, spurred on by your own release, a long, incredibly deep moan rumbling through his chest before he pulls out of you, sticky cum splattering across your stomach. Coming down from your high, you tuck a few strands of hair behind Arthur’s ears, fingers lingering on his face lovingly. He leans into your touch immediately, turning his head to press a gentle kiss into your palm, his body trembling with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

“Was…” He clears his throat, rolling off of you and pulling you along to rest on his chest. “Was that good f’r ya?” The gravelly tone of his voice cannot conceal the genuineness of his question, his fingers running down the length of your spine. It makes you smile— he makes you smile, your sweet cowboy. Shifting to look at him, you kiss him right over his heart, fondness warming your features.

“It was. It always is, with you. I love you.” And despite it not being the first time you utter those words— far from it, really— emotion still takes over Arthur’s heart and features, eyes shining with a sheen of tears.

Love. You love him.

No, Arthur Morgan may not be a religious man, and he remains unconvinced of God’s existence, but he does know one thing; you are his little piece of heaven on Earth.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fic #rdr2 fic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption 2 fic #red dead redemption 2 smut #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

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