#i want to write more in depth about this but too tired

[adelliet]

BOB’S SEX MANUAL

This is a general sexual manual for Bob Reynolds — what positions he prefers, which ones he tends to avoid, how he behaves during intimacy, all of that (and more) is detailed right here.

Warning: MDNI 18+. This text contains explicit sexual content, mentions of blood and menstruation, and other potentially sensitive topics.

A/n: Even though I tried to write this mostly through Bob’s eyes and feelings, keep in mind it’s still a subjective interpretation, obviously. Everyone’s free to have their own take on the character, so please don’t take every single word too seriously. After all, this is all just imagination :p

SEX POSITIONS

Missionary

Definitely one of his favorites.

Bob likes this position because he can see your face — every flutter of your eyelids, every tremor of pleasure that crosses your expression. It gives him a sense of connection, of reassurance that he’s doing it right. He’s not the overly dominant type, but he enjoys having just enough control to guide the pace, the rhythm, the depth.

In missionary, he takes his time. Slow, steady, deep. He doesn’t rush. He watches you unravel beneath him, eyes rolling back, breath catching, until your body arches up to meet his, wordless and wanting. He kisses you between thrusts, touches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

To Bob, it’s not just sex, it’s intimacy, and in this position, it’s personal.

Doggy Style

Unlike missionary, this one doesn’t rank high on his list.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the physical part, it’s just that he misses you. In this position, he can’t see your face. He can’t watch your reactions or gauge if that low moan meant more or less. That disconnect messes with his head.

He prefers to feel you emotionally as much as physically, and doggy style puts a wall between those two things.

You’re usually the one who suggests it, and when you do, he doesn’t say no. He goes along with it, hands firm on your hips, following your lead. But the whole time, a part of him aches to turn you around, pull you close, and see you again.

Because for Bob, the pleasure is in the connection and doggy, for all its intensity, just feels a little too distant.

Cowgirl

He loves this. Absolutely adores it.

The way he gets to just lie back and watch you, watch the way you move on top of him, how your body responds, how you take control. There’s something about the confidence in your hips, the heat in your eyes when you ride him face to face, that completely unravels him.

He can touch you however he wants — your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your face. It’s all right there, and you’re the one calling the shots. And he lives for that. Sure, when you start to tire, he’s more than happy to take over, but until then? He lets you do what you want with him.

That loss of control mixed with your gaze locked on his, it’s lethal. He almost never lasts long like this.

Reverse Cowgirl

Same problem as doggy. He can’t see your face.

You might try this once or twice, maybe out of curiosity or just to spice things up, but Bob? He doesn’t really feel it.

Yes, the view is incredible — he’s not blind, he adores your ass, and watching you move on top of him like that is ridiculously hot. But it’s also distant. He can’t read you. Can’t see the flickers of pleasure, the little half-smiles, the clenched teeth.

He misses you in this position.

So while he’ll go along with it, he’ll probably suggest switching to something more intimate before long, something where he can feel more connected, more grounded in you.

Spooning

Hell yes. This one’s for those soft, sleepy nights, when one of you is too tired to move much, but still craving that closeness.

He pulls you in, arms around you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held — and to him, you are. His hips do all the work, but his heart is in your neck, breathing you in, pressing tiny, shivering kisses against your skin.

You moan, and he shudders. You gasp, and he feels it. Always so gentle, but so needy at the same time. He clutches you tighter, burying his face in your shoulder, as if the world might end if he lets go.

It’s not just about sex in this position — it’s about being close, staying close, needing you. And when he finishes he doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, like he never wants to stop.

Lotus

YES. Yes. A thousand times yes.

There’s something about being tangled together like that — skin to skin, faces close, legs wrapped, breath mingling. It’s not just sex, it’s devotion. Bob thrives in that closeness.

Your thighs draped around him, your hands in his hair, your forehead brushing his, he feels like you’re inside his soul.

The movements are small, subtle, almost lazy, but the tension is unbearable. Every tiny thrust, every twitch of your hips or squeeze of your thighs sends shivers down his spine. But what really drives him over the edge isn’t the movement. It’s you.

Your eyes. The sound of your breath. The way you bite your lip when he pushes just a little deeper.

And because you’re the one in control, moving at your pace, choosing the rhythm, he gets to watch, to feel. And he always, always, finishes fast in this one. Not because of friction but because of the feeling.

Standing

Usually, against a wall.

This one doesn’t happen often but when it does, it’s because things have boiled over. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe he is. Maybe neither of you can't wait the five seconds it would take to find a bed. Clothes half-on, half-off. Breathless. Urgent.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms clutching his shoulders for balance. His hands are firm on your thighs, supporting you while he thrusts into you, slow at first, testing the limits of balance and breath. Then harder and faster.

He presses you to the wall like he’s trying to fuse you with it, and for once, he feels powerful and confident

He bites your neck, kisses your jaw, groans into your skin like he’s losing his mind. And in that wild chaos, with the door half open and the hallway spinning, he feels alive. He owns that moment and he loves how you let him.

Sex During Menstruation

This isn’t something that happens all the time between you and Bob, but it’s also not something either of you treat like a taboo. If anything, Bob sees it as a very human, very intimate kind of vulnerability — one that he’s more than willing to meet with kindness, patience, and genuine desire.

He never pressures you, and he would never suggest it outright. Not because he’s uncomfortable with it, but because he understands how different menstruation can feel from person to person, even from day to day. Some cycles leave you drained and sore; others might actually make you feel more sensitive and in the mood. Bob knows that.

So if you do suggest it, his only answer is a gentle, “Are you sure?” followed by a kiss that says he’s already on board. From that moment, you’re in his care.

He moves a little slower than usual, touches you a little more consciously, and stays deeply tuned in to how your body responds. If there’s any sign of discomfort, he stops immediately, no questions asked, no disappointment. But if you’re moaning and pulling him closer? He’ll give you everything.

There’s no disgust in his eyes. No flinching. No pulling away if his hands or thighs or anything else get messy. It doesn’t bother him. In fact, it kind of fuels something deeper in him, a need to show you that you’re loved and desired at all times, not just when you’re ‘neat’ or ‘presentable.’ His hands may be streaked red, the sheets a little ruined, but none of that matters.

Physically, the sex itself tends to be slower, more sensual. There’s a sense of care woven into every movement. Sometimes, it’s spooning or missionary with a towel underneath, and sometimes it’s you riding him because you feel more in control that way. Either way, Bob focuses less on orgasm and more on the closeness of it all.

If you’re feeling insecure about the mess, he’ll reassure you with little gestures: a kiss to your temple, a soft “I don’t care” whispered against your shoulder, or even a low laugh as he helps clean up afterward, like it’s no big deal, just another part of being woman, and a reason to keep a backup set of sheets.

Emotionally, Bob seems almost softer afterward. Like sex during your period unlocks something even more protective in him. He’ll pull you in close, rub small circles on your back, and look at you with that quiet awe he gets when he realizes just how much he loves you, and how much you trust him. That trust means more to him than anything.

ORAL POSITIONS

Sixty-nine (69)

Bob is more of a giver, always has been. That’s why sixty-nine overwhelms him a little.

Your lips wrapped around him while he’s trying to focus on pleasuring you? It’s almost too much.

He’s not the one to suggest this. It’s just not in his nature. But if you bring it up and want to try it? He won’t say no. He’ll try it for you.

Still, it’s hard for him to focus when you’re making him feel good at the same time. When he’s between your thighs, he wants to give you 100%. He wants to lose himself in your taste, your reactions, your sounds, but when he’s getting pleasure too, he gets distracted.

Your mouth is too warm. He groans into your body and his rhythm falters. Also, sixty-nine takes energy and coordination. And let’s be honest, Bob’s stamina lies in his heart, not in gymnastics.

So while he might try it, enjoy it even, he’s not exactly a fan. He’d rather lie you down and worship you without any distractions.

Face sitting

Now this? This is heaven for Bob.

When you sit on his face, you become his whole world. He’s always loved giving you pleasure, and here, you’re in control, but he’s the one doing all the work.

Your thighs around his head. Your heat against his mouth. The sound of your breath, the way your hips start to shake. He loves every second. He holds your hips or your ass, grounding himself like he’s trying not to float away. Sometimes he pulls you closer, sometimes he steadies you when your legs tremble.

And when you look down and lock eyes with him? His pupils go wide. His grip tightens. And honestly, he has come from that alone more than once. Even when you’re shy at first, worried you might hurt him or that it’s “too much”, Bob’s only response is more.

Once your knees sink down fully and you really let go, Bob is in his element. He doesn’t even care if he can breathe. He just wants to make you fall apart on his tongue.

And after the first time, you’ll catch him glancing up at you with those soft eyes and that little hopeful smile, silently asking:

“Again?”

Standing Oral

When Bob wants to make you come, he prefers you to let go. No pressure. No overthinking. Just pleasure. That’s why, even if you start off standing, he won’t let you stay that way for long.

As soon as he notices your knees start to give out, his hands are already on your thighs. Gently, like he’s handling silk. He lifts your legs up and settles them onto his shoulder.

He adores the way your fingers tangle in his hair. The quiet gasps. The not-so-quiet moans. The heat that spreads from your hips to his lips. It takes strength, yes. But it’s not about the posture for Bob. It’s about the fact that you’re losing control. And nothing makes him harder than knowing he’s the reason.

Sometimes, he catches glimpses of you in a short, tight dress and his brain short-circuits. He thinks about the taste of you for hours. Until finally, you’re alone, and he can kneel down and indulge like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Lying Oral

This is foreplay, but with intention.

Bob wants to be sure. That before anything else happens, you’re fully taken care of. Because he knows sex doesn’t always end in a climax for you, and that’s not acceptable to him. Not if he can help it. So he takes his time.

Lying between your thighs, flat on the bed, he’s in his element. His hands explore your hips, your stomach, your inner thighs, grounding himself while his tongue explores you.

From below, he looks up at you through his lashes and his messy hair, and God, he looks starved. Some nights, it’s so overwhelming you have to stop him. He listens. Usually.

But there are moments when your legs are trembling and your hands are shaking — where he keeps going anyway. Gently, slowly, but deliberately. And when you come on his tongue, he moans like he’s the one finishing.

Then there was that first time. You squirting, panicking afterwards. His whole face was soaked and you apologized, flustered and horrified.

But Bob just laughed, pulled you close and told you it was okay. Because inside he was glowing. Because he made that happen. And he’s never, ever, forgotten it.

Oral from behind

This one… is complicated.

Because Bob loves how you look from behind. The arch of your back. The way your thighs shake. The soft sounds falling from your lips. He loves how open you are to him — how vulnerable, exposed, trusting.

But.

He can’t see your face. And for Bob, as already being said, that’s a problem. He needs to see your expression. To read the way your brows knit, the way your mouth parts when something feels especially good, the way your eyes roll back when he hits the right spot. That’s his feedback. Without it, he spirals.

“Am I going too hard? Too soft?”

“Is she bored?”

“Did she just twitch or did she flinch?”

He hates not knowing. So this position is rare. Something you maybe try once in a while, on a wild night, when you’re both a little drunk, laughing and stumbling into bed. He’ll go down on you like that, pulling your hips back with shaky hands, mouth wet and eager, but even as he moans into you, there’s this part of him that’s hyperaware of not seeing you.

You can feel it in the way he pulls away just to ask, “Is that okay?”

Even when you’re moaning yes, he doesn’t look convinced. It’s not about performance, it’s about connection. Bob’s not the kind of guy who gets off on your body alone (mostly). He needs your soul, your face, your breath against his skin. So while this isn’t off the table, it’s more of a sometimes thing, a playful experiment, and that’s okay. Because Bob always finds his way back to your front, where he can look you in the eyes and absolutely ruin you.

Period Oral

This is not something Bob initiates on his own, not because he finds it repulsive or shameful, but simply because he respects your body and knows that this time of the month can come with discomfort, pain, or just the desire to be left alone. If you don’t bring it up, he won’t either. But if you do? If you even hint that you’d like him to go down on you despite your period, he’ll be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked, no hesitation, and absolutely no judgment.

He’s not squeamish in the slightest. In fact, he sees it as just another part of your body and your cycle — something natural, human, and beautiful in its own way. For Bob, it’s not about the blood; it’s about you. If this is what your body is going through, then he wants to honor that. He wants to be close to you even when you don’t feel at your best, especially when you don’t feel at your best.

Of course, he’s a lot more careful in how he approaches it. His touches are gentler, his tongue softer, and his pace much slower. You’ll never feel rushed or pushed into anything, in fact, he constantly watches your face, gauging your reactions, making sure you’re still comfortable, still enjoying it. He’s particularly mindful of cramps or sensitivity, often asking quietly if it still feels good, and adjusting immediately if you need something different.

He understands that for many people, the experience can feel messy or insecure, but Bob never once makes you feel that way. Not even a glance of discomfort, not a single shift in his tone or expression. If anything, his reverence for you only seems to increase. His voice gets quieter, his hands steadier, and there’s an undeniable warmth in how he looks at you, like he’s honored that you trust him enough to let him be intimate with you during a moment that many would hide away.

That said, this is not a go-to position for him. It happens on occasion, maybe when you’re both feeling emotionally close, or if you admit that the pressure in your lower belly makes gentle oral feel amazing, or if you’re tipsy and craving the closeness without much else. He doesn’t push for it, and it’s not something he would do casually or spontaneously. It needs to be mutual, intentional and grounded in comfort and trust.

And even though he’s done it more than once, every time still feels like a new act of connection to him. One that he treats with tenderness, care, and a deep emotional understanding that proves, once again, that with Bob, there are no conditions to his desire for you.

Switch up (You giving Bob)

As it’s been said, and there’s no point arguing about it, Bob is a giver. He’ll offer you everything he has — his hands, his mouth, his fingers, his cock… All in devotion to your pleasure. It’s almost like he forgets himself in the process, like the only thing that matters is you moaning his name.

But sometimes the cards get switched, and just as much as he loves giving to you, you love giving back. You want to see him unravel. You want to hear him gasp, cry your name and whine like a pathetic man. And there’s nothing more satisfying than watching Bob fall apart under your touch.

When you go down on him before he’s had the chance to touch you, before he’s made sure you’ve come at least once, it kind of short-circuits his brain. He gets this guilty, flustered panic in his eyes, like he owes you now. And he will repay that favor. Twice over. With fingers, tongue, hips —whatever it takes to make you come harder than you thought possible.

Still, Bob loves your mouth. That warm, wet heat around him. Your soft lips stretched just perfectly. And your eyes — oh God, your eyes. You always look up at him, so innocent, so sweet, while doing something so sinful. That contrast drives him crazy. His hands will instantly find your hair, but he never pushes. He’s not forceful. He doesn’t like violence, especially in situations like this.

Sometimes, his hips twitch forward, instinct taking over for just a second, and he always apologizes. He never wants to make you uncomfortable. Pleasure should never be taken, it should be shared. He believes that deeply.

But when you wrap your lips around him with that look in your eyes, like you’re about to ruin him, he doesn’t last long. Three minutes, maybe. On a good day. Because with you on your knees, mouth full of him, Bob forgets how to breathe. And when you swallow him whole with that perfect, wicked grin, he sees stars.

POWERS vs SEX

Most of the time, Bob keeps his eyes tightly shut when he comes, but if they do open, even for a second, you can see it. A flicker of gold. Not just a reflection or a trick of the light. It glows inside him, and it only lasts a second before he crushes his eyes shut again, almost ashamed of letting it slip through. This thing leaks out of him in moments of overwhelming feeling. Especially when he’s inside you and when he’s close.

Sometimes, Bob loses control, but only for a moment. You’ll feel his fingers dig in a little too hard, his grip becoming tighter than he intended. It leaves small bruises on your thighs, hips, wrists. Nothing dramatic, nothing that lasts more than a few hours or days. They’re always in places hidden beneath clothes. You don’t mind, in fact, part of you likes it. You call them marks of affection, signs that he was there. But Bob panics.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear. I wasn’t trying to—I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? Let me see—please, let me see…”

He touches them so gently, as if his fingers could undo what his strength caused. He looks so guilty, eyes wide and glassy, barely holding back tears.

“What if I really hurt you, and I don’t even realize?”

And you always soothe him — hold his cheeks, kiss him, reassure him that you’re okay, that you trust him, with everything. Still, he carries the guilt like a scar no one can see.

Then there’s what happens every time he comes, without fail. The lights flicker, lamps stutter, sometimes they die completely. But just for a moment, before they flare back to life. As if the electricity in the room can’t handle what’s burning through Bob’s body.

Once he fried the power grid of the entire building. All because of how hard he came inside you. You both laughed about it later, wrapped in the dark, hearts still racing. But Bob never truly relaxes about these things. He’s always afraid he’ll go too far, break something, burn someone, burn you.

Even fabric isn’t safe. If he grips the sheets too hard, they sometimes ignite — just a flicker, a flash of heat that curls the edges and smells like smoke. You’ve gotten used to it. You don’t even flinch anymore. You’ve got backup sheets folded in the closet, so it's no big deal at all. Not because you’re careless. But because you understand him.

Robert Reynolds isn’t dangerous. He’s just powerful. And in your arms, when he feels safe, when he feels loved, he lets himself feel everything. And sometimes the world around you just can’t quite keep up.

BONUS

Tits or Ass?

Truth is, Bob adores every part of you — and he shows it. He’ll spend just as much time burying his face between your breasts as he does grabbing handfuls of your hips, thighs, and curves. He’s not picky. To him, your body is a gift, and he treats it like one.

But if you watch closely, the signs are there. The way his hands almost automatically slide down to your ass when he hugs you. How his grip tightens there when he’s deep inside you. How often he sneaks glances at your backside when you walk ahead of him in nothing but a t-shirt.

He might not admit it, but there’s a subtle obsession, a craving for the shape, the softness, the power you hold in your hips. So while he’s absolutely a worshipper of the whole temple… he definitely has a favorite pew.

Dominant or Submissive?

Bob is naturally submissive. Not because he lacks confidence or desire, but because he finds genuine pleasure in surrendering to you. He loves being guided, touched, praised. He loves the way your voice gets low when you tell him what to do, and how your hands feel when they’re holding him down or pulling him closer. The idea of being wanted that badly lights up something in him that he rarely shows anyone else.

He gives control freely, not out of weakness but out of trust. That doesn’t mean he’s incapable of dominance, he can surprise you in moments of overwhelming need, but those are exceptions, not the rule.

Most nights, Bob is the type to lay back, lips parted, eyes soft, silently begging you to ruin him. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Loud or Quiet?

Bob lives in that golden middle, not loud in volume, but incredibly expressive in sound. He breathes heavily against your neck. He lets out these shaky, breathless gasps when he’s close.

Sometimes, you catch him whispering your name like it’s sacred, like if he stops saying it, he might fall apart completely.

But above all, Bob’s a whimperer. Quiet, broken little noises that slip out of him without permission. They’re high-pitched and desperate, often choked off by kisses or your movements. And every time you hear one, it’s like a shot straight to your core.

He also talks — not constantly, but enough to drive you insane. Little muttered praises, desperate pleas, and sometimes even full confessions whispered hotly into your skin.

Kinks or Soft Limits?

Bob isn’t someone who seeks extremes when it comes to sex.

He doesn’t actively crave things like bondage, roleplay, or toys — not because he judges them, but because they don’t naturally align with how he connects. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try something new if you were curious.

If you asked, if you genuinely wanted to explore something, he’d follow your lead. He might be hesitant at first, unsure if he’s doing it right, but he’d try, not out of kink, but out of love. Out of a deep, burning desire to understand and satisfy you.

But ultimately, Bob’s not in it for thrills or fantasies. He’s in it for you.

Aftercare?

Aftercare is sacred to Bob — not because it’s a routine, but because it’s when he feels the most needed. He has this instinctive drive to take care of you, to make sure you feel safe. It makes him feel useful, which is important for someone who sometimes struggles with his self-worth.

If you’re still lucid and alert after sex, he’ll gently help you into the shower, wash your body like it’s made of glass, and dry you off with infinite tenderness. He’ll even comb through your hair if you let him.

And if you’re too exhausted to move, that’s okay too. He wraps you in blankets, makes sure you’re warm, and holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat slow. Cuddles are always non-negotiable. It’s where he lets go of any guilt, any worry. It’s where he gets to whisper that he loves you without having to say it out loud.

Turn-Ons vs Turn-Offs?

Bob’s biggest turn-on… is you. It’s really that simple.

Your voice, the way you carry yourself, how you tease him with just a glance, it drives him wild. He’s obsessed with the shape of your mouth when you talk, the way you smell, even how your fingers move when you’re distracted. If you’re wearing something he likes — tight clothes, short skirts, soft pajamas, or just his t-shirt, his brain goes blank.

On the flip side, his turn-offs are more situational than specific. He doesn’t respond well to coldness, disinterest, or anything that feels overly performative. He needs to feel wanted, genuinely, not just physically. Without that, he loses his fire.

How He Reacts to Teasing?

Early on, teasing leaves Bob flustered. He’ll smile shyly, play along with a nervous laugh, and maybe pretend not to notice just how much you’re affecting him. He tries to act cool, but his ears go red and his eyes dart away.

But as time goes on and his confidence builds, the dynamic shifts. He starts giving it back. He learns how to play your game, maybe not as boldly as you do, but with his own style. He performs — for you and because of you.

Public or Semi-Public Sex?

Bob is not someone who would ever suggest anything public on his own. The idea of being caught, of doing something so vulnerable in a place that isn’t private, makes him nervous. His anxiety spikes just thinking about someone walking in.

But he also has limits. And if the desire is overwhelming, if you lean in and whisper in his ear, if your hands wander beneath the table, if you give him that look, he might just break.

Especially if it’s somewhere more hidden, more ‘semi’ than public: a locked dressing room, photo booth, a quiet parking lot. He wouldn’t do it often, but when it happens, it’s frantic.

Quickies vs Long Sessions?

Bob is in it for the long haul. Always.

Quickies might happen, rushed mornings, late-night cravings, but they’re never his preference. He wants time. Time to worship, to explore, to learn your body again and again. Sex with Bob isn’t about efficiency; it’s about intensity. He wants to take you apart slowly, piece by piece, and put you back together in his arms.

He lingers. He kisses like it’s the last time. He touches like he’s trying to memorize you.

A ‘quick one’ could leave him unsatisfied emotionally, like he didn’t get to give you everything he wanted to. And that’s what he’s here for. Not just the pleasure, but the act of giving it to you.

If you enjoyed reading this manual, I’d really appreciate any kind of support, whether it’s a reblog, comment, note, follow, or even suggestions. I’m always open to ideas, so feel free to reach out!

And if you really liked it, I might just write one of these for other characters too 👀

Thank you so much for reading!

Have a lovely day!

BYEEE!!!🪻

[oilith]

I find it interesting how in s1 eda seems to be the childish one out of the two sisters, but if you think about it lilith is actually extremely childish, much more than eda

[burymagdalene]

A Closed Mouth Doesn't get Fed - S. Reid x Reader

When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (nobody's shocked) 18+ pls pls, always fluffy when they're in love! tags: softdom!spencer ("soft", I need to invent subdom!spencer), he's a bit sassy, established relationship, wet dream, sleepy sex, pining, fingering, praise, teasing, piv sex, creampie, Spencer at your beck and call! wc: 4.3k a/n: Kind of stream of conscious & self serving smut. I always see Spencer's pov of a wet dream & wanted to write about the other side of it! Enjoy!

The plastic straw currently placed between your lips has been chewed into a nearly completely flat state as you sit across from Spencer at dinner. Looking into his more-tired-than-usual eyes, you listen to him drowsily recount some memorable moments from the case he just got back from. 

There’s a single dangling light above you two that's pouring out a muted yellow that combined with the ugly grass mat wall beside you is making the dinner after Spencer’s case finishes rushed and antsy. You want to go home, give him a proper welcoming back, but he just looks so tired. 

You try to pull your sprite through the straw, but it seems you popped a hole into its side with your incessant nibbling, causing the pull to be drawn out and emit a sound close to sucking in air, you sigh and pull away from it.

“You really did a number on that straw,” Spencer chuckles, ��you know, I’m surprised you’re seeking sensory feedback in that manner, usually when you’re anxious you fiddle with the wrapper.” He smiles at you warmly.

You’re actually not anxious at all. Spencer’s voice has this way of subtly getting more used and spent after he’s been gone and awake for a while. A meditative hum in the bottom of this throat he gets with exhaustion that sounds eerily similar to the voice he uses in your ear when he’s praising the way you can take all of him or when he’s realised he has to ask you where he can finish too close to when he’s almost tipping over the edge.

“Hm?” He poses again, squinting at your glossed over eyes. 

“Oh! Sorry, no. No, I'm not feeling anxious. It just feels nice. I… can’t finish my drink now though.” 

Spencer reaches over and pulls out your ravaged straw, plopping it in his empty water cup and moving his straw to your cup, continuing his story like his minute display of tender attentiveness didn’t curl your toes slightly in your shoes.

You sip your drink until the cups' empty noises are too loud to continue trying to get anything out of it and your oral satisfaction for the night finally comes to a close as you fidget looking at your boyfriend with zero alleviation.

The rest of your night progresses painfully slowly as the inner turmoil of arousal swirling in your belly gets increasingly hard to navigate ignoring.  

When you look at how Spencer holds his steering wheel (loosely while the wheel slides itself through his palms on a turn) driving you back while rain thuds steadily at the windshield you want to lean your head out of the window for a wake up call. 

When you walk into his apartment that you haven’t seen since he’s left right beside him like it's both of yours you consider, in-depth, the grisly intimate details of domesticity. More specifically, a future shared bed between you two where he’s slowly sliding his dripping cum back into you with his fingers after he pulls out. Baby (making) fever.

It’s a plague of the most impure of heart ideas. You think, if he gave you a penny for your thoughts he would stare at you in eerie silence until you begged for mercy.

You could beg for mercy.

You want to roll your eyes at yourself, you have to wash this day off.

In bed you prop your chin on Spencer’s shoulder and gaze over the case file he’s been studying relentlessly. You feel a bit guilty when you consider closing the file for him to move into a straddle, better yet, when you consider gently rubbing his bulge from overtop his linen pajama pants until he’s whimpering and can't focus on the details anymore.

You’ve never felt so tongue-tied around Spencer than how you do right now. Realistically, you know that if you initiated anything he would either happily agree or kindly decline, not an end of the world situation. Your eyes linger over to his hands and you pull away and lay down sighing.

Internally you suppose that you don’t want to make him feel bad for potentially being too tired or paint yourself as a partner who doesn’t notice and understand your boyfriends cues for looking sleepy and engrossed in his work. You don’t want to be a burden, ultimately.

So you keep your mouth shut and stare silently at the ceiling and toss from side to side while Spencer continues his work by the lamplight.

“What’s up, wiggle worm?” Spencer smiles while keeping his eyes locked on his case. 

You can’t help but grin at the bit of attention he’s still giving you. Knowing that even after his long day today Spencer cannot resist his magnetism towards you, noticing your every move.

“Too bored to be tired,” you mumble out with your eyes closed “I feel like I have one more activity in me today…” You’re almost too subtle and cryptic with it that Spencer’s social cues skip over your bait. 

Turning his head to you he pets the top of your head and smiles a dopey smile at you, a sight for sore eyes after scanning over his case for too long.

 “Do you want me to make you some tea? I might have green, oh, I guess that’s caffeinated–” 

“Mm-mm.” you non-reply “I’m just going to try to sleep, keep working.” 

Spencer hums and places the hand he was petting you with to your cheek as you lay on your side facing him, his palm working as another layer to the pillow you’re resting on, his thumb (though pinned between your cheek and the pillow) softly caresses you as he shifts the file to his non-dominant hand. 

With his touch acting as a personalized bottle of melatonin, you drift off into a light and lucid slumber, strange waves and blotches of color bursting behind your eyelids in place of your typical dreams. 

This feels way better than a typical dream.

Whatever pink apparition that’s keeping your brain in a sludged malleable state feels exceptionally good. Despite the cold sweat that's pricking up on the back of your neck making you feel akin to a slab of meat in a pressure cooker, this state is leaving your heart racing.

Even the blanket you have wrapped around you feels better, smells better. Hey, you think to yourself, this smells like Spencer. You press your face into it further, the burning intrusion of Spencer’s detergent, the stale cologne left on his collarbones filling your senses almost overwhelmingly.

Too scared to actually tell Spencer how you wanted him earlier must’ve had your brain illustrate its own ghostly representative of what you wanted from him before bed. 

You wrap your legs around the blanket a bit more now. There’s an instinctual roll of your hips that is haywired into your anatomy whenever you feel a similar Spencer-induced haze when you’re awake so you naturally feel implied to go with your muscle memory.

Slow rolls of pleasure throb up your spine like someone is massaging measured passes into your back. Your hips take on a circular motion now, the up and down grinding you had set in place earlier taking too much energy. 

You’re not a stranger to sex dreams. You find yourself painstakingly alone from time to time with the line of work Spencer is engaged in. You dream about him every day of the week regardless, so from time to time you get rewarded with a nearly satisfying dream that takes his spot.

However, Spencer is not gone right now. What you’re experiencing currently is a production of your pent up sexual frustration because you were too shy to let out a reserved beg for your boyfriend to fuck you. 

The pleasure you’re face to face with at this moment has a larger and more embodied sensation than what you’ve experienced prior. Your hands tremble slightly around the blanket you have been rocking yourself against, and you feel whips of pleasure stemming from your gut that is abnormal to these sex dreams.

You just feel so fucking good.

You feel this good when the brutal summer heat overtakes the capabilities of your AC at your apartment and you lazily grind over Spencer on your couch, both riddled with heat exhaustion. You feel this good when you take a midday nap after work with Spencer and wake up humping your mattress with a breathless laugh. You feel this good when Spencers delicate hands lines up his dick with you and teases your clit with it before fucking you slowly.

This particular lucid sex dream is unlike the rest because funnily enough the blanket you’ve subjected your unhurried grinding on sort of feels like it’s pressing back at you, like it's gained sentience in order to get you off. 

The generous veil of sleepy delirium takes up all your senses in such a robust way that the air you’re sucking into your lungs isn’t satisfying you. You gasp in a breath and your eyes crack open a sliver.

You try to blink away the reality you’ve woken up to, trying to savor any last semblance of your raving sticky pleasure before the unmeasurable embarrassment catches up to you.

What you thought was your soft blanket that was supplying you unwavering delirious pleasure, was actually the thigh of your boyfriend, whom you had made a concerted effort to leave alone when you were awake. 

One hand is tightly fisting his pajama shirt (a black shirt with FBI written on the pocket) with so much fervor that his midriff is exposed and the slight hairs leading from his happy trail are exposed to where you look down between your bodies. 

Frozen in fear and embarrassment you keep your body posed in the same position it was in motion as a mere minute ago, the position so delightful that you let out a whine when halting your movements. 

You glance at the undeniable tent in his pants before you brave yourself by looking up at Spencer’s face for the first time since using his left thigh as relief for your pent up sexual urges. 

Spencer has his case file closed with one of his thumbs holding his spot and is staring directly down at your face, eyes almost black with the lack of light reaching the front of his face.

The lamp is still on and he hasn’t really moved much since you fell asleep. In fact, his hand that was softly against your cheek is still there, albeit a bit more damp with drool than it was when you fell asleep. It probably hasn’t even been an hour since you said goodnight. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to spiral into anxiety over how to apologize to him when Spencer speaks first.

“I-I didn’t know if I should’ve woken you up… I assumed you would have woken up when you-” His words sound faint and trail off as if your sleepy grinding and grabbing did a number on him and wasn’t an annoyance. 

“I’m so sorry.” You rasp out, peeling your hips away from his leg, feeling a sticky resistance between where your cunt and sleep shorts meet. 

“Why?” He pinches his eyebrows slightly at you in genuine confusion and the dialogue between you pauses for a moment. You’re scanning his face for any discomfort and just find his regular big beggy doe eyes. Oh.

“You would’ve let me come?” You ask blearily back at his first words to you. 

“Wh-...why would I not let you come?” The corner of his mouth lifts in a tired and flustered smile at the way you’re acting like wanting to fuck your boyfriend is a crime charged on multiple separate counts. “What were you dreaming about?” 

Spencer is still wearing his doe eyes but his tone switches to a probing tune similar to the greasy way guys have asked you to play 21 questions in the past, but in this case it’s making you pull away the bottom of your shorts stuck to you as you push your thighs together. 

“Nothing even,” your voice gets meek with confusion. “Bunch of shapes and colors moving around.” You meet his gentle gaze. 

You’ve seemed to have stunned him a bit. Spencer has spent many nights dreaming of your naked figure in less than appropriate ways, the way his skin is prickling at the thought of you returning that experience fizzles his brain.

Surely the case can be looked over intently tomorrow with fresh eyes?

“Uhh,” he clears his throat, “do you want me to touch you?”

Normally this would be his first response but he’s exhausted and his brain is mush from the long day he had. He’s back to his old factory settings from when you first started dating.

“Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it nonstop today, actually.”

Now this does not make sense to Spencer. 

“You didn’t mention anything?” He looks down to try to retrace your conversations from the day, scanning to see any missed memos or innuendos he might’ve missed. Nothing?

“No… I mean, you’re so tired! You’re working so hard! I didn’t want to… I dunno.”

Spencer briefly considers looking around the corners of his rooms for prank cameras. 

“You were worried about bothering me? Bothering… me? With… you?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

You laugh slightly at his perturbed words and cover your face with your hands. “Didn’t wanna say something and make you feel obligated or anything.”

“You didn’t–” he pauses briefly, his sassy irritability coming up in place of chiding laughter. 

Spencer looks down once more at your face, his own hard on, the image of you moments prior grasping onto him, drooling on him while getting off because you’re pent up from being too polite to mount him. His perfect angel, suffering in silence. A closed mouth really doesn’t get fed.

He leans down and starts kissing you sloppily immediately, the only way he knows how really. Can barely harness his desire when he feels his open mouth against yours. You breathe out your nose like you can’t believe you got here finally.

Hands gripping the back of your neck and side of your face, you were not prepared to go from your “I have to keep my hands to myself” mindset to “I can’t even tell where his hands are on me” so quickly. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s whimpering into your mouth before you, fully laying all of his weight on you like a big dog that still thinks it's a lap puppy. With his precedent put in place, you follow willingly, a trail of small “ah’s” are moaned back at him.

You haven’t shaken off your sleep fully, the room is so dim and Spencer is so warm that the only real difference between right now and your dream is that Spencers rolling his hard dick against the hem of your pajama shorts.

Trailing the tip of your tongue lightly against the roof of Spencer's mouth he huffs out a shocked whine like you did something unfair and pulls back to look at you with tunnel vision.

“How do you want it?” He pants hard.

“Mmf. However.” You’re a bit sick of mulling over the logistics and just want to skip to feeling the expanse of his back under your fingers.

“You’ve had all this time thinking about it and you can’t tell me how you imagined me taking you?”

He’s pulled back fully now, pushing his linen pants down just enough so that his cock pops above it and he wastes no time taking it into his palm. He’s being needy enough that you’d think he was the one tormented with sex dreams, but you’d never complain about his attachment to you. 

It makes your throat dry. The lamp illuminates him in such a picturesque way you’d consider directing a movie scene just like it. Your clit throbs again as a painful reminder of where you are.

“I want it slow.” You sigh out as you watch him palm the very thing you’ve been fantasizing about for the six hours you’ve been together today.

“You want it slow… what?”

“Stop it.” You’re too frazzled by him right now, he knows. Deep down you know you’re going to have to ask properly after dancing around it all day.

Spencer smiles and his jaw drops an inch in pleasure as he starts twisting his fist around the head of his dick now. 

Okay! Maybe you can give into his teasing a bit.

“I want it slow, please.” 

You feel hot with embarrassment immediately but as soon as it comes it dissipates when Spencer gasps and pulls his hand off himself with a displeased grunt. He takes your jaw into his hands as he lays on top of you to kiss you again, the angle of your jaw is being smeared with whatever precum he got on his palm.

Moving your hand between both of your bodies to get to the top of your shorts was slow and crushing as neither of you wanted to part from the other long enough to expedite its trip down.

Nevertheless, Spencer can hear every tiny noise and breath of pleasure you let out in situations like these and props himself to the side on one of his hands as the other brazenly pulls your shorts quickly down from the middle of them where the hem was pressing against your clit.

The ferocity of the cold air that meets your folds is your first indicator of how wet you’re going to be for this. How much Spencer is going to be cooing in awe of you in 3...2…

“Jesus Christ.” 

Your eyes follow to where he’s looking but it's too dark from where you’re lying to truly take in how wet you look, you just know how you feel. And you feel achingly ready.

“Baby, I just can’t believe how wet you get. For me.”

He’s turning himself on with his own words as you plop your head back down to the pillow to squeeze your eyes shut as if to bat away how good his praise feels. Come to think of it, you don’t really think it’s been mentioned in the many conversations you’ve had about likes and dislikes, yet Spencer wields his words like a heavy axe every time.

You jolt when the pads of his pointer and ring finger rub slightly at your opening, gauging with touch how much wetness he’s going to be inside momentarily. Soon later he trails up to circle your clit and when you moan in response he gives the sight of his fingers against you a toothy grin.

The stretch those same fingers give you have your thighs opening up lazily, up to your sides when they usually strain to shut at the too-pleasureable sensation. Even the cells in your legs and the neurons in your brain are begging for Spencer.

Soft squelching is coming from between your legs and you can’t even be bothered to shy away from it, you know how wet he makes you and he sure as hell does, so playing coy is just not in your capabilities right now. You moan out another loud “mmm” as your eyebrows screw together.

“You sound so pretty.” 

You’re not sure if Spencer is referring to the wetness between your legs or your moaning but you drink in his approval of your noises anyway.

“Spence– I really need it.”

“Hm, right. Slow please.”

You oughta slap him. Right now you could be threatening celibacy at his toying, but you can’t even conjure up such a frightening concept. You let out a “hhng” instead.

For the final time, Spencer lays down against you and presses a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, as he rubs his agitated dick against the new wetness you’ve produced at his playing. Satisfyingly coated, he shutters a sigh and sinks into you.

He is looking down between your bodies while he enters you, his cheek moved and pressed against your forehead as you whimper against his neck. You haven’t checked the clock in forever, a liminal space created in the blue of the deep night that engulfs the both of you.

Spencer is surprised that his skin is blushing now when he’s already fully sheathed inside of you (when he’s been fully inside you countless times). He can never truly believe the pleasure the human body can experience, that he can experience with you.

Once his hips have settled neatly against yours, when you’re mumbling out a “God-” Spencer begins to kiss back down your face again to where his mouth makes a home in your neck.

Not wanting to risk any muffled noises that he could be letting out against your skin, you move one of your hands to pull back his head by his hair, rewarding yourself with a more clear articulation of the pretty moans he was enveloping against your skin.

Fist still gripping his head back, Spencer begins to make slow and deep thrusts into you, the exact ones you’ve been craving in the pit of your stomach, you feel dizzy with arousal. Fluttering around him you gasp as you feel more of your slick tremble out of you, making his intrusion continuously slippery.

Spencer’s eyelids are shutting and opening repeatedly, wanting to fully close his eyes to the mind numbing pleasure, but equally wanting to stare at your face while he gives you what your biological need was trembling for in your light sleep.

He gets re-offended.

“Nuh-never hide- oh shit… always tell me when you want this. I will always, hm, give you this. Ne-ver spare my exhaustion, oh please-”

Your hips start meeting his consuming thrusts as you whine at his begs. What were you thinking? How could you ever stand in your own way of this?

Frantically nodding at his request, not trusting your voice, you move your fingers out of his hair to trace your nails against his back like signing your name in approval at his order.

Spencer moves slightly to cover your body with his completely, crowning in your head with his forearms. Little strands of his hair, slightly damp with sweat, tickle your forehead. You move to wrap your legs around his waist, locking in the position by putting one of your feet over the other.

With your legs on his lower back you begin to push him with your legs, guiding his rhythm, as you deepen his thrusts more. You two gasp in tandem. 

“Touch me please.” You grit out with a raspy voice. Needing to feel yourself come around Spencer is becoming frighteningly high on the list of your necessities currently. You wiggle your hips against his as an invitation.

“M’ course. Pretty.” 

Somehow the most intelligible praises are what get your gut swirling the most. Something about Spencer so lost in pleasure that he can barely talk but still making the effort to compliment you makes you want to make breakfast for him in the morning. Sweet boy. 

“Sweet boy.” You’ve learned your lesson on biting your tongue. 

He leans down to kiss you just as he starts rubbing your clit in fast movements. You could fall into this limbo of almost-there thrusts and soft caresses for the rest of time. You feel overjoyed with gratitude towards your wet dream, for the cock spreading you open.

Spencer inevitably picks up the pace of his thrusts, the slow rhythm driving him crazy. At the increase of speed you and Spencer find yourself whining out “I love you” at the same time. You’d giggle, maybe, if you were in a normal state. But the state Spencer has fucked you into has made this transaction feel like an omnipotent sign from the universe that you are tethered for life. 

His fingers slip around in sloppy circles for a few moments more and you whimper out “coming” in such a strangled way it barely even sounds like it anymore. He gets it instantly though when he feels your walls contract and expand against him, how you whimper and shake your head back and forth like you still can’t believe how good coming feels.

Slowly breathing and speeding up his thrusts even more, he fucks you through your orgasm as he begins his, his cum spreads over himself as he moves it in and out of you. The whines he’s letting out are unrestrained and high pitched while he smooths your cheek with a thumb.

Bordering onto stinging overstimulation now, your thighs wrap around him tightly enough to indicate his slowing down till he’s resting idly in you.

The urge Spencer gets after you two finish to place as many kisses on your exposed skin as possible festers again when he’s trying to distract you from the empty feeling of him pulling out.

“Spence,” you gulp back little saliva, “hah, thank you.”

He shakes his head at you again, goofy smile on his face as he’s already forming the highlight reel of the night in his head, reliving it. 

“I’m never going to be too tired for that. I’m in love with you, I’m not too tired for that.”

“Mmkay,” you start petting the wild strands of hair down from his head that you were tugging earlier “consider that lesson learned.” You chirp in finality, eyes closing with a similar exhaustion to Spencers.

“Mm, let me clean you up.”

Even with eyes closed you know his whereabouts, you can hear Spencer’s feet padding against his floors and you can map where he’s going in his apartment depending on how the hardwood dips underneath him. 

In such a tired state, the cool cloth against you barely jolts you as it usually does, the slightly rough fabric against your sensitive skin doesn’t work to jar you, completely in bliss with nothing that can shake you.

You can’t sleep fully without feeling the dip of the mattress and Spencer’s body settled between sheets. With his addition to the bed again, case file extremely discarded, you can lay cradled to his side where the sleep you fall into is so deep you don’t dream at all.

[mercvry-glow]

Want and need (18+)

parings. andrew "pope" cody x reader

summary. you're tired of pope's staring, so this time you give him something to do about it.

warnings. this is an 18+ fic so mdni, unprotected sex, rough sex, p in v, possessive!pope, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 25), typical animal kingdom stuff, mentions of drug addiction and drinking (but nothing in depth), pope and reader have wanted each other for a long time and all hell breaks loose, I am not responsible for what you read online, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I really don't even know what to say, this was really self indulgent but also a shit ton of people asked for this. this is my first time writing smut, so please go easy on me 😭 I love y'all tho and I hope this makes those who asked for this very happy and I'd be more than willing to try for other characters too. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 4100+

You were young when you were taken into the Cody household. Barely ten or eleven, chasing the coattails of Baz, Pope, and Julia. They were older, reckless, and way more fun than Deran and Craig in your young mind. You were just a kid back then, all scraped knees and wide eyes, desperate to be seen, to be wanted. And they gave you that—chaotic, dangerous, and messy as it was.

Now, you were older. Maybe not in their eyes, not entirely. To them, you’d always be the kid who used to sneak beers from the cooler and fall asleep on the couch mid-party. But you’d grown. Twenty-five looked good on you. It felt even better.

With the kind of money Smurf funneled your way—whether out of guilt, habit, or because she saw something useful in you—you were living comfortably. Shopping trips in LA with Julia’s old taste still lingering in the back of your mind, a crisp white sports car that purred when you touched the gas, and a room in Smurf’s homethat came with a 12-foot deep pool and too much sunshine. It wasn’t just surviving anymore. You were lounging, tanning, sipping something cold, and living the dream—Cody style.

But even with all of it—the car, the clothes, the pool—you still found yourself looking for him.

Andrew.

He was the one who never really changed. Still guarded. Still intense. Still carrying every unspoken burden like it was strapped to his chest. And even after all these years, you hadn’t outgrown the way he made you feel—safe, seen, even when you didn’t want him to see everything.

Sometimes he’d come by, dropping something off for Smurf, checking on Craig or Deran through you, but his eyes always lingered a little longer when you were around. Not in a creepy way. Just… aware. Like he was always assessing, always measuring how close was too close.

But you weren’t a kid anymore.

And you were starting to wonder if he knew that too.

He was always too worried about Julia or Cath to notice the young girl that gravitated toward him more than his brothers—and that was okay, it had been okay. You weren’t supposed to be seen back then, just allowed to linger. And Pope, for all his walls and rough edges, let you. He never pushed you away, never told you to stop following him like a shadow. But he never really looked at you, either.

Then life changed—fast and hard.

Julia left, tearing a hole right through the Cody family like a storm no one saw coming. She vanished into the haze of addiction, baby in tow, and that was that. Cath and Baz fell into each other in the aftermath, and that burned too—more for Pope than he ever admitted out loud. And when Pope finally cracked under the pressure, when he went to jail after a job went bad, everything fractured. The center couldn’t hold.

Life moved on, and you along with it.

You learned not to wait for anyone. You learned how to handle yourself, how to use what the Codys gave you—protection, money, a name that opened doors and slammed others shut. You carved a place for yourself in the world they ruled. No one questioned why you were there anymore. You weren’t the kid tagging along.

You were a woman now.

And when Pope got out, when he came back into that sun-soaked chaos of a world you both knew too well, he noticed.

Really noticed.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself now—confident, sharper, always watching like you used to—but from a different angle. Maybe it was the way you didn’t look at him like a lost, broken thing the way everyone else did. Or maybe it was just time. Maybe he finally realized you weren’t following anymore.

You were standing still. And he was the one stopping in his tracks.

"You gonna keep watching me like a creep or are you gonna come sit and talk with me?" you called out, not even turning your head, just lazily lifting your sunglasses as you lounged beside the pool.

Your bikini left little to the imagination—tiny, tied at the hips, glistening slightly from the coconut tanning oil that coated your sun-warmed skin. The scent mixed with the citrusy bite of the cocktail you’d been nursing for the past hour, the condensation from the glass dripping down your fingers as you swirled the straw.

You could feel his eyes on you before you even spoke. He always tried to be subtle, lurking in the doorway or leaning against the fence like he had any real reason to be there. But Pope was never good at hiding his intensity, not from you.

"No one else is here anyway," you added, voice lower this time, laced with something soft—an invitation, not a challenge.

You finally turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved yet, still standing a few feet away like he was weighing his options. Same old Pope. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like walking ten feet to a lounge chair might cost him something heavy. But there was something in his expression that wasn’t so guarded now. Something careful. Curious.

“You worried Smurf’s gonna pop out of the bushes or something?” you teased, tilting your head with a little smirk. “She doesn’t care what I do. You know that.”

He shifted his weight but didn’t answer right away, jaw flexing like he was grinding down words before they made it to his mouth. Then finally, he started walking—slow, measured, like he was still deciding if this was a mistake.

But he came anyway and sat right at your feet. 

"What's on your mind?" you asked, nudging him with your pedicured foot—painted a glossy shade of white that caught the sunlight just right. It was playful, meant to break through the stiff walls he always had up. You weren’t trying to push too hard. Just enough to remind him he didn’t have to sit there like a stone.

He didn’t flinch at the touch, just looked down at your foot resting lightly against his jean covered thigh, then back up at you with that unreadable expression he always wore. But there was something different in his eyes. Softer. Or maybe tired.

"Nothing," he muttered, eyes drifting to the water. "Just making sure you’re alright."

You rolled your eyes, “Of course I’m fine, you’re watching over me aren’t ya?”

He didn’t answer, but the faintest flicker of something passed through his eyes—something just shy of a smirk. You caught it, even if he tried to bury it again just as fast.

You leaned back against the lounge, arching your back just a little as you stretched out your legs, your toes still resting against his thigh. “You always do that, you know,” you said, your voice low and smooth, laced with something warm. “Watch me like you’re trying to memorize every move, but never saying a damn thing.”

Pope’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t deny it either.

“I used to wonder if it was guilt,” you went on, your eyes locked on him now, studying his face. “Me being around… all the time. If maybe, you thought I was just another thing you had to take care of.”

His gaze finally slid from the pool back to you—slower this time. Steady. That unreadable expression giving way to something heavier.

“It wasn’t guilt,” he said. Voice rough, low enough you almost didn’t hear it over the soft splash of water from the filter nearby.

Your lips curved slightly. “No?”

He shook his head once.

Your foot pressed a little firmer against his thigh, not teasing anymore—more like claiming space, letting him feel the weight of your presence. “Then what was it, Andrew?” you asked, letting his name linger in the air between you like the taste of the rum still on your lips. 

“Why do you still look at me like that?”

Silence stretched for a moment too long. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, and Pope never needed many. He was more action than speech. Always had been.

So you sat up slowly, cocktail forgotten now, your body turned toward him as you leaned forward just enough to let your fingers brush his wrist. His skin was warm. Tense. Alive under your touch.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, softly now, like it was a secret between the two of you. “You can tell me things...”

His breath hitched—so slight, but you felt it. Saw it in the way his hand twitched under yours, like he was holding himself back with every ounce of control he had.

You leaned in a little closer, close enough that he could smell the sweet coconut clinging to your skin, the soft salt of pool water in your hair. “You can touch me now, Andrew,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind rustling through the palm trees overhead. “If you want to.”

His hand moved then, slow and unsure at first, like he was afraid you might vanish if he did. But you didn’t. You stayed right there, watching him, heart pounding in your chest as his calloused fingers brushed your thigh—just a whisper of contact, but it lit a fire low in your stomach.

And he looked at you like he didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, thick with restraint.

You nodded, smile turning sultry, sure. “Go ahead.”

And for the first time since you were a kid chasing his shadow, Pope Cody didn’t run.

The tension between you snapped like a live wire—sharp, charged, inevitable.

You shifted, slow and deliberate, rising just enough to swing one bronzed leg over his lap. His eyes followed the movement, hands clenched at his sides like he was trying to stop himself from grabbing you right then and there. But when you settled on top of him, thighs hugging his hips and your hands bracing against his chest, he didn’t move away. Didn’t even blink.

He just stared up at you, jaw tight, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling like he was caught between every wrong instinct he’d ever had—and the one that felt right.

You leaned in slowly, your lips just a breath away from his, fingers sliding up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw. “Tell me to stop,” you whispered, though your tone dared him to.

He didn’t.

So you kissed him.

It started slow—soft, testing. But the second your mouth met his, the switch flipped. His hands gripped your hips like he’d been dying to touch you for years and finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to. You moved against him instinctively, gasping softly when he deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry and rough, like he was trying to swallow every second of the years he’d lost, every second he hadn’t let himself want this.

Your fingers twisted into his curls as you rocked against him, feeling him grow harder beneath you. His groan rumbled in his chest, low and feral, vibrating against your lips. He kissed like he fought—intensely, without hesitation, like nothing else mattered but this moment. But even now, even like this, his touch wasn’t careless.

One hand slid up your back, fingers splayed over your spine, grounding you. The other stayed planted at your waist, as if anchoring himself to you, needing you close but terrified of losing control. You could feel it in the way he held you—like he didn’t want to break you. Like part of him still saw that girl who followed him around, and the rest of him was warring with the woman now straddling him in the late afternoon sun.

You pulled back just slightly, lips swollen, eyes locked on his. “I’m not scared of you,” you breathed.

His eyes darkened. “Maybe you should be.”

You smiled. Slow. Wicked. “But I’m not.”

And then you kissed him again, deeper this time, letting your body press flush against his, the heat between you scorching, undeniable, and no longer something either of you could ignore.

A hand slipped under your bikini top, rough palm closing over one of your tits, you gasped into his mouth. His thumb brushed against your nipple, and the sharp jolt it sent through you had you rocking harder against him, your hands fisting in his shirt.

“Fuck—just take it off me,” you muttered against his lips, breathless, needy.

Pope didn’t hesitate. He tugged at the knot behind your neck, and the top came undone with a quick flick of his fingers. You didn’t even care where it landed—just felt the warm afternoon air on your bare skin and the heat of his gaze as he pulled back to look.

His eyes swept over you like a storm cloud rolling in—dark, intense, and full of want. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, voice strained as he leaned in, lips brushing the swell of your chest.

Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, nails gently scraping his scalp as he sucked a mark into your skin, his stubble rough against your soft flesh. You moaned low in your throat, head falling back as he worshiped you with his mouth, biting, licking, claiming.

“You’ve always been mine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

You looked down at him, your body flushed and burning, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. “Say it again,” you whispered, grinding down against the bulge in his jeans.

And in the next second, he surged up, one arm wrapping around your waist as he stood, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively, breath catching as his mouth returned to yours—urgent and possessive. He didn’t say another word as he carried you inside, but his kiss said everything. Every step was heavy with purpose. Like he’d finally given in to what he’d been fighting for years.

He pushed the sliding door open with his foot, barely breaking stride as he carried you inside, your bare chest pressed to him, his lips never straying far from yours. The house was quiet, golden sunlight spilling across the hardwood floors as you clung to him, your fingers tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin.

By the time he made it to your bedroom, the tension had hit a fever pitch. He laid you down on the edge of the bed, standing between your thighs, eyes sweeping over your half-naked body like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heart thudding, watching the way his hands shook slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. The way his chest rose and fell, same as your own, like he was holding back something dangerous.

"You look like you're about to bust," you said with a teasing smirk, voice low and breathy.

“I am,” he said simply, stepping closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edges of your bikini bottoms. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Then lose the rest,” you whispered, voice nearly a dare.

He hooked his fingers under the ties, and with one smooth tug, the last piece of fabric between you was gone. You leaned back slowly, watching his eyes drag over every inch of you, hunger and restraint warring in his expression.

Then he was back on you, like wet on water.

Mouth on yours again, harder this time, kissing you like he was drowning and you were air. His hands roamed everywhere—your waist, your hips, the inside of your thighs—like he couldn’t touch enough fast enough. And you didn’t want him to stop. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, pulling him closer, grinding against his buldge pressed between you. He was rock hard. 

Every kiss, every touch felt like years in the making—pent-up tension finally snapping in the heat of that bedroom. You moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his back as he pushed you further onto the bed, hovering over you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“Fuck—tell me you want this,” he growled against your neck, voice ragged.

“I’ve always wanted this,” you breathed, eyes locked on his. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He crashed his mouth against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation—just raw need, years of it unraveling all at once. His weight pressed you into the mattress, solid and grounding, as if he was trying to make sure this was real. 

That you were real. 

That after all the years of watching, waiting, denying, he could finally touch you the way he’d needed to.

Your hands were everywhere—his back, his chest, tugging at the waistband of his jeans with trembling fingers until he groaned against your skin. “Jesus, kid,” he muttered, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank them off with a rough urgency, kicking them away as he settled between your legs again.

You arched up into him, your body already aching, your thighs spreading to welcome him as he hovered over you. There was a flicker of hesitation—his eyes searching yours, his thumb brushing your cheek in a moment of quiet, reverent pause.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and gruff, but laced with something almost tender.

You reached up, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you pulled him back down to you. “Fuck me,”

That was all he needed.

He tugged on his cock a few times before sliding into you slowly, carefully, and your head fell back with a soft cry—his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. He filled you completely, a delicious stretch that had your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist.

He didn’t move right away—just held himself there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, like he was memorizing every second. “You feel like… fuck,” he whispered. “You were made for me.”

And then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts that left you gasping, your hands clutching at him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising intensity, pulling you closer every time he drove into you.

“You’ve always been mine,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your ear. 

Your heart twisted, heat building, rising between you in waves. You met every thrust, your bodies moving in sync like they were meant to be tangled like this. And as his pace quickened, rougher now, needier, you clung to him—your body trembling, your voice breaking as the edge drew closer.

“Pope—” you gasped, barely able to get his name out before it hit you. A rush of heat, pleasure, everything blurring as your back arched as you came, orgasm tearing through you, raw and electric.

He wasn’t far behind—groaning into your neck, his rhythm faltering, then stilling as he found his own release, his entire body shuddering above you.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breath and the faint rustle of sheets. Pope didn’t move for a while—just rested there, head buried against your shoulder, arms still wrapped around you like letting go might shatter the moment. When he finally looked at you again, something had shifted. There was no going back.

His grip on your waist tightened as he thrust deeper again, rougher now—no more holding back. His mouth was at your throat, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay sane, his teeth grazing your skin as he growled, “You don’t know how long I’ve fucking waited for this.”

You moaned, your fingers tangled in his hair as you clung to him, legs locked tight around his hips once again. “Fuck-ddon’t stop,” you whispered. “Show me.”

That snapped something loose in him.

“You want me to show you?” he rasped, voice thick with hunger. “You think I can be gentle with you now? After all these years, watching you walk around in those little shorts, laughing like you didn’t know what you were doing to me?”

His hand slid up your body, wrapping lightly around your throat, thumb resting on your jaw as he looked down at you, eyes blazing. “This body’s mine now. Say it.”

Your lips parted, breath hitched, your voice shaky, “It’s yours- fuck! All yours,”

“Damn right it is,” he grunted, thrusting into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, his other hand gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. “You’ve always been mine, I knew I’d take you like this.”

You cried out, body burning under his every touch, the filth of his words twisting deliciously in your stomach.

“You like that?” he growled against your ear, biting your lobe before sucking it. “You like me talkin’ to you like this? Fuckin’ you like you were made for it?”

“Y-Yes—God, yes—Pope,” you gasped, head swimming as he hit deeper, angling his hips just right to make your toes curl.

“I don’t want anyone else lookin’ at you like this,” he snarled. “No more showing off at that pool like you’re just some pretty slut.”

“Wh-why? You jealous?” you teased, barely able to keep your voice steady as your back arched into him.

He bit down on your shoulder—not enough to break skin, just to mark you. “I own you.”

With that, he flipped you onto your stomach in one rough motion, dragging your hips back until you were up on your knees, face pressed into the sheets. You gasped, the new angle hitting something brutal, perfect, as he thrust back in with a groan.

“This is mine,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you knew it’d bruise. “You’re mine.”

The way he said it—like a promise, like a warning—you believed every word.

“Fuck- I get it—Oh my god!” you gasped as he tugged on your hair, hips barely able to meet his harsh pace. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans out, bucking even harder as he fucks you with intent. You pant, eyes fluttering as he continues his brutal rhythm that’s hard enough to shake the bed frame. 

You’re not even in your own body anymore, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. The once lavender scent of your room, now replaced with sex and what lingured of Pope’s cologne. 

He slides a hand down between the two of you, thick fingers catching on your clit as he rubs in tight circles bringing you closer to your next orgasm. 

“I- fuck Andrew… I’m- I can’t!” you moan into the bed, fists wrapped in the sheets like your grip will somehow alleviate the growing feeling in your stomach. 

“Cum for me baby, I want to feel you.” he head dips to your shoulder blades, kissing down your back as he eases you to the brink once again. 

It’s a white hot feeling as it rips through you, but Pope doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, pulling back just enough only to slam back into you one last time. 

He tenses, body stiff as he gives you a few more sloppy thrusts as he cums inside you—thick, hot, and everything you want as he pulls and lays beside you taking a few deep breaths. 

You can feel him dripping out of you, but you don’t care. Too spent, you take your time before turning to look at him. Pope’s curls are a mess, though you’re sure your own hair isn’t much better. 

It’s silent for a while.

 you’re cuddled up to him, tracing little shapes on his chest with his arm thrown around you. It keeps you close to him, like maybe you’ll disappear if he’s not touching you in some way. 

“Why’d you let me do that?” His voice is soft and gravely, but genuine all the same. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve wanted you to do that forever…” you give him a small smile, still tracing your little shapes into his freckled skin. 

He sighs, something deep and heavy laced in it. “I’m not good for you,” he mutters. 

“I think I can decide that for myself,” you shift your head to look up at him, deep hazel eyes meeting your own. 

His lips capture yours in a kiss, something softer than earlier but the meaning is still the same. 

You're his, and honestly you don’t really mind it. 

mercvry-glow 2025

[karaeilish]

hi! could u write y/n calling billie another girls name while making out to prank her, but billie gets all possesive and fucks her dumb with the strap telling her to scream her name

⌗ WRONG, SLUT ━━ b. eilish

꩜ pairing & au :: fuckboy!billie x fem!reader

꩜ GENRE :: smut .

꩜ SYNOPSIS :: you need to be careful with pranking your girlfriend. especially when she knows how to tie tight knots. . .

꩜ WARNINGS :: smut . degradation . strap (r receiving) . mean!billie . tying up . rough sex . brat!reader . bil slapping r . red flag (?) billie . ꩜ WORD COUNT :: 1,5k

꩜ A/N — PLEASE . don’t copy & steal my works AND my layouts . m doing everything by myself and m not giving you any rights 🤍

billie was an absolute piece of shit. always. no matter how much you said 'i can fix her', no matter how much you tried to explain to her while she was high or drunk, nothing worked. every attempt was in vain, every time she would hang around other girls, courting them as if she could find someone better, more beautiful or more interesting than you. you both knew the answer to that question, she just couldn't get rid of the desire to own everyone, crawling to you on her knees the next day like a lost puppy. no matter how much she wanted it, you had no choice but to take her back, listening to her promises not to do it again.

and billie got used to your compliance, used to you always playing the 'good girl' and letting her do all the shit she does. she liked to have it all at once, everyone she wanted, while having you by her side, always forgiving. always too lenient with her. but no nerves are made of steel. at some point you got tired of putting up with her shit. you just had to… teach her a lesson. there was no grand plan of revenge from action movies or anything like that in your head, just a harmless prank that you knew would make her flare up.

and despite her behavior, billie took you very seriously, even too seriously. you can't be too nice, too friendly, too talkative with some strangers and not only strangers. she was possessive, she was jealous, she claimed you in front of everyone, although she knew she had no right to it. she acted like a complete idiot and continued to be a fucking child, throwing tantrums every time your hand touched someone’s shoulder.

you argued, quarreled, broke dishes, screamed in an attempt to admit that your opinion was right, but her only fucking argument was always — 'you're fucking mine. no one dares touch you, think about you, desire you, is that clear, darling? i don't care what you want'

your knees just buckled, your tongue went numb, and your body fell back into her arms, onto her cock.

you were her weakness, and she was yours. it was an unbearable tight circle, but that gave you an advantage —you knew her weakest spot, you knew where to hit her hardest to get her mad, so…

"hey, brit, can you—" you don't have time to finish your sentence. billie's eyes are instantly torn from the screen of her phone, her attention completely on you. you can almost feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“what did you just say?” her gaze could almost burn through your skin with its intensity. almost. you look at her so innocently it makes her teeth ache. trying to play the part.

“what? i was gonna ask you to get me some water.” you keep a calm face, raising one eyebrow as if you have no idea what caused her to react so strongly.

“don’t play with me, baby.” billie leans closer to you, squinting, her blue eyes darkening, reminding you of the depths of the pacific ocean. her fingers touch your chin, not squeezing, just letting you feel the pressure of her presence. “y'know that’s not my name.”

you laugh, pulling away from her demonstratively; trying to press even harder.

“since when ‘billie’ isn’t your name? go get your ears cleaned if you can't hear well" the words fall like sticky venom from your lips, accompanied by a caustic wink as you stand up from the couch, throwing your hair back dramatically. as soon as your feet hit the floor, billie is in front of you with inhuman speed, intercepting your hand, thick fingers squeezing your wrist with enough force that you feel her cold rings digging into your skin.

"fine, you want to be a brat? i'll treat you like one" she hisses somewhere against your cheek, her hot breath igniting a raging fire inside you.

"what's wrong with you, brit, i was just—" a lightning-fast slap cuts through the air, landing painfully on your cheek. nothing really cruel, but it quickly made you shut your mouth.

billie doesn't say a word. her nails dug into your wrist as she broke and pulled you towards the bedroom, not particularly gentle as she tossed you onto the large, soft bed. her glance gave you enough reason not to try and question it as she rummaged through the nightstand, and somehow, you knew immediately what she was looking for.

the strap landed on the bed. deep red, huge, thick, veins drawn along its enticing length. it was the largest in your ‘modest’ collection. all the words choked in your throat, remaining buried in your head.

“turn over. on your stomach.” when billie spoke in that tone, the only thing you could understand was that she wasn’t asking. she was commanding. this was not the moment to try to piss her off even more, but she deserved it. deserved to be mad at you, deserved to feel like she wasn’t the only woman in your life. you stay still. silent. sitting and looking at her.

billie meets your gaze. wild. the rope in her hands can tell you so much more than any words. and no matter how much you don’t want it, her strength is several times greater than yours.

she throws heather next to her, her calloused hands wrap around your waist, with a sharp movement turning you over onto your stomach. you resist, trying to turn over, but the force with which she holds you…

"lie still, slut. you wanted this, didn't you? no point in denying it now" her rough voice suddenly touches your ear, teeth grazing over sensitive skin. "say 'no' and i'll stop"

you remain silent.

she acts.

"that's what i thought" billie grins. grins because she knew for a fact that sometimes you wanted nothing more than her cock buried in your greedy cunt until you had her fucking baby.

the thick rope seems like the perfect weapon in her hands as she wraps a section around the headboard, then roughly grabs your hands one by one and ties them so tightly you want to cry.

"you have nowhere to run, princess" her hands are now on your stomach, forcing you to lift your torso off the bed, giving her a perfect view of your ass in those damn short shorts that was in the corner of the room in seconds. along with your soaking wet panties.

"fuck, are you wet already? after i slapped you, mm?" her palm lands on your ass with a loud slap, making you scream loudly, pulling the ropes until it hurts pleasantly. "or after i took you by force, like a cheap whore?"

all the existing billie right now is leaking poison, contempt, anger, which can only be cured in one way. by destroying you and your angelic body.

you whine, pouting, as if that can somehow help in your situation. as if something will save you from her wrath. no. from behind you you hear the sounds of a belt unbuckling, of it coming out of all its loops, falling onto the bed. billie unbuttons her baggy jeans, not even taking them off all the way. just pushes her boxers down, deftly securing the strap to her hips.

"time to learn to spell my name, doll" she spits on her hand, smearing it all over her cock, moaning so sweetly that you can almost believe that she feels it.

a hand on your throat, squeezing, choking, while she pushes into you, almost gently, giving you half a second to get used to her size. your pussy stretches around her thick strap, mouth opening, letting the long-awaited moans fly from your lips.

"so who's this slut whose name are you calling me by?" her hips suddenly start moving, not letting you get used to her pace, which within seconds had the headboard slamming against the wall. her hips slapped against yours, her fingers tightening around your throat.

"answer me, bitch" billie slaps you again, alternating them with cutting off your oxygen.

you struggle, you wanna make her suffer and wonder, like you did, but she's too, too deep in your tummy for you to even try to resist.

"n—nobody! just you!" there was barely a shred of self-respect left in your voice, the tip of her strap hitting your cervix with every damn thrust. billie smirks. of course, you're too loyal to look at anyone but her.

"just me, doll?" pause. long, painful. "then scream my name like an obedient little slut"

you whine. this is too much. she's too big inside you. you can't resist anymore.

"billie��!"

"louder"

"billie!"

♱ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld, @peytonneilish, @clairrehwart, @emi-inspace, @ilomilobabyy, @aka-persephone, @hanoxoxo

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 11th. blaise - mirror sex, body worship.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: writing this was detrimental to my health. blaise is a man. a MAN. you’re having a terrible day, your boyfriend knows what you need to make it better.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, PIV, fingering, multiorgasm, teasing, begging, doggystyle, dirty talk, praise so much praise, body worship, soft dom blaise, pet names, the usual nasty shit you'll find this month.

"Yeah that's what I said...he didn't listen to me, though. Of course."

Parchment crinkled under the weight of your hand, quill scratching faintly as your boyfriends voice hummed in the background—an effortless drawl that filled the room like low music. You barely caught the words, caught up in the mechanical rhythm of  your writing—but that didn't stop him from droning on, stretched out like a relaxed cat on your bed—one leg bent, both hands tucked behind his head, his gaze lost somewhere in the ceiling's quiet expanse.

"And? What happened?" You asked, finally letting the quill drop, grimacing at the ink smudged across your fingers.

"Detention," he said, clearly amused, "cleaning rat barrels for a week."

You managed a smile, but it was small, fleeting—more like a shadow of the real thing. Blaise noticed, of course he did, but he let it linger undisturbed, as if waiting for the right moment to ask what was really wrong. His stories were always an offering, an attempt to pull you from the depths of a day that felt as heavy as the sky before a storm—which usually helped, but today, even he couldn't shake the weight entirely.

You rolled away from your desk, chair wheels creaking until you reached the mirror. There you were, reflected back at yourself—no makeup, hair half-tumbling from the ponytail you'd given up on hours ago, the lines under your eyes telling a story you didn't want to read. You sighed, lifting a hand to touch the flyaway strands, knowing it wouldn't help. You were a bloody disaster.

"What're you lookin' at, baby?" Blaise was behind you before you even realized it, his warmth filling the space behind your chair, his arms snaking around your waist with the same natural ease as breathing. "Did I tell you you look beautiful today?"

You exhaled as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours in the glass—

"Don't lie, Blaise," you muttered, the exhaustion making your voice heavier than it should've been. "I look a mess."

"Not a lie," he whispered back, his lips so close you could almost taste the mint on his tongue. His hand lifted, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down the side of your face like it was something sacred, like you weren't just a tired girl with too many thoughts. "You're always beautiful...so, so beautiful."

The heat from his words bloomed in your chest, a slow burn, even as the weight of the day pressed heavier. It felt as though the reflection was mocking you—this version of yourself you could barely recognize, worn down by everything that had gone wrong.

"I can tell when something's bothering you," he pressed on, his voice drawing you back, patient and unhurried. His fingers made soft circles on your stomach, waiting, coaxing. "Wanna tell me?"

"Nothing's bothering me...I just.." you shook your head, the words coming out on a breath, too small to carry the weight of what you meant. "I just had a bloody terrible day."

He hummed, thumb grazing your skin. "How terrible?"

"The kind that makes you feel like the universe is against you," you whispered, gaze falling, unable to look at him while your voice cracked. "I'm sorry—I know you wanted to go out tonight, but I just—"

"Shh—hey, don't do that," he interrupted, his fingers tilting your chin, forcing your eyes back to his in the mirror. "I don't care about going out. I care about you. We don't need to be anywhere else. I've got everything I need right here, baby. Okay?"

Merlin—your heart clenched, the ache reminding you just how easy it was to fall in love with him—and how you managed to do so, all over again, every single day. Blaise always had this way of making you feel like the center of the world, even on days when you felt like you were disappearing from it.

A small, trembling smile ghosted across your lips, and you nodded. "Okay."

"Yeah?" He nudged your chin gently, brushing more stray hair from your face—he never once took his fucking eyes off of you. "You're so fucking beautiful, babygirl...how are you all mine..."

A sigh escaped your lips as his fingers moved to massage your shoulders, his lips finding their way back to the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The tension in your body began to melt, replaced by something warmer, softer.

"Messy hair, no makeup...you're a fucking dream," he whispered. "Every morning I wake up...and I still can't believe..." his hands trailed down your arms, a slow blaze of fire, grazing over your belly before they curved up your chest. "...that all of this...is all for me..."

Your head tipped back, a soft whimper slipping from your lips as he pressed himself closer. One of his hands slid back up, fingers curling around the base of your throat, his thumb stroking the side of your neck. He groaned softly against your temple, other hand still pawing at your chest.

"Look at you," he rasped as his eyes met yours again in the mirror. You could feel his gaze tracing the outline of his hand wrapped around your throat. "Tell me you know you're beautiful."

Your heart was racing, breaths coming in shallow bursts as the intensity of his touch, his words, filled the room. He was crowding over you, pressed against the back of your chair, his hands insistent but not frantic, like he had all the time in the world—

"I know," you whispered. "You tell me every day..."

He hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat. "Mhm…and I'll keep telling you…because I don't think you get it yet...just how truly beautiful you are…”

Your lashes fluttered, eyes heavy beneath the weight of his gaze as his fingers moved lower, the buttons of your shirt parting effortlessly, baring the delicate lace underneath.

His jaw clenched, hunger flickering behind his eyes, his touch roughening with it. “…and just how lucky I am... to get to touch you like this."

Your head lolled back onto his shoulder, your back arched, baring yourself to him with a shivering sigh. His hand around your throat tightened, not too much, just enough to remind you he held you, that in this moment —this skin—belonged to him.

His other hand moved across your chest, teasing your nipples through the lacy fabric, kneading, coaxing your heart to race under his palm.

"I'm a better man because of you," he whispered, lips ghosting over the pulse at your neck. “...because you make me want to be."

Your whimper came unbidden, warmth flooding your veins as his eyes never left yours—devouring you through the glass. This wasn't just about touch. It was something Blaise always made sure you felt in this relationship, the thing tethered between you—the fulfilment of a need to be seen and a need to be known.

"Look at you." His lips tilted in a breathy smile, dripping with reverence, with something sacred as his hand roved over your chest, taking his time. "Perfect. So fucking perfect."

Both big hands fell to massage your tits now and a small, broken sound escaped you—helpless against the onslaught, your body betraying your efforts at control. You closed your eyes, biting your lip to stem the flood, but it was useless. Blaise, like this, was unrelenting, determined to make you remember this moment, every whisper, every touch. His voice was an echo you'd hear in your dreams.

"Blaise..." his name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Gods.”

"Open those pretty eyes for me, babygirl..." he purred  as his teeth grazed the curve of your neck. You obeyed with a shiver—your reflection pure chaos — a mess of need and want, heat pooling low in your belly, an ache between your legs you couldn't ignore. Blaise hummed. "I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what I see."

His hands slid lower, skimming the curve of your hips and settling on your thighs. You watched as he moved with deliberation, savouring the way your skin shivered beneath his touch. He shifted your legs wider, pushing the fabric of your skirt higher until it bunched around your waist. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you weren't sure who was falling apart faster—him or you.

"Fuck," you moaned, barely holding onto the sound, feeling it slip past your lips like a breath. "Blaise.."

With a satisfied smile, his eyes flicked to yours and you noted the way his breathing shallowed—admired the way his fingers slipped along the insides of your thighs, tracing the soft skin without haste. The sensation made your breath hitch, and you bit down on your lip, fighting to keep your eyes open.

A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed your skirt up further, exposing your underwear in the reflection.

"That's my girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with adoration. "These thighs...mm, fuck...so soft.."

His fingers dragged back down, agonizingly slow, tracing your thighs again.

You shuddered. You knew just how needy you sounded but gods—"Blaise, please..."

Blaise knew too, and of course he just chuckled, lips grazing the curve of your shoulder, his teeth catching on the fabric there. The nip was gentle at first, but just enough to make you gasp, your hips jerking reflexively—and you watched his eyes flash, lashes fluttering—

"Fuck...these hips," now he was growling, his nails biting into your skin. "The way you roll them...torture, pure torture... just to make me give you what you want..."

Your breath hitched again. You were a squirming mess, now—each fucking word a slow burn that licked at every nerve.

"Is that so bad?" You whispered, though the words barely left your mouth before a soft moan interrupted them. "Making you…give me what I want...?"

His laugh was rougher this time, his breath searing hot against your ear. One hand moved again, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear—and you realized you were holding your fucking breath—meeting his gaze in the mirror, wide and wanting, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

"Not so bad...when I want to give it to you..." his fingers danced over your clothed cunt—light, taunting, threatening to give you everything you craved but holding just shy of it. Your hips rolled again, involuntarily. "But absolutely disastrous," his fingers traced higher, the ache of wanting made your pulse thunder. "...when I'm trying to make you wait."

You whimpered, snuffing a groan in your throat, and he smiled—watching the effect, his jaw falling open when he grazed over your clit through the fabric and you moaned loud—shameless.

"Gods—Blaise, please—" you were so fucking desperate now. Heat scorching your skin. Eyes squeezed shut. He was going to kill you, you were sure of it. “No more teasing—“

"Eyes open." He husked, bringing one hand back up to cup your jaw. "You close them and I'll stop. Keep being good for me, baby..."

You whinged—meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, lust blown pupils swallowing his irises. You watched yourself—his arms curled around you, strong and firm—long, slender fingers finally, fucking finally, giving you what you want—slipping under your underwear, fingertips kissing the sensitive lips of your throbbing cunt.

"Good girl...so good for me..." he muttered, slicking a single digit between your folds, grazing your clit. That did it—blinded with relief, you whinged, moaning deep in your chest. "Oh fuck, you're so wet...you need this, don't you, baby..."

"Yes—Gods—" you held his eyes in the mirror, hips jerking toward his touch. "Need it...need you..."

"So sensitive f'me..." he whispered in your ear, brushing the bundle of nerves again, earning another shuddered groan. He kissed at your jaw. "I'll never get tired of hearing you say that...that you need me..."

"Fuck—I do—always—" the words bled out, unfiltered. "Always need you."

Blaise shuddered, you could feel his hips rocking gently against the back of the chair as his fingers found your clit, indefinitely this time, and began drawing tight, frantic circles over it. Your back crested, your head falling back just slightly before you remembered what he said and returned your gaze to his in the mirror—he was watching you, body crowding yours like he was preparing a meal—and you spread your legs wider, noting the entire mess he'd made of you in minutes.

"Beautiful," he cooed, jaw tensing as you gripped his wrist—one hand shifting to grope your chest. "Messy girl...m'dying to get inside you..."

You cried out, your pussy clenching, craving to be filled by him. "Blaise—baby—please..."

Wetness soaked your thighs—coated his fingers as he dipped lower and pushed two inside you, crooking them deep. The reaction was involuntary—you cried out, ground your hips into his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, wanting—no, needing more. He groaned, squeezing your breast harder than you're sure he'd intended—teeth sinking into your shoulder in a futile attempt to compose himself.

"Fucking hell—that's it, baby—" his thumb twirled your clit, fingers driving deep—bliss burned your eyes, and you moaned. "Soaked and still so fucking tight...fuck.."

"M'gonna—I need you—" you were babbling, lost in sensation, coherent thoughts banished to the perimeters of your mind. "Inside—pleasepleaseplease—need you—"

"Cum first," his hand on your breast slipped up, tangling through your hair and nudging your face toward his—his lips found yours, soft and tender. "Wanna' make you feel good..."

Pleasure flooded you, muscles collapsing as you succumbed to it—Blaise kissed you again, holding you there, tongue delving into your mouth while he rubbed your swollen nub faster, pumped his fingers deeper.

"I...oh, Gods—already feel s'good..." you moaned into him, and he jerked you harder to his body, tongue massaging yours while his plush lips worked over your mouth. "Mm—fuck—s'good—"

He groaned. "Mhm—cum for me."

And then you did—every nerve in your body ignited at once. The obscene, wet sounds of him pumping his fingers into you filled the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic pulse in your ears. His mouth smothered the desperate cries of pleasure that fought to break free as your body convulsed, writhing against him. Your hips bucked, helplessly seeking more, fingers digging into his wrist like anchors as your entire world spun wildly out of control. He was both your rock and your undoing—keeping you tethered to earth while hurling you into the stars.

It felt like you were suspended in that ecstasy forever, the air leaving your lungs in shattered gasps, until, at last, your breathing found its rhythm again. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, his own breath shaky, eyes dark with hunger. He brought his slick-coated fingers to your lips, pressing them past, and you groaned as you took him in, suckling greedily.

"You like that?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against your spine. You moaned in response, your tongue swirling around his digits, eyes fluttering shut at the taste of yourself. His other hand moved, urgently, his belt coming undone and echoing through the room as he freed himself, groaning, "Fuck."

Blaise had lost his composure completely—you didn't need to look at him to know it. In an instant, you were on your feet, his hands pulling you up as he kicked your chair out of the way, rolling into the wall with a thud. You turned your head to look at it but his lips crashed into yours, both hands cradling your face as he sank to his knees, dragging you down with him. The hardwood floor beneath you was cold, but his touch—his touch was a wildfire, scorching every inch of your skin, setting your blood to boil.

You moved instinctively and gasped as your fingers found him, warm and hard in your palm, twitching at your touch. He growled low in his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you stroked him, kneeling together on the floor, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until with a swift motion, he spun you around, turning you to face the mirror.

His hands were everywhere—on your hips, sliding down your thighs, grazing the curve of your waist—pulling your skirt higher as he met your eyes over your shoulder in the reflection—

"Look at yourself," his fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you back against him, his length slicking between your thighs, grazing against your heat. "See what you do to me."

You gasped, melting into him, tightening your thighs around his shaft, fighting to keep your eyes on his in the mirror. Blaise exhaled, cranking your throat to the side and snatching a breast before biting the meat of your shoulder, cock pulsing when you whinged in delighted pain.

"Blaise—fuck—please..." your cunt clenched with anticipation, heat at your cheeks as you watched yourself in the mirror, desperately trying to tip your hips so he'd slide in. "Please, fuck me—"

Your voice was ruined. Music to his ears. Blaise could never deny that begging.

"Shit, baby..." he pressed in, leaning you forward until you were resting on your elbows in front of the mirror—seething as his girth stretched you open—splitting you wide in a way that made your eyes roll. He pulsed at your entrance, taking his time, letting you bask in the drag of your walls along his swollen length. In his reflection, his were lips parted, chest working with broken breath. "So goddamn tight..."

"Fuck," you moaned, unbridled, his hands bruising your hips as he picked up the pace. "Yes—mm—Gods, yes—"

The power of his thrusts stole your breath, quaked your bones, your cries of pleasure hiccuped by the rapid strokes of his hips. Blaise was the most patient man you'd ever met, until he wasn't. He groaned, his eyes trained on your ass, skin smacking skin with loud slaps—you were captivated, unable to think or speak or do anything other than watch—fire stoked by the sheer eroticism of watching him fuck your pussy. A hard, vicious plunge—you shrieked, and you could see him smirk to himself before gracing your ass with a soft smack, piercing your cervix.

"Sexy little thing. All fucking mine." He wound your hair in his fist, popping your neck back to hunch over you. "You like that, hm? Watching yourself get fucked?"

You whimpered, neck aching with the force of his grip, nails digging into your palms as he drilled you. The switch in his demeanour was dizzying. His dick was hollowing you out, rending you wide—you could hardly focus on his words—

"Yes!" You managed. "Fuck—yes—"

He groaned, fucking faster—his gaze ravaged you, wandering over every inch of your reflection before stopping at your jiggling chest. His hand slipped down from your hair to grasp a breast—squeezing and kneading the soft flesh in his huge palm, his other hand snaking down around your thigh to swirl over your clit, and you choked—a noise wrenched from your lungs far louder than you'd have liked.

"Fuck—fuck—" his hips moved erratically. He was getting close. So were you. "Tight—squeeze me s'good—"

You whinged. He swirled his fingers faster. "Blaise—m'gonna—cum—"

It descended upon you—the promise of oblivion—as you found one breath, another breath, and then found yourself in the mirror, skin gleaming, expression wrought with pleasure, entire body shaking with the pistoning of your boyfriends hips.

His eyes were still on yours, reverence inside them, worship.

He grunted. "Yes—fuck, cum on my cock, baby—let me feel you—"

It was a command that shattered all thought, a primal cry of ecstasy that ripped through you, overtaking every nerve, every vein, every muscle in your body. Your limbs trembled, thighs shaking as the pleasure coursed through you, molten, burning under your skin. You were less than halfway cognizant of what was leaving your mouth—barely picking up on your boyfriends groans and moans in your ear as you squeezed and milked his cock through your climax, fucking you deep until he couldn't take it anymore and erupted as well—pouring his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty.

Swallowing hard, you collapsed onto the floor, your chest heaving as he pulled out, leaving you breathless and trembling. His hands, still warm from the heat of your skin, gently held your arm as he sank down beside you. Without a word, he tugged you against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a calming rhythm against your back. His fingers threaded softly through your hair, untangling the remnants of tension as the two of you lay there, catching your breath.

After a few moments, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, the touch so tender it made you melt all over again. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile curving your lips, all the stress that had plagued you earlier dissipating into nothing.

"Maybe I should have bad days more often." You smiled through an exhale.

"If this is what it takes to fix them," he murmured with a smirk, his voice deep and gravelly from exertion, "then I'm more than willing to be your remedy, anytime."

You hummed, a huff of a laugh slipping out as you traced lazy shapes on his chest—inhaling his scent with each breath. You loved this man. Loved that he never failed to make you feel so goddamn beautiful, so special, so needed.

"Seriously though," you whispered after a while, your cheek pressed to his chest, "thank you. For this. For knowing exactly what I needed."

His fingers stilled in your hair, a quiet hum of understanding in his throat.

"I always know what you need, baby," he said, his voice soft, filled with something more than just desire, something warmer. "And I'll always be here to give it to you."

[sempiternalmuze]

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

[starmurdock]

'truth is great and shall prevail'

matt murdock x reader | matt needing comfort & reassurance from the one he loves most

first DDBA!matt imagine. this show has re-fueled my love for writing him so i hope you enjoy! this one is fluffy and a lil angsty

the sounds of shuffling stirs you awake, limbs sprawling and stretching on your shared mattress as sunlight invades your vision. your eye opens just enough to read the time - 7:24.

a yawn escapes you just as matt turns around from the space in his closet. you smile softly. "morning, baby."

he walks over to your side of the mattress fastening his suit jacket. the sun hits his features just right, illuminating the perfectly intricate curves and angles of his face. his eyes glow a bright green-yellow, the crinkle of his smile briefly blocking their depth. "g'morning, pretty girl. how'd you sleep?"

the only response you can muster is a soft 'mmm' of contentment, letting him know: i slept well. he smiles, caressing your cheek like you'd break under his touch if he used too much force. your life with matt is nothing short of amazing, but mornings spent together take the cake. the softness of rustling in the sheets together, limbs tangled throughout the night; the warmth from matt's chest as he lays against your back, the pure comfort of resting your tired body against his. it truly is domestic heaven.

matt returns a 'mmm' in approval of your good sleep, kissing your forehead and lingering. you breathe deeply, taking in his scent that intoxicates you, wakes you up more than coffee ever could. it's musky, woody. not too strong for his heightened senses, but just enough to drive you mad. a hand moves onto his thigh, caressing and kneading the same way he does to you after a long day's work.

the ghost of matt's lips leave your skin feeling empty and cool as he sits back up, looking almost apologetic.

"today's the court meeting. wish i could stay here with you." he continues to gaze at you with a sorry expression, giving away the verity of his words. you take his hand and press a kiss to his palm.

" 's okay, honey. want them to see how good my husband is."

he laughs, still not used to the term. husband. it rings in his ears, only intensifying his insatiable need to be around you as much as possible.

"only wanna make you proud, sweetheart."

"you always do," you utter with the smile that never really left, because that's what matt does to you. his infectious spirit seeps into every fibre, imprinting himself, damning you to a lifetime of his wondrous company.

his expression turns serious all of a sudden, eyebrows fixed like he’s been taken off guard by something worrisome. he stares at you. his gaze is so intense it almost tricks you into thinking he is truly seeing you. the muscles of his thighs go taught, his hand stilling on your hip. his mouth opens once, twice before speaking.

"you know," he clears this throat. "i'm not one to admit to fear, but...i am nervous. about today." he looks away, now also fearing your judgment. he tries to hide his shame, but the way his hand twitches ever so slightly, like his body is wired to brace for disaster, gives it all away. you know him too well.

"hey," you sit up, all tiredness leaving your body. your hand takes his. "it's okay to be nervous, matt. you're human just like the rest of us."

as you speak, his fingers find solace in fiddling with your wedding ring. "i always had a vision for the person i wanted to marry when the time came. you gave me that and then some, matt. you're a damn good lawyer with a good heart. every time you step foot in the courtroom, you prove that to be true a hundred times over."

his gaze is back on you, staring just hard as before but differently, longingly. he heard the way your heart beat steady, the way it kept a stable rhythm. of course you were telling the truth, you had no reason to lie about this. and yet, the voice in the back of his mind taints his judgement as it so often does. he thanks God he's the only one with super hearing, his heart beating twice as fast as yours.

he fails to articulate how your sentiment made him feel, so he grabs your chin and kisses you instead. his tongue swiping on your lip at first contact, hungry for a taste of you. aching to savor every drop of your sweet, poisonous words. it didn't matter to him that you had just woken up, that the heat of your breath might've turned anyone else away. matt would take you in every state, every form. he pulls you onto his lap, grabbing at the flesh of your ass. molding, kneading, squishing. he can't get enough of you. tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck, he groans.

"fuck--" he hovers just above your lips. "i really should get going, honey. 'm sorry." he kisses one last time, making it count. with a final tap on your behind, he pulls away and gently scoots you back into bed. matt grabs his cane from its spot against the wall, exhaling as if purging the anxiety from his core. you tap on the mattress, signaling his attention.

"go get em, baby."

[springtyme]

heyy love, could you do an aaron hotchner x fem bau reader where they dated in secretly for a while but then he broke up with her. the reason he broke up with her is because he is her boss and that always was something that made him feel doubtful about their relationship. it’s up to you if you want to end it with an happy ending.

thank youu

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ♡

Thank you so much for the request, dear anon! Such a lovely one and I was so happy to write for Hotch! mwah <3

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

summary: You suspect that you've been in love with Aaron Hotchner since you first laid eyes on him three years ago. Now you're on your way to Idaho to go on your first case together since he broke your heart two weeks ago.

word count: 4.5k

warnings/tags: Angst and fluff. Boss/employee relationship. Hurt/comfort. Heartbreak. Kissing. Sharing a bed. (first time I write for Hotch, so please bear with me) Haven't proof read yet. I don't know if I really like how it ended up tbh, but maybe it's just because I was really tired while writing it..?

You keep your gaze on the pages of the book, despite the words keep blurring together and after having read the same paragraph four times over, without even having registered what you have read. You’ve given up on actually getting any reading done, but you don’t want anyone talking to you right now and you still have almost four hours left before you land in Idaho. So you keep eyes glued to the book, hoping that the act of pretending to read will deter any unwanted conversation.     

You can feel his eyes on you, not all the time, but you feel how his gaze occasionally lingers on you. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you sense his presence nonetheless.  

Taking in a deep breath you look up from the book to steal a glance in his direction, catching his eye for a brief moment before he looks away. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, a hint of longing that mirrors your own. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by the stoic mask he wears so well as he continues his conversation with Derek. 

The last two weeks have been painful, filled with a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions since Aaron had ended your relationship, before it even had a chance to really begin. It’s been three years since you joined the BAU and from the very beginning you had felt drawn to Aaron Hotchner in a way that defied logic and reason, like there was a connection between you that transcended the professional boundaries of boss and subordinate. 

A silly crush is what it had started as, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized that what you felt was far more than just that. It was a deep, undeniable attraction, a connection that went beyond the surface level. And as time passed, that initial spark grew into something more profound, something that stirred your soul and filled your heart with warmth. 

Sometimes you had let yourself hope that he felt the same way, that the moments of shared glances and unspoken words between you held a deeper meaning, but you had never dared act on it, or let yourself get your hopes up too high. The reality of Aaron’s position as your boss and the boundaries it imposed had always stood as a barrier. The unspoken rules of professionalism, the fear of risking his or your career and the harmony of the team had kept your feelings hidden, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation. 

It was three months ago that things had changed between you. It had been a moment of vulnerability, a shared confession during a late-night conversation with the raw emotions of the aftermath of an exceptionally harrowing case that had laid bare the depths of your emotions, and the longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long had reached a point of no return. 

He had kissed you that night and it was sweet and tender, yet charged with unspoken desire and desperation. It was a moment of surrender, a brief glimpse into a world where the barriers between you could be broken down and the feelings you had both been suppressing could be allowed to flourish. 

The next couple months had been a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered confessions, each one deepening the bond between you in ways that words could never fully capture. There were secret meetings in secluded corners of the BAU office, stolen kisses in the quiet of the night, and shared glances that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a shadow began to loom over your newfound connection. Aaron had started to act distant and reserved, his once warm and affectionate demeanor now replaced by a noticeable aloofness. And two weeks ago on a night where the both of you had stayed late to finish some reports he had told you that it all had been a mistake, and that the two of you should maintain a strictly professional relationship moving forward. 

His words had cut through the air with a sharp finality and landed like a heavy blow, shattering the fragile hope that had still lingered within you. Aaron’s eyes had been averted, unable to meet your gaze as he spoke the words that shattered your heart.

You steal another glance at Aaron, watching as he maintains his composure in conversation with Derek, his mask of professionalism firmly in place. 

You turn back to your book, the words still a jumbled mess on the page. You can’t pretend to read anymore, not when your heart is heavy with memories and unspoken words. With a sigh, you close the book, making Emily, who is seated across the aisle, glance up from the case file she is reading with a questioning look. 

You offer her a faint smile, attempting to convey a sense of normalcy despite the turmoil swirling within you. 

“You okay?” she asks as she sets aside the case file. You appreciate her gesture, knowing that Emily’s intuition often went beyond words.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you. With a small nod, you offer Emily a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind,” you reply softly, the words carrying a weight that belie their simplicity.

Emily nods in understanding, her gaze holding a sense of sympathy. “He’s an idiot, by the way,” she says with a wry smile, and you feel how your heart stops for a second, panicking at the thought of Emily uncovering the truth of what has unfolded between you and Aaron. 

“What do you mean?” you stammer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for Emily’s response.

Emily just smiles at you as she picks up her file again. “We’re profilers, it’s not hard to read between the lines,” Emily says with a knowing glint in her eyes, her smile reassuring and understanding. “And you’re not as hard to read as you think, it’s clear that you have been dating someone, you have been looking like a smitten kitten for months, it’s been really cute to see, by the way, but something has changed recently. You’ve been distant, and often lost in thought sulking,” Emily continues, her tone gentle yet perceptive. 

It’s not like it really surprises you, given how perceptive Emily is, and how deeply you’ve been feeling the shifts in your relationship with Aaron, but you had still hoped that you could have hidden your feelings from colleagues. 

“So, yeah, whoever he is that has you feeling like this is an idiot, you’re clearly a catch,” Emily says with a reassuring smile, her words carrying a sense of warmth and understanding.

You feel relief wash over you, though Emily has sensed that you’ve been heartbroken, she hasn’t figured out that it is your boss that has been the course of it. 

“Thanks, Em,” you say, offering the dark haired woman a tired but grateful smile.

Emily returns your smile. “If you ever need to talk or just... not talk, I’m here,” she offers, her voice warm and reassuring.

“I appreciate that,” you say, and you do really mean it, but you know that you’re not ready to talk about any of this yet. “But I think I’ll try to take a nap first, hopefully clear my head a bit before we land.” 

“Mm, sounds like a plan,”Emily responds with a soft chuckle. 

Grabbing the blanket from the empty seat next to you, you lean back in your seat, engulfing your body in the soft, fluffy material. 

Before closing your eyes you cast one last glance at Aaron, his profile etched against the soft glow of the cabin lights. The memories of stolen moments with stolen kisses floods your mind, mingling with the ache of his recent rejection. You feel a pang in your heart, a mix of longing and sorrow, as you turn away, curling up in your seat, closing your eyes to the world outside.

You pull the blanket closer around you, the soft warmth of the blanket envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and security, providing a shield against the turmoil of your heart. The gentle hum of the airplane engines lulls you into a state of relaxation, the rhythmic sound serving as a soothing backdrop to your thoughts and emotions. 

As you feel yourself drifting further into the realm of sleep, your senses start to weaken, the sounds of the airplane cabin fading into a distant murmur and you barely register the tears gently sliding down your cheeks before you drift off. 

· · · · · 

You’re softly pulled out of sleep by the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. As you slowly flutter your eyes open, the soft glow of the cabin lights illuminates the figure beside you.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re about to land,” Derek’s voice is warm and filled with a hint of amusement as he gently rouses you from your slumber.

You blink a few times, the remnants of sleep still lingering in your mind as you adjust to the reality of the present moment. With a small smile, you offer Derek a nod of gratitude. Slowly, you sit up in your seat, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you get ready for touchdown. 

As the plane begins its descent, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - longing, sorrow, and a hint of resignation. The turbulence of your heart echoes the turbulence in the jet cabin as you start dissenting onto a lower altitude.     

As the cabin lights dim in preparation for landing, you look up to find Aaron’s eyes looking in your direction, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he looks away, a shadow covering his features in the soft glow. This would all be so much easier if he would stop looking at you all the time.    

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions as the plane continues its descent. The mix of longing and sorrow in your heart feels almost suffocating, but you push it aside. You have to focus, have to keep your head clear for the sake of the case, you are a professional and you are not going to let your emotions cloud your mind. As the wheels touch the runway with a slight jolt, signaling your arrival in Idaho, you

And as the team disembarks from the plane and makes their way to the awaiting SUVs, you feel a sense of resolve settling within you, happy to no longer be confined to the limited room of the jet cabin and as you step out into the crisp evening air, you release a sigh of relief. 

You watch Aaron walk ahead of you, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable as he walks to one of the cars and you beeline for the other. You keep your gaze fixed outside the window for most of the car ride, watching the landscape pass by in a blur as the car speeds towards its destination, a little sleepy town about an hour away. 

As you and the team arrive at the local police station, you can feel the tension between you and Aaron simmering just beneath the surface. The case at hand requires your full attention, and you push aside the turbulent thoughts and emotions that threaten to consume you as you focus on the task at hand.

Throughout the evening and early night, you work alongside the team, profiling the unsub and piecing together clues to hopefully catch the unsub before they strike again. The familiarity of the work, the rhythm of profiling and investigating grounding you in the present moment, making you go into a state of laser focused professionalism. You find a sense of purpose in the work you do, a reminder that you are more than the turmoil of your emotions.

But as the night wears on, the team regroups at the hotel to get a few hours of sleep before continuing the investigation in the morning. You find yourself standing outside the small hotel, looking up at the dark, star lit sky and as you turn to head inside and join the rest of the team, you feel your heart do a little jump in your chest as you see Aaron standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you, his usual stoic expression faltered, his brown eyes softening as they meet yours.   

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet night, and suddenly, you know that the decision you have made to the hard choice you’ve struggled with for the past two weeks is the right one. 

 Without saying a word, you walk towards him, a mix of uncertainty and determination coursing through you. As you come to a stop in front of him, he opens his mouth to speak, but you raise a hand to silence him. “Not here,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, and you gently take his hand, leading him towards a secluded corner of the hotel grounds. 

As you come to a stop, you turn to face him, the dim light of the night casting shadows across his face. With a heavy sigh, you search his eyes for any sign of the man you once knew, the man who had kissed you with such tenderness and held you with such care, the man you think might’ve even loved you. You had loved him, had long before he kissed you, and you still love him.

 “Aaron, I…” you begin, trailing off as you feel all the words in your head leave you as you look into his eyes, remembering that night he had kissed you for the first time. It had been a late night just like this one, it had been the first time you had ever called him by his first name. 

“Let’s sit,” he says, his voice gentle yet strained, as he guides you to a nearby bench. You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for leading you on, for... for everything.” His words are filled with regret, and you can see the pain in his eyes, a pain that mirrors your own. 

He reaches out his hand, hesitating before resting it on yours. His touch is soft and hesitant but filled with unspoken longing and you feel how your heart skips a beat, how you have missed the feeling of him touching you, even if it’s just the slightest of touches. 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, his voice now barely above a whisper. 

‘But it did hurt, it hurt so, so much’, is what you want to say. But as you look into Aaron’s eyes, filled with regret and vulnerability, you find yourself unable to form the words, the intensity in the warm, chocolate brown depths of his gaze rendering you speechless. You see the conflict within him, the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface, and you feel the need to avert your gaze.  

You look down at his hand on yours, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine in the balm night air. For a moment, you allow yourself to savor the familiar sensation, the connection that still linger between you despite the circumstances.

Aaron’s hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent plea for understanding. “You deserve so much better than that,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

You take a deep breath, the words forming in your mind before you speak them out loud. “Maybe I don’t want you to decide for me what I do and don’t deserve,” you say, looking up at him again, your voice steady despite the feelings swirling within you. Aaron’s eyes widen slightly at your words, a mix of emotions crossing his features.

Now it’s his turn to be lost for words, which for some reason seems to give you a bit more courage. You fill your lungs with another deep breath before opening your mouth.  

“I’m quitting,” you declare, your voice firm and resolute. You’ve been struggling with making the decision, but as you look at Aaron now, face lit up by the soft moon light you know that it is the only decision for you, you are never gonna be able to let him go if you keep working for the BAU. “I’m turning in my resignation letter when we get back from this case.”

Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on your hand tightening even more as he processes your words. The weight of your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, the unspoken implications of what this means for both of you settling in. You can see how a myriad of emotions flicker across his face – surprise, concern, and perhaps a glimmer of something else that you can’t quite place.

“You can’t do that,” Aaron’s voice is firm but filled with a mix of concern and resignation, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt

You can’t help but feel a pang of hurt at his words, it’s not like you had expected him to be happy about your decision, but a little, and probably naive, part of you had hoped that he would acknowledge that it would be the solution to how the two of you could be together, hoped that he still wanted that. But you’re not leaving the BAU for the slim chance that you can be with Aaron. You’re quitting because it’s become clear to you that it is the only solution. If the only time you can push aside the pain of being around him is when you’re actively investigating  a violent crime case, you have to let him go, and you can only do that by leaving the BAU. 

“Yes, I can… I have to, I think,” you say firmly, yet you feel your heart breaking a little by the thought of leaving. “I need to do this for myself. For my own well-being,” you continue, your gaze unwavering as you look into his eyes. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.” 

Aaron remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. Finally, he sighs, a hint of resignation in his voice. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret.

“I know,” you reply softly, a tinge of sorrow coloring your words. “But we both knew the risks when we started this.”

“I should never have put you in this position,” Aaron says, his gaze dropping to the ground as he speaks. “I should never have kissed you that night. Ilet my own feelings cloud my judgment, and I hurt you in the process. I’m your boss, and I took advantage, and I-I hurt you, and…” 

“No, look at me, please.” You reach out and gently cub his cheek in your hand, making him meet your gaze. “Aaron, it wasn’t just you. I wanted it too, I wanted to be with you,” you confess, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “I wanted to take the risk because I thought it was worth it. And maybe it was, for a while. But we can’t keep going like this, Aaron. It’s not fair to either of us.” 

Aaron’s eyes search yours, a mix of emotions swirling within their depths. “What are you saying?” he asks softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation. 

“I’m saying that I need to let you go,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to let go of this hope that maybe someday we could find a way to be together. I can’t keep holding on to something that’s only causing us both pain.” Tears gather in the corners of your eyes as you speak, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. But despite the pain, you feel a sense of clarity wash over you, a sense of liberation in finally speaking the truth. 

Aaron’s eyes soften, his hand coming up to gently grasp yours that’s still cupping his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. You offer him a sad smile, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling away. 

“Me too, Aaron,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of love and heartbreak. As you stand up from the bench, you turn to walk away, the weight of your decision settling in your heart. But before you can take a step, you feel a hand grasp yours, stopping you in your tracks. You turn back to see Aaron standing before you, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of something you can’t quite place. 

“I...I can’t let you leave without saying this,” Aaron begins, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and in the process, I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let you go without telling you that I love you. ” 

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the depth of his confession washing over you like a wave. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you, a spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for the two of you. “But what does that mean, Aaron?” you ask softly, your voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation. “What are you saying?” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he speaks. “I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to live with the regret of letting you slip away. I want to fight for a future where you are a part of my life. I know it won’t be easy, I know there are risks and complications, but I can’t let you go without at least trying cause I love you.” 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you look into Aaron’s eyes, the sincerity and love shining within them filling your heart with warmth and longing. Taking a step closer to Aaron, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with determination. 

“I love you, too. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.” 

Aaron’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across his features. Without another word, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss filled with passion and longing. The world falls away as you melt into each other, lost in the moment of shared love and desire as the man you love kisses you under the moonlight.

The kiss deepens, becoming a promise of the future you both want to fight for, a pledge to overcome the obstacles that stand in your way, a balm for the weeks of heartbreak. And as you break apart, breathless and filled with emotion, you feel how your entire body shivers, already missing the feeling of Aaron’s warm lips against yours. 

“You’re freezing,” Aaron frowns, quickly shredding himself of his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders before wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod, your heart swelling with hope and love as he takes your hand in his, leading you back to the hotel. Hotel might be a little generous; it’s more of a bed and breakfast, with so few rooms that the team had to pair up and share, but it was the only accommodation in town and it is not like you and the team aren’t used to having to share rooms from time to time. 

It turns out the rest of the team has already paired up and hit the hay, leaving only one room since you’re the last two to arrive. “Looks like you and I’ll have to share a room,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, an hour ago you would be horrified by it, but now you’re absolutely thrilled about it.  

“Yeah, looks like it,” he says with a soft smile on his face as you get your keys before taking your hand in his again and leading you to your shared room.  

As you step inside, the warmth of the room envelops you, melding with the warmth of Aaron’s touch as he pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours once more in a sweet, tender embrace. In the dim light of the hotel room, with the moon casting a soft glow through the curtains, the emotions swirling within you are no longer suffocating, but freeing, as you surrender to the love that has bound the two of you together.

As you finally break apart and look around it turns out that the room is a twin room, with two beds divided by a bedside table. It makes sense that your coworkers didn’t leave you to share a room with a shared bed. 

You share a knowing look with him before the both of you start to quickly get ready for bed, it’s late and you’re both exhausted and there is only a few hours till you’ll need to get up again. 

You share one last kiss before moving to your respective beds, but as you lay there, the distance between you feels unbearable. The man you have been pining over for three years has just a little while ago told you that he loves you after weeks of heartbreak and he lies so close yet you can’t even touch him? That’s ridiculous! 

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice filled with longing as you look at Aaron.

“I know,” he replies, his voice just as filled with yearning as he pulls his covers to the side letting you slip into the bed with him. 

You settle into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and you feel as if you’re finally coming home. The walls that had been built between you are crumbling down, allowing you to embrace the love that has always been between you.

As you snuggle closer to Aaron, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. The turmoil of the past weeks fades away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment and love.

“I’m never letting you go again,” Aaron whispers, his breath warm against your ear, and you know that he means it. And you know that you never want to let him go either. 

With a smile on your face, and your heart full of love and hope, you drift off to sleep in the arms of the man you love, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together.

[luveline]

anything with roan and eddie pls 🙏🙏 whatever you want to write about them!! i miss them 🥺🥺

thanks for requesting!! fem

Baking tray, beef cuts laid out flat. Eddie works in silence, dressing the beef with garlic honey, sesame seeds, and a big pinch of salt. He’d like to add some ginger, some paprika, but Roan doesn’t like when things taste smoky. 

He saran wraps the tray and puts it in the fridge. He makes everyone’s veggies —you like different stuff to Eddie, who likes different stuff to Roan, so he makes a garden’s worth of greens and douses them in olive oil, flaky salt, and a little dash of lemon and pepper. He puts that atop the beef in the fridge and tries to think of a side. He was planning on making pasta tonight, before he realised the beef was gonna go bad soon. Maybe he’ll make a pan of crispy mac and cheese to go with it. 

Yeah. He smiles to himself. That looks good on his head, two roasted ribs, a fist of mac and cheese, and a half a plate of roasted veggies. 

He cuts a little cilantro ‘cos Roan loves it, adds some lemon juice to that too, and sets it aside in the fridge. He makes a quick mac and cheese on the stove and tips it into a baking tray, covers a third of it in bacon bits for the youngster, and puts that in the oven. 

Then he sits at the table and sighs. Scratches two hands through his hair, lets the tight achy small of his back decompress as he leans forward. 

When Eddie started working at the shop with Wayne, he figured it would get easier over time. Part time table-bussing wasn’t going to pay for a trailer or his brand new baby, and for months it’s not like he could work anyhow. He lived solely off of his Uncle Wayne as he learned to change diapers, and calm colic, and be a new dad. It was depressing and frustrating all of the time. He felt like shit because he’d just fucking landed Wayne with another mouth to feed and diapers were so, so expensive, and so was formula, and baby clothes, and the guilt worsened when he realised he loved her. Loved Roan. He loved her pretty much the moment he laid eyes on her, but he had no idea if he could be a father, just knew he couldn’t let his kid fall into the system. 

But loving her had been second to panic for weeks. Then one day he was washing her tummy in the bath and he swore blind that she smiled at him, whether babies her age could smile or not. He tumbled out of the bathroom with her in a towel poncho to brag, and that night at dinner, Wayne gave a frowny Eddie the option: start working alternate shifts at the shop. Wayne would have her in the evenings while Eddie worked, they’d sorted everything out, he could start next week. It wasn’t half as scary as being a new dad, so Eddie said yes. 

Anyways, he expected it to get easier. He knows more about parenting and cars than he ever imagined at twenty, but it’s still hard. He’s exhausted. 

Good thing he knows exactly why he does it. 

The door to the living room opens with a creak. Small feet pad around the stair bannister and down the hallway that leads to the kitchen. Roan stops walking when she notices him behind the table. She smiles. She looks like him, less as she gets older, but enough to have given an appreciation for his own features. What’s more beautiful than seeing your smile on someone else’s lips?

“Hey, daddy.” 

“Hi, munchkin.” 

Truthfully, Roan has been his best friend for years. There’s something intangibly close about a single parent and their only child, especially when they’d lived alone. Day after day together, seeing all the gross bits and all the love. It’s given her a vast depth of emotional intelligence. She’s smarter now as a kid than Eddie was at 18. 

“You okay?” she asks, holding her hands up. He picks her up, plonking her on the table in front of him. “You look tired, daddy. And you smell like pepper.” 

“I just finished making ribs, babe.” 

“Yum!” Her nose moves when she talks, “For dinner?” 

“Mm-hm.” He finds her hand. Holds it gently. “Mac and cheese and roasted broccoli, too.” 

Roan smiles again. “Dad, you’re a good chef.” 

“I know I am! But it took so much practice. When you were born, you know what I was eating for dinner every night? I was eating chicken pot pie you put in the microwave.” She wrinkles her nose. “I know. I didn’t care about being good to my body. I definitely didn’t listen to my tummy.”

He likes this part about being a dad. He’s never found it awkward. He just drops his voice into softness and talks to her on her level. 

“But you learned.” 

“I did learn. I wanted to make sure you were eating everything you need. That’s why we eat all that broccoli.” 

She pokes him in the torso with her socked foot. “Maybe less broccoli for my tummy.” 

“I got potatoes and stuff too, don’t worry.” Eddie reaches for her hair in its after school mess, raking it away from her face. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Well, duh.” 

“I know, but really. I love you more than anything.” 

“More than Y/N?” 

“No,” he says quickly, then laughs. “Yeah, but just a little bit. It’s a different kind of love, okay? I love you both like crazy, but you’re my baby. Even though you’re not a baby anymore.” 

“I could be a baby,” she whispers, grinning, “I can be small again, and you can carry me everywhere, and give me a bottle.” 

He laughs roughly. “Yeah? You want a bottle? You barely like milk.” 

“Well, you can still carry me.” 

“I do carry you. I’m surprised these feet work,” he says, squeezing her toes in both hands. 

“Dad, don’t!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he presses his thumb between her foot and her toes and then drops them altogether. “I remember when your foot was the size of my thumb.” 

“I don’t.” 

He laughs more loudly than he means to and scoops her up for a rough and tumble hug. “God, I love you. I really do, bubby.” He presses his nose to her head and blames how tired he is for what he says next. “You are everything to me, you know that? You’re my everything.” 

“You’re my everything.” 

He tips her back to see her. Beams at her, touches his nose to hers. “You and Y/N, you make my life perfect.” 

“I’m glad,” she says, which has him laughing all over again, a childish giggle. 

When you get home a half hour later, you find them in weird places. Eddie’s sitting on the kitchen floor watching the ribs cook in the oven, and Roan’s under the table building a marble run with his approval. “Here?” she asks. 

“And the orange piece. We need more pieces, it’s not long enough.” Eddie smiles at you as you enter, but leans back, opening the cupboard under the sink to grab a saucepan, the sieve, and plastic jug. “We can use these.” 

“What’s up, my Munsons?” you ask. 

Roan smacks her forehead against the edge of the table in her excitement. “Ouch!” she says, crawling from under it to crowd your legs. 

“Ouch!” you echo, face morphed with concern as your handbag slides down your arm. You drop it to the floor and take her cheeks into your hands. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I feel like that was all my fault.” 

She shakes her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “It was an accident.” 

“I know, I know, but I didn’t mean to startle you.” You brush her hair back gently and hover. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“Don’t kiss it, it stings!” Roan says, veering away from you with a frown. 

“Sorry!” 

Roan twists away from you to fall into Eddie’s lap. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mouths. 

You pout. It’s with extreme beautifulness —is that a word? Eddie’s pretty sure it’s a word— you slip out of your little heels and sit down on your knees, stockings dark and perfect on legs he adores. You don’t question why they’re on the floor. That’s how you all fit, his smart working girl and your shared grumpy daughter, because nobody asked Eddie why he sat down by the oven. 

“Sorry, baby,” you say softly.

Roan’s frown worsens, but she says, “No, I’m sorry. My head hurts. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, big girl.” 

“Big girl?” she asks. 

“You sounded very grown up, is all.” 

Eddie has to agree. “You’re just that smart.” 

You hold his ankle. “So, how was work? How was school? Fill me in.” 

“How was your day?” Eddie asks. 

“Super usual and boring. We had some people from the Brussels branch come to visit and Jess kept telling me to stop being so awkward, and I asked her what she meant and she said I was smiling like somebody was holding me hostage.” 

Eddie loves when you smile like that. When you’d first met, you used to smile that way all the time. He loves all your smiles, obviously, but your excited–scared combo isn’t one he sees much anymore. 

You shrug. “But work paid for lunch, and I had this amazing mango passionfruit cake roll, I snook you some.” 

“You did?” Roan asks eagerly.

“I did! It’s in my purse, but it has a price.” 

“What’s the price?” Roan asks. 

You put your head in your hand. “I wanna know what you guys have been up to today.” 

When Eddie plates dinner that evening, it’s with a distinct sense of pride and content mashed together. It’s a damn good-looking meal, dense with nutrition and flavour alike, and you and Roan both seem similarly awed. Eddie wanted ribs and he got them, but almost as pleasurable as eating them is the way you both tuck in. You compliment his roasted veggies, telling him you could eat them for every meal, and Roan’s face is plastered in sticky honey garlic in minutes, a macaroni elbow in her hair. 

“Know what dad told me earlier?” she asks you. 

You snort and rescue her hair. “What did he tell you, baby?” 

“That we make his life perfect.” 

Eddie chokes on his coke. “That was a secret,” he says, throat burning, “between you and me?” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Roan says.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Eds.” Your eyes turn to hearts, staring at him over the steaming tray of macaroni and cheese. “You guys make my life perfect, too. My babe and my personal chef.” 

He dodges your cheek pinch, grabbing your hand to hold instead. 

“Just wish somebody would make me dinner every once in a while,” he says.

“Whatever,” you say. 

“Dad, I can make you dinner.” 

“I don’t trust you ‘round the kitchen.” 

Roan guides a forkful of cheesy macaroni to her lips. “Okay, good. I can’t make pasta like you,” she says. Eddie won’t mind making dinner again tomorrow. 

[hard-core-super-star]

ruin my sleep [L.Calderu]

pairing: top!lilia calderu x bottom!reader

summary: after beating around the bush for far too long, you ask lilia to show you the darker side of her desires.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> bondage; impact play; SO many petnames; mommmy kink galore; praise + degradation; allusions to domme lilia; fingering; teasing; a dash of overstimulation; AFTERCARE; soft but kinda mean lilia; lilia's boobs deserve their own warning fr

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: HELLO! am i about to start finals week? yes. do i have a bunch of essays to write? also yes. did i start a bunch of series that i still haven't finished working on? yes x3. did this idea grip me and force me to write it instead of doing anything else? right again, you win a prize and that prize is this fic. this is straight up just filth with feelings and i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing and your speeding heart. Despite the lack of danger, your heartbeat still rings in your ears, making every second feel like a lifetime. It's dramatic, sure, but if you didn't love dramatics, you wouldn't be willingly tied up in Lilia Calderu's bedroom.

"Don't tell me you're already tired, sweetheart?" Her voice is equal part soft and dangerous. "We're just getting started."

The words draw out a groan from between your lips, the ache between your legs stronger than the ache in your limbs. Even though you want to complain, you know you can't. After all, you did ask for this.

You practically begged the witch for this moment. For the opportunity to submit. To explore the depths of your devotion to each other.

In your defense, Agatha had been the one to put the idea in your head and once Lilia found out, well…you didn't exactly need to break any of her rules to earn yourself a punishment. Not that she had many rules to begin with.

Despite all her years, and the kinks she'd acquired a taste for during them, she tended to be quite simple with you. While she loved the power she knew she held over you, she wanted your relationship to have a solid foundation before she rushed into anything too intense.

It was sweet in its own way. Almost like she wanted you to be completely sure about what you were doing. About the feelings you both knew were growing between you.

Her hesitation, her patience, made you take matters into your own hands. The few rules she had for you weren't ones you wanted to break, since most of them had been put in place to give you an incentive to take care of yourself, so you found another way. Or well, Agatha found another way.

The witch was far too nosy for her own good and while Lilia wasn't a jealous person by nature, she wasn't too thrilled when she learned you were sharing so many details about your sex life with someone else. At least, until you told her the reason why.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, if it wasn't for Agatha, you wouldn't be here right now.

Tied up and at your girlfriend's mercy. Just like you wanted.

"Please," you mumble, voice already hoarse from your constant begging. "Need you."

"Oh, I know, sweet girl but you asked for this. You wanted mama's attention, didn't you?"

The ease with which her title slips from her lips makes you clench around nothing, your legs fighting against the restraints in an attempt to rub together. The corners of her mouth quirk up into an amused smile and she moves forward to trail her fingers across your inner thigh.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your back arching into her despite your attempts at staying still. You've never been good at controlling yourself around her, though. Especially not when she has that look in her eyes. The one that's equal parts soft and cruel. The one that lets you know she's not letting up until the only thought inside your head is her name.

Her teasing touch ligers for a few seconds more before she brings her hand down with a sharp smack. You gasp, your hips bucking against the air. "Mama-"

"Shhh, I know," she coos. "Just a little more. You can take it, can't you? You'll be good for me?"

Your answer rushes out before you can second-guess yourself. "Yes! I'll be good. So good for mama."

"Good girl." Her praise is honey sweet and replaces the stinging across your inner thighs with a delicious ache between them instead. "You're doing so well."

You're practically dripping onto the sheets, your skin reddened and marked from your girlfriend's harsh treatment and constant spanks. Even the fact that she had avoided your ass and decided to torment your thighs was a punishment on its own. A punishment you enjoyed, although you weren't too keen on sharing that information just yet.

Clearly, your cunt had other ideas.

"Oh, baby, you're soaked." Lilia chuckles, landing a quick slap to your puffy clit just to watch you arch for her. "You're enjoying this far too much."

"Maybe," you mumble, eyes fluttering closed as her fingertips ghost up and down your folds. "Can't help it, feels so good."

"I know, you've been moaning like a slut since we started."

The word makes you whine although you're not sure if it's in pleasure or protest. "Mama…"

The witch simply shushes you as she settles between your legs, front pressed against the mattress and chin resting on your knee. "Settle down, little one, or you won't get what you want."

That gets your attention.

Instantly, your eyes fly open, and you crane your neck down until you're able to see her. Seeing and feeling her proximity helps your tense muscles relax, the ropes around your wrists helping you ground yourself.

Lilia's careful eyes notice every movement, every twitch of your lips, every crinkle of your brows. She waits, though, one hand stroking the outside of your leg as you settle back into the scene. "Breathe, darling. Color?"

You take a moment to do as she says, breathing in and focusing on the air in your lungs and her steady presence. "Green. I'm okay."

She hums in response. "Good girl. Taking everything I give you so well."

The praise is exactly what you want but like always, the witch keeps you on your toes. She shifts closer only to land three quick slaps to your cunt, directly onto your clit.

The breath gets stolen from your lungs as your mouth drops open into a long moan. Your body jerks uncontrollably, the stinging pain turning into pleasure that flows out of you.

There's no doubt in your mind that you look like an absolute mess but your girlfriend doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she seems to be enjoying it more than you.

"Look at that," she murmurs. "So beautiful. And all mine."

"Yours," you confirm before she even asks. "Please-"

"Such good manners, too."

Despite her almost absent-minded tone, her fingers make their way to your cunt, teasing through your folds before she easily slips inside. The relief is immediate, even though she's purposely starting with only one finger.

You're far too ecstatic to care, though, mumbling senseless profanities while your hips buck into her touch. "Mama…"

"Patience, sweet thing, don't get ahead of yourself."

You try to follow the soft instructions, to savor the feeling of her filling you up slowly, but you're far too wound up for that. As much as you crave the slow intimacy you two usually have, there's no denying that you need more. You need to fall apart completely.

And she knows.

You're sure she knows because she can't stop herself from smirking. From watching you with half-lidded eyes and darkened pupils. Watching you like she's drinking up your pleasure.

Slowly, almost reverently, she adds another finger, working you up with a satisfying stretch. Your cunt clenches around her, beckoning her in deeper until she's the only thing you can feel.

"You take me so well, tesoro. So good for mama."

The praise turns into molten need inside your veins and you cry out when her lips trail across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She hadn't gone that hard, you knew that on some level, that despite how much she had enjoyed being fully in control, she hadn't wanted to hurt you.

That didn't mean she hadn't left you ridiculously sensitive, though. A few well-placed spanks and a subtle incantation had made every graze against your inner thighs feel like the lash of a whip. Just because she wanted to start slow didn't mean she didn't love driving you wild.

Her kisses continue up your thigh, her teeth grazing the skin in the most maddening of ways. Her free hand lands on your stomach and she holds you down as much as she can, forcing you to stay still and take what she gives you.

And endure what she doesn't.

She curls her fingers inside your wet cunt, her thumb grazing your clit just enough to make you gasp. "What do you want, darling? Use your words."

"Wanna cum," you say shamelessly. "Please, please let me cum."

Her fingers slow down for a moment, stopping with her knuckles buried inside you and her thumb slick with your need. She waits there, watching you tremble and whimper until the silence makes tears well up in your eyes.

Once you're teetering on the edge of too much and not enough, she starts again. Her thumb draws relentless circles while her thrusts speed up once again. "Go ahead, baby. Cum for me, let me hear you."

Your body responds to her before your mind can even catch up. The pressure in your stomach snaps and you're thrown head-first into the depths of pleasure, your body shaking beneath Lilia.

She works you through it, peppering kisses across your thighs and letting you feel how well she fills you up. You don't even register when the stimulation grows to be too much, floating somewhere between your orgasm and the pleasure that begins mounting once more.

All you can do is gasp and whine, begging her to keep going until your throbbing clit can't take it.

It's either one long orgasm or two intense ones but you don't know or care. All you know is her and that's all you need.

You don't know where you go or how long it takes you to come back but when the fuzziness in your mind clears and your eyes focus again, you're wrapped up in Lilia's arms, your head tucked safely into the crook of her neck.

When you lift your head to look at her, she coos, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. "There you are. Where'd you go, sweet girl?"

The question makes you giggle and you lean further into her touch. "Dunno. Felt nice, though."

"I gathered that much," she says with a chuckle. "I didn't go too far, did I?"

You shake your head before shifting down and resting against her chest. Her hand moves into your hair, lightly scratching your scalp as you recover.

Her skin is warm under your cheek and you can't help the way your lips make their way onto her breast, kissing the soft wrinkles scattered across her chest. "Can we stay like this?"

She hums, a soft smile on her face. "Only for a little. You need a bath and some ointment."

"Later," you grumble.

Her laugh is indulgent and sweet as she agrees. "Okay, later."

[jussstlovely]

Money Pull Up

Learning the Money Pull-Up Dance with Bf! Enhypen

More info: how the members of Enhypen would react to you asking them if they wanted to do the “Money Pull Up” dance on TikTok. 

All fluff! Wc: About 200-350 words for each member 

AN: I’ve wanted to write this for a while now and finally finished, hope you enjoy!

NSFW acc DNI please

희승-

While scrolling through TikTok, a dance you wanted to learn kept showing up, so, you decided to ask your boyfriend, Heeseung.

You heard him tell you once that he has a background in dancing so hopefully, he would agree to dance with you.

Opening the door to his room you called him, 

“hey hee?” 

“yes?” 

“Would you like to learn a TikTok dance with me?” 

“Sure!” It took him a few moments to respond but he steps away from his computer and follows you to the living room. 

Once you’re done showing the dance, you start teaching him.

“Okay, so first it goes, money pull-up action we ah turn it up,” you said as you started demonstrating the twerk motion. 

He looks at you in disbelief. 

“Babe, when did you learn to move like that…?”

You look back at him with confusion but also hold back a smile as he genuinely looks shocked at the move that you just made. 

“Uhm I’ve always known how to do this?” “Anyways let’s get back to it”

“oh…okay”

He finally got the dance down 15 minutes after teaching him but it needs cleaning.

“Okay let’s run that again, you got it?”

“Yea” 

At this point, both of you are tired out even though you guys still need to record…

“Okay, we will run it one last time and then record,” you said sort of out of breath. 

“Okay,” he said, agreeing with you, he was also sort of out of breath.

“Okay, 5,6,7,8…”

Once you guys finally finished cleaning it up it was time to record, and you both ended up doing a great job.

“Oh my gosh look at us,” he said in awe

“Yea we look pretty good,” you said proudly. 

Once you uploaded the dance, the comments were flooded with compliments of the dance. 

Needless to say, you and Heeseung killed it and now you better believe that he’s going to go find more dances for you guys to learn together. 

제이-

The same scenario as Heeseung, you were the one who found the dance and wanted to learn it. But knowing Jay, he was pretty conservative on what he posts online so it took a little bit more convincing.

“Please!!! Just this once” you begged. 

“I'm not sure baby” 

“I’ll cook your favorite meal tonight~,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Jay contemplated for a second, “…Deal” 

“Ahh yay!”

Once you showed Jay a video of the dance and a short tutorial you began to teach him the steps more in depth.

“Okay so, do you know how to twerk?”

Your question baffled him.

“D-do I know how to do what?” he responded, still shocked by your question. 

You repeat yourself.

“I-Honey, I mean I never tried it but if you teach me maybe…” 

So, you taught him how to twerk, and surprisingly, he was good at it, almost better than you. 

Twenty minutes passed and you both were ready to record, so you set up your phone and got ready.

“Okay Jay, you ready?”

“Mhm let’s go”

“Alright we got this” 

In the end, you and Jay devoured that, the dynamic and chemistry between you both can easily be seen through the screen, and the people who liked and commented also agreed with that as they left comments filled with compliments for both of you. 

After that, Jay also found his new interest, which was learning dances with you. 

제이크-

Jake was the one who showed you the dance and asked you to teach him so that you could dance together.

Of course, you agreed, excited to learn and dance with each other.

After you studied the dance and what the dancers were doing in the video you began to teach him. 

To be honest, Jake was not listening to anything you were saying, too mesmerized by the way you danced and demonstrated the moves. 

Once you were done teaching him you asked if he understood what to do. 

“Hm? Oh yea I totally got that” 

Feeling a little skeptical about his response, you asked him to show the dance to you, by himself. To which he surprisingly did knowing that he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. 

His demonstration was so bad that you had to stop him halfway.

“Jake, you asked me to teach you this, why aren’t you paying attention.”

“I’m sorry babe, but you just looked so mesmerizing…” 

Failing to hide your smile after his compliment you thanked him but also told him that he needed to start focusing or else you wouldn’t dance with him. 

He quickly complied and began to focus on what you were saying. 

By the end of your lesson, he understood what to do, and now you guys were ready to record!

“Okay, just remember to twerk to the beat” 

“Okay yes, got it, I’m ready” 

Forgot to mention, that Jake is doing the twerking since you wanted to do the fan kick. 

“Okay 5,6,7,8…”

After you guys finished the dance you both spent 5 minutes looking over it, still not satisfied with the way it came out so you both danced again, and again, and again until you guys were finally satisfied with the end product. 

Once you uploaded it, so many people liked and commented on it. To say that you guys did a good job was an understatement, you both did such a great job that even you couldn’t stop watching. 

The way that you both danced in sync while also doing different moves was so satisfying, you also uploaded another video of you teaching Jake and the comments were also very positive as many found your teaching helpful even using it as examples to learn the dance. 

Now, you and Jake have made a pact to learn a dance together at least once a month. 

성훈-

Jake was the one who showed Sunghoon the dance and convinced him to ask you. 

He knew that you took some dance classes when you were in high school but for some reason, he was nervous to ask you. 

So, it took a week of Jake’s bickering, teasing, and convincing until he finally asked you.

“Hey babe…” When he asked you, you were sitting on the couch looking at your phone. 

“Yes, hoon?” you answered.

“I was wondering if you would like to learn a TikTok dance with me,” he mumbled. 

“Huh?”

“I was wondering if…you would like to learn a TikTok dance with me,” he mumbled again. 

“Sunghoon, I can’t hear you-”

“Iwaswonderingifyouwouldliketolearnatiktokdancewithme!” he rambled with a louder voice. 

“Oh, yeah sure! Which dance?” you replied.

Surprised by your answer because he was expecting immediate rejection, caused him to stare at you with shock on his face.

“Sunghoon?” he snapped out of it.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Which dance do you want to learn?” 

He replied by showing you the Money Pull-Up Dance. Although you agreed to this, he still wasn’t convinced and kept on asking you if you wanted to learn this, which you always reassured him that you did.

After 20 minutes of teaching him the dance, you felt that it was time to record.

“Okay I think we got it, are you ready to record?” he agreed.

15 minutes pass by fairly quickly due to you both messing up multiple times and wanting to redo the dance whenever you watch it. Because of that, you guys did not end up posting the finalized version of the dance, and instead the video of where you both forgot the last part and ended up laughing near the end. You and Sunghoon did not expect to get so much love in that video so to show your gratitude you both decided to film and post the finalized dance for your new fans and friends, and they loved it even more. Also, Jake made various comments about how it was all his idea and how he deserved a shoutout. 

선우-

Sunoo was the one who showed you the dance, due to his fyp being filled with multiple dance covers of this song he saved the dance and made a note in his head to ask you when you came home. 

But when you got home, you looked so tired, and he didn’t have the chance to ask you. 

The next day, you got a day off from work, making it a perfect opportunity for him to ask you about the dance. 

“Hey, sweetie~”

“Hm? Oh hi baby”

“Heyyy” he replied.

“What’s up Sunoo?” you replied, a little suspicious of him.

“Oh!, I was wondering if you would like to learn a TikTok dance with me?” 

“Oh, yeah sure!”

“Ahh really-”

“But it depends on what it is…”

So, he shows you, though it takes a little bit more convincing for you since you have never tried this kind of dance before. But you finally agreed. 

He ended up teaching you how to twerk, how to fan kick, and how to do the body roll which you did a pretty good job on all of them.

“Okay now that you understand those parts let's watch a tutorial to start learning,” he said showing you a detailed tutorial on how to dance. 

About 20 minutes later you finished learning the dance with him and felt that you were ready to film. Sunoo was also surprised by your commitment and dance skills, he has never seen this side of you. 

“I’m ready to start filming!” you said, excited to dance now.

“Okay! We can do this.”

To both of your surprise, it only took one take to film the dance perfectly so Sunoo uploaded the dance, and very quickly, it ended up going viral, there were so many comments complimenting your dynamic with him and both of your skills that can easily be seen from the screen.

After that Sunoo booked a dance lesson for both of you, and you found a new passion for something outside of work.

정원-

Same scenario as Heeseung and Jay. You were the one who found the dance and wanted to learn it. But it took a lot of convincing due to Jungwon being shocked that you want to learn this dance style. Most of the dances that you show Jungwon are cuter and take less skill to execute. But, you are determined to make Jungwon do this dance with you. 

“Please Jungwon, I promise I will do the dishes for a month,” you said hoping that he would finally say yes. 

“Hmm, no”

After multiple attempts at trying to convince him you gave up and decided to not talk to him for the rest of the day, although it was your idea, it still hurt that your boyfriend didn’t want to dance with you. 

It was now nine at night and Jungwon couldn’t take the silence anymore. Throughout the day he tried talking to you but you would always walk away or find a way to leave him mid-sentence. 

This resulted in him apologizing, and when he apologized, he also told you that he wanted to learn the dance with you. Which brought a huge smile to your face.

"Wait really? You want to learn it with me?" you asked, trying hard to contain your excitement.

He nodded with a bright smile on his face. So, you guys moved to the living room and started learning.

25 minutes later you guys finally finished the dance and you understood most of it, now it was time to record. Jungwon set up his phone and about 5 minutes after he was getting ready to upload it, it took you both about 3 takes until you got the perfect one. 

After Jungwon posted it, the video was already getting so many likes, and the comments were filled with compliments. They talked about how great your dynamic was, how the execution was done well and some comments were also made by your friends.

Needless to say, you and Jungwon had so much fun, and he is always hoping that you will ask him to do another dance like that with you. 

니키-

You were the one who showed Ni-ki the dance and to your surprise, he said yes. 

But while you were getting ready to teach him the dance, he couldn’t stop laughing, and you couldn’t understand why. 

“Ni-ki! Stop laughing, why are you laughing?” you asked, failing to hide a smile on your face.

He laughed even harder in reply,

“Ah I’m sorry, I’ll focus,” he said trying to keep a straight face. 

With that you continued to teach him, the first two dance steps went well until he broke out in laughter again. 

So here you were, looking at him with a straight face while he was dying of laughter on the floor. 

“Ni-ki, I'm serious, what is so funny? I’m trying to teach you something…” slightly hurt by this.

He finally stopped laughing, “I’m sorry babe, I’ll focus, for real this time” 

“No Ni-ki I want to know what’s so funny? Do you not want to do this?” 

He quickly disagreed with you, the actual reason why he kept laughing was because he was nervous but he didn’t want to tell you that…

“No no, I do! it’s just…” 

“It’s just what?” 

“I’m nervous…” he replied.

“You’re nervous?”

He nodded his head,

“Why are you nervous, Riki?” 

“I don’t know. I mean it’s the first time I’m dancing with you, and I don’t want to let you down…”

You reassured him, “You’re not letting me down Riki, I’m just glad you agreed to this but if you don’t want to dance then that’s okay too”

“No I want to do this dance with you, I promise I will focus this time” 

After that, it only took 10 minutes to learn the whole thing because Ni-ki learned the dance instantly. 

Once you finished learning the dance you moved on to filming. That didn’t take long either, and on your second take you both felt satisfied with the result, so you posted it. 

Most of the first comments and likes were from your friends hyping you up but then an hour later your phone started blowing up with so many more comments and likes complimenting you both with how your energy is and dynamic and chemistry that was consistent throughout the whole dance. 

All in all you and Ni-ki had such a fun time together learning a dance. Even though you guys have been dating for only 3 months, he hopes that this will last forever. 

Hope you enjoyed it! If you did please like and comment, reblogs are appreciated. 💕

[palmerzy]

hi! i've never done an ask before so i hope this is alright!!! i've been loving reading all of your posts so far, you're such an amazing writer :) i was hoping/wondering if you could write something about spencer reid crying during sex, always, either cause hes so desperate or so horny or so everything,, thanks :)!

hi anon!! hope this is okay :)

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes including dacryphilia.

spencer is a notorious crier when it comes to his intimate moments with you, and it’s a known fact by now. you were more than concerned the first time it happened, when he sheathed himself within you and let a few trickles slip down his cheeks from how intensely good it felt to have his needs satisfied.

he assured you that he was okay, that he was more than okay, that he’d never felt such an intense connection to something in his life. “just feels so good,” “been needing this all day,” “so warm, so good, so good,” he’d whimpered over and over that day, burying his face into your neck, dampening your skin with his tears.

eventually you got used to it, and now it’s a pretty common occurrence. the first time you ever denied him an orgasm, spencer was a crying mess, big brown eyes glossy with tears of desperation as he shook his head rapidly, questioning why you’d do that to him (yet, of course, he soon realised he loved it).

there have been times where he’s come to your apartment, wanting to spend time with you, but you’re busy emailing hotch about cases or going over some evidence. he’d been sat on your couch, looking over at you, bouncing his leg impatiently until eventually he had to speak up, tears in his eyes, letting you know that he was feeling a little ignored and needy.

one thing lead to another, and you were riding him on the couch, wiping away his tears with your thumbs as the both of you forgot where his sobs ended and his moans began. his gaze was strictly on the space between you, whining and biting his lip at the sight of his cock disappearing into your depths.

sometimes, significantly late at night when he’s tired after a long day at work, the feeling of being inside of you is enough to have his puppy dog eyes swarming with tears, comforted by the clench of your body around his.

he always feels like he just needs to come in you or with you, and if he doesn’t, he’s upset. occasionally, if he’s come before you, he’s a mess; tears streaming down his face as he profusely apologises, continuing to fuck you through the overstimulation purely because he needs you to come too, he’s so desperate to feel it, no matter what.

overall, spencer reid isn’t immune to crying, and definitely not when he’s having sex. he feels vulnerable and comfortable enough with you to let it happen, knowing he’ll never be judged or ostracised, if anything - encouraged.

[sunsetbois]

Invincible Variants - Smutty Drabbles (based on kink HC's)

That's a wrap folks. Finally getting to write about the kink post

In other words, work is slow and I got bored

Some Comfort... dome dubcon... some violence

Edit- Mohawk's mixtape mentioned in question riiiiight here

___

Emperor- Mark:

"As I was saying, The species appears non threatening from the reports sent in." His right hand man's voice in your ears didn't help. He had cuffed your hands to either side of his fancy arm chair as the verbal meeting took place. When your legs grew tired, he gave you a look that spoke volumes of what would happen if you stopped. He mutes himself after saying just enough to to confer with the reports. "Don't give me that look. I'm not the one who made a scene in the hallways. I don't care if your legs hurt- you've earned it." His hips canted up insistently, stuffing the lonely few inches back inside your warm depths, his balls pressing tightly to the crevice of your stinging sweat soaked cheeks. you were a mess, but not that bad of a mess to beg him to let you rest- he had taken two meetings since the 'punishment.' he clicks himself back off mute when you get the clear hint and force yourself to grind against it. He only begins considering the implications from his right hand man when he figures you know better than to make a fuss or a peep. It was another way he got to punish you. Until the call was over, you would not be allowed to cum, let alone make a noise.

The times you did get close, he pinched your clit, producing a muffled barely audible squeal- it took sheer willpower to cull the venom you wanted to spit for the nip. He's let you cum eventually but it seemed like he was dragging this out. The chains of the cuffs attaching your wrists to the arm rests dug in as your legs gave out. he tuts, re-adjusts you, ruts upwards in a burst, repeat. You would learn.

Viltrumite- Mark:

The very first time he had you where he wanted you, in his bed- mewling so sweetly for his cum- something he came to find he liked more than he would admit. He had had a hard week, not that he would let you in on that one either. He left work at the doorstep, much like his father had done with his mother. It was simpler that way, and this? was his stress relief. This week he had asked to try out a new position, he looked every bit as awkward behind the self imposed mask as he cupped your hips and watched you chew your lip under him. Your approval was enough to set him alight. Instead of the pillow usually used to keep your hips up for him and aiding in him reaching that oh so special spot.

Sliding back in to warm himself back up, he let out the lightest of all sighs. When his pelvis finally met your backside- he pressed into it with a deep and low groan. The sounds vibrated against the empty space of the minimalist bedroom. The windows fogging up after a while. Leaning over you, he lets you feel him for just a second. circling his hips produced a gasp and a little wiggle into him. burying your hands in the covers he pulls out, delivering himself fully. "I think this will suffice" Code word for he was liking his little suggestion if the little hitch you heard was anything to go by. Where he found about mating press, you didn't know, but didn't ask- enjoying what he was doing to you. Leaving you feeling simultaneously full and empty, too quick, too deep- a fat cockhead edging against that special little spot only he knew how to reach so efficiently. You are a negative bobble head the moment he asks if you wanted him to stop, not realizing you were seizing in his arms, not to stop but for more. when he cums he' pressed your legs further into your shoulders and drapes himself in the space- kissing at your babbling lips.

Omni- Mark:

Caresses your belly gently, thumb gently teasing your clit as he rolled himself upwards. Long, Languid and completely unrushed. Unhurried. He doesn't hide the fucked out grin when you need to bite at the pillow, yet he hears it all the same. Third, followed by the fourth load still stuffed up where he needed it to be. His palm hugs the outline in your belly, just the right angle to really feel it.

You're gone, lost to the world, pussy throbbing uselessly and unbearably sensitive. Insides reminiscent of a cream donut. He liked that look of bliss on your face, you didn't need to worry about a thing, he'd handle it, like always. "Is my baby done for the night?" He asks, tempted to push for another 'deposit' yet he knows better than to push you further when all you can do is mewl for a break. Obliging, he lifts you, letting his soaked cock slap against the taut expanse of his stomach as he readjusts you to look at him, his thumb nudges your chin upright, eyes meeting yours and he melted for just a second. He always liked watching you, watching you react to what he was doing to you. The truth was he meant it when he told you he thought you trully were made for him, but again- unlike the other times- you hadn't finished him, so he asks. "Will my baby take care of me?" gaze soft, dick twitching. Evidently, you weren't quite as done as he thought, hearing you hum a soft, "Mhh hm." He smiles. "and will you use that sweet little mouth and tongue on me?" Your hand, the slow push off to lower before him already told him what he needed. He watches down his nose- pleased and lovestruck as you lick at him, suckling along the length before just taking him. He almost forgot. "Angle your hips" He didn't want any leaking out.

Lenseless- Mark:

"C'mon they didn't see!" He says, heaving your legs higher up to your shoulders, holding you like a damn front pack. he licked the tears rolling absently down your flushed visage. The cool chill of the night air licked at your most intimate of places, lenseless either didn't care for the cold or straight up liked it licking at his balls as he punches upwards, sending you both upwards in the air a notch like a fucked up game, literally using that all too familiar super strength. "They did, they did!" You insist yet choke when his pelvis slapped your ass, chin falling with another grunt into the night air.

This hadn't been the first time it happened either. The way things had been going, it hadn't exactly been hard for him to bend you over the nearest object and just do at it till your both a panting sweaty mess. IF you were lucky, sometimes he wouldn't be covered in bodily fluids or congealed bodily matter- he got excited a lot. "Woahhh fuck. You're squeezing me so tight." Not even trying to hide his sadistic delight. Your drooling cunt obliged. The noises didn't help, wet and loud enough.

You had just begun to lose feeling in your legs when he finally gave you something to sit on, take the pressure of- his tilted lap. Cockhead kissed cervix. "Heyy AhAhhdeeep!!" he had just done it to get the last few inches DEEP, deep. So deep it arched your spine to meet the fullness plunging snug, deep and filling you achingly to tears.

"You held out longer last time babe" he licked the sweat from your temple when you tried tapping out, chewing your earlobe as he rutted harder. He really hadn't came yet? It's like he could see the dread on your face, through the multi-long stretched orgasms he was pulling from you like he was the damn puppet master. he lives to see you squirm, squeal, scream- the three S's of your relationship.

Mohawk- Mark:

Your boyfriend was a weird one. "Uh uh" He pulls you back into his face, licking the point of his tongue into the crevice of the little squeezing hole he loved so much, his nose nuzzled your clit in a cutesy eskimo kiss. he embraced your hips harder, moaning into you. "F-F-Fuck!!" He watched your face screw up, the way your mouth opened only to close, and open again, a moany, stuttering mess for him. He could die alive, drowning in your cunt, but he couldn't resist. The hitch in your breath followed by that off-guard squeal, making his hips rut harder against the bed, teasing himself. His tongue swirls around your cute little nub, upwards, downwards, repeat, oh you were too busy clutching at the bed and his hand on your hip to think, but he was low key unimpressed you didn't catch on that he was just spelling his name into you, taking all the credit.

"Look at you..." his fingers split you open to give him a lovely view, followed by his dick. He was nothing if not a man determined. Flipping you onto your front, he guides the pillow to your mouth and finally lets himself feel the main event, where he wanted to be above all else. Reverently he eases his tip in, watching you stretch nicely around it. It wasn't long before the bed was slamming into the wall, his hands holding you steady as he railed you like a man starved, wet lewd claps echoing to the pace of whatever new punk shit mix tape he had brought with him. He held off, growling into your ear, egging you on, feeding off your muffled whimpers and moans stuffed into the pillow. You couldn't breathe but by fuck you didn't seem to give a shit. With the right angle, he jackhammers that spot carefully, feeding his cock into you, his hand trails downwards and lightly circles your clit, rutting into you. he wanted it. he knew you could do it. he knew he could make it happen. when he feels you clamp down on his intrusion, massaging him rythmically, he chews hickeys down your spine, you tense, he doesn't stop. Not even arthur could pull his sword out, You just- his lap..was.. soaking... "did you?"... you did! you fucking squirted on him. "Another one, I aint stopping till the mattress needs tossing"

Sinister- Mark:

Breathing came in stuttered puffs. He was actively hunting you, giving you hope, just at the very last minute to pounce like the monster he was. His teeth find your neck, biting down. HARD. The split cherry red skin nothing compared to the scream that tore from your throat, the vibrations massaging his gums. You can't hit him, he has you down and terrified. It's like a twisted opera just for him and you saw that in the brief glimpses in your peripherals of the matted unruly hair usually slicked back, the blood on his cheeks was more interesting. he pulls back. His relaxed expression on his partially masked face felt more unsettling. The lack of eye contact deafeningly quiet, yet his bloodied mouth still ran. "Thought you could outsmart me, did you?" One crack and he bend your hand back at an unnatural angle, a mere warning- that he could have done or do worse. Despite the broken state of your pulsing wrist, he took delight in unbuttoning the top you wore, sliding his gloved hands down your front- knowing full well if you weren't as terrified that you might have spat at him like before, but that was the thing. "You've been bad, I can see it in the way your little heart races at what I might do to you. You should be scared." His fingers slipped down your jeans- a slow nerve wracking trail devoid of the big tease, leading to him feeling the hot flesh of your gummy cunt in his palm. "Very bad. You're probably thinking, this" The squeeze of hand on cunt earning him a choked involuntary gasp. "Will save you, but only you can decide that" He says as if he hasn't said the same thing over and over only to not put you out of your misery.

His palm lets you breathe for a fragment before a rough finger pushes it's way inside the searing heat of your clenching tunnel, you could choke- you could cry but you couldn't beg the enemy even if he had taken you as a glorified trophy wife. your spine shook when he pulsed within, see-sawing fingertip to knuckle until a gooey trail began to coat the very same tormenting hands of his. Pumping with intent to drive you over- make you- "Cum on my fucking fingers, that's your apology. Right now or I will hurt you elsewhere" his pinky slipped, just teasing a touch against clenched ring. You bucked- didn't say anything, knowing it would spurr him on if you reacted, yet you tried to meet his pace. Your momentary defeat at his hands yet again, he had never threatened your ass before, he wouldn't be gentle- thus you try your damn hardest to just let go.

Flaxan- Mark:

Hours upon hours you waited. He had promised he'd be back within the hour, only said hour had slowly creeped up and then some. The vibrator buzzing insistently against your entrance worked you up to tears by the time the door finally opened again. "Did someone learn their lesson yet?" his voice was every bit as condescending as it was unintentional- he still had issues understanding human limits, but it's very clear from your flushed cheeked, glazed eyes and messy mouth that you had reached, potentially gone past the limit. He couldn't bring himself to hurry up and turn off the teasing device he had stuffed into you. He had never seen your entrance so... sopping.... you had soaked the panties he had put on you before he had left. great, with his pocket knife, he kneeled one leg on the bed and cut each side of your panties to reveal the pinky creamy mess of your cunt stretched around the device, the purple handle keeping your cunt excited for him. He wasn't a man of many word, most not pretty but fuck if he had a hard time disguising how excited the sight pleased him. "Are you ready for me now? ready to apologize?" It comes out haughtier than intended, but he already had a hunch that you knew how much acting out got him hard.

Torn between begging for the stupid device to just be taken out and just giving into it, as far as apologies went, fucking him hadn't been the worst. He atleast cared/knew enough to know what he was doing, but that didn't mean that he was prone to forgetting little things at times. One of which being that you didn't like how long he left you before coming back. You were squeezing around the wide toy still lodged and tormenting your pussy into submission on his behalf. His lenses aleady told him how much blood was racing and staying in your lower area, the heated flashes lingering, but he preffered you like this. With a gentle smile, he takes your averted eyes and small buck of your hips as a yes, an action you had done plenty of times since he took a liking to you. It only takes seconds to remove his armored bottom half, freeing his bobbing dick from it's confines. in sight, it's beautiful, but in your pussy it's a masterpiece, just as pretty as your apology will be when he fucks you stupid.

Prisoner- Mark:

"Are you sure? Not hurting you?" For the fifth time tonight. "No, too slow"

"Too slow?" in his own little haze he hadn't noticed his one vigorous fucking had evened out, softened from fucking you into the mattress like he was trying to break it to doggy style- he couldn't see your face and the way your pussy sucked him in with a warm hug each time, he had gotten lost in you- as pussy drunk for you as they come. Each soft roll felt like home, watching the slick skin of his scarred shaft glisten in the soft lighting of the hovering lamp only to stuff you full with that telltale sound of air making way for him. Being buried in your pussy conjuring the worst he would do just to stay and fuck you like this, just like this all night. his dry hands cup your hips, fingers flexing to feel the soft flesh under him- taking him, making him feel like he had been raptured with each stroke.

His cheek lands on your upper back, hunched over as he closes his eyes and focusses, feels- not hearing your little whines to hurry up. When you whine and call him an asshole, he only then reacts. his hand caressing your hip shoots up like a snake, sandwiching between the pillow and your face to hook two fingers into your mouth, delivering small smack to your rear with the other. "Don't be whiney, I'm building to it so it'll be twice as good for you." Readjusting his legs wider and closer over yours, he pulls out all the way to the tip before leaving a small kiss on your shoulder- followed by a spine rattling thrust into you, a knock of pain tapped at your cervix, repeating over and over. and Over, until the pain left you wanting, hurting so good, pussy swallowing him in each time.

[bi-panicatthedisco]

Beyond The Screen.

Heartslabyul Part.

[Heya folks! Finally finished it all a few minutes ago, gonna post them all and then go read Caters dream. Basically no editing since I'm tired lolol. Quick note, I have a terrible case of 'the first things I write are shorter than the last' so these are pretty short. Hope they read well haha. Have a great rest of your day, and remember to drink some water!]

One of the last things you would've expected after downloading a game like twisted wonderland, is for the characters to leave the dang game and show up irl! But things rarely go as you expect, and this is something it's nice to be wrong about.

It was a pretty regular day when it happened, just sitting down and playing twst. Only for an impromptu single pull on the banner, turning into SSR particles and a fancy coffin. Of course you're getting excited. But instead of showing your new card, you have the character fall right out of your screen onto the floor in front of you. Oh goodness gracious...

---------------Riddle Rosehearts---------------

Riddle falls rather inelegantly onto the ground at your feet, before standing up quickly and brushing himself off, looking embarrassed and a little flustered.

"Ah, player! Goodness, please forgive my entrance. I hadn't expected the spell to work so... Roughly. I should've caught myself with wind magic. Ahem, it's a pleasure to meet you, truly. I hope I didn't bother you..."

He just practically fell on his face in front of the player!! There might not be a rule about this, but there definitely should be! He makes sure he didn't break anything when he fell, then he seems rather awkward. This was not part of his plan, he'd hoped to make a perfect first impression, then make you tea. Not this!

This is the players home, they stay here... He's only seen it in the background of your screen. ...he's here. Oh goodness, he's in the players home! He'll have to start by getting them some fresh flowers as a gift, then... Well he'll make a in depth plan soon. For now, he just needs to hope the player will accept him. They will, won't they?

-A few months later-

He adjusts well to your home, and your schedule becomes much more organized. And he's trying to help out around the house to pay you back for your hospitality! He might not be very good with the cooking, but he'll try his best! And cleaning is a sinch for him, since he learned a few spells for it when he first started at NRC. He's even gotten lucky and got a job at a flower shop to pay you back for his expenses!

But any talks of him going back to his world are met with a curt dismissal, before quickly asking if you've noticed something new he's done around the house. He doesn't want you to mention him going home, and he doesn't want to think about it. He's here now, why would he ever want to go home and face his mother again? Why would he ever want to leave you?

"...hmph, my world is the least of my concerns right now. You would just go back to your unorganized life again, and I absolutely cannot leave knowing that. In any case, you haven't seemed to have noticed the tea I prepared for us. Shall we have some?"

Please don't tell him to go back, he doesn't want to leave you. You won't order him too, will you?

-------------------Trey Clover-------------------

Trey hadn't been planning on this today, but it's a welcome surprise for him nonetheless. Well... It is after he picks himself off the floor and reorientates himself. Geez, in front of the player and everything. He can only hope this wasn't a disappointing first impression.

"Oh gosh, hey player, sorry for the abrupt entrance haha... I had hoped our first meeting would've been a bit, um, well less like this. But hey, if you've got a kitchen or ingredients, I can maybe make you something?"

And make you something he did! Even if you didn't have the ingredients or the space to make it, he seemingly was able to get everything he needed easily. Like he has a sixth sense for the stuff. And believe me, the dessert he made was perfect! Although he didn't want to accept any compliments, he really did appreciate them.

Of course he strongly insists you brush your teeth afterwards, but hey. That's just Trey for you haha. he's worrying in the inside, wondering if the dessert he made was good enough for the player. But he has faith in his skills, so he can only hope it was enough. And maybe with some luck, they'll let him stay here.

-A few months later-

He quickly becomes a normal part of your life. He will try to earn extra money for you by selling his pastries, but he still saves the best ones for you. And you can't remember the last time you came home to a dirty house since he came here. Yet he still refuses to accept any dang compliments, saying it's the least he could do for you letting him stay there.

Something else he refuses however, is properly talking about him going back to his home. Always managing to redirect your attention somewhere else so you hopefully forget, or at least stop talking so seriously about it... He's always been good at that.

"Hm? Going home? Yeah. That sounds interesting I guess, but I don't have time to think about that right now. I actually have a quiche in the oven, do you want some when it's done? I already set the table, so you can just sit down haha."

He knows he's not the "most interesting" guy out there, but he hopes you won't just leave him behind. You can't...

-----------------Cater Diamond----------------

Cater takes a few moments to get his bearings from the floor, before jumping up and putting on a happy smile, giving you a peace sign. Of course he's panicking on the inside, but he isn't gonna show it if he can help it. Gotta make a perfect first impression with the player!

"Heya player, Cay-Cay here! Hope I didn't scare you too much haha. I've been waiting to meet you for awhile~ we should totally take a picture to commemorate this, hashtag dream come true!"

He pulls his phone out from his pocket, which luckily wasn't broken during his fall. Quickly posing and snapping a pic with you, that bright smile still stuck on his face as he looks the photo over, adding a few filters as he does.

He's very conscious of how he portrays himself to you right now, more than normal. You're the player after all, the player! He trusts you won't just hate him off the bat, but he has to make sure. Maybe he can figure out a way to convince you to let him stay here? I mean, he definitely doesn't wanna leave now that he's gotten his chance!

-a few months later-

Over the last few weeks, Cater has neatly inserted himself into your life. He's just... There, like he should be there. And who are you to turn him away? He's been paying rent with money he earned from running a pretty good social media account, and he's a fun presence around the place. Sometimes dragging you into new (cough cough) couple (cough cough) trends.

But it's all a distraction, something to keep you from remembering he doesn't really belong here. Maybe if he's able to fool himself alongside you, it'll finally be true? Just stop asking about him going home, please...

"Huh? Oh, yeah I mean it was nice back home, but I totes prefer the vibe here haha. Ah, do you really want me gone already? I'm just kidding~ oh hey, seeing you reminded me of a new trend! Wanna try it out?"

Cater has many masks, he'll wear whichever one he needs to keep you from leaving him behind. So just don't leave... Please.

------------------Deuce Spade-----------------

Deuce barely managed to catch himself roughly on the seat next to you, and your leg. He looks so lost and confused, but eventually realizes what he's doing and gets up quickly, a soft blush on his face. He just grabbed the player pretty roughly! Oh geez... There goes his first impressions...

"Gah! I'm really sorry player! Are you hurt? Oh no... I really wanted our first meeting to be perfect, I've thought about it for so long and... Ah, forget I said anything! Um... I'll try and make it better, okay? Can I help in any way?"

He looks so earnest and worried, it's honestly really sweet. But so is the relief on his face when you say you're alright, and he really didn't do anything wrong. But he still insists on making up for it in any way. He can't let his first impressions with the player be horrible.

To be perfectly honest, he's thought about how this meeting would go again and again. It's the sorta dream you put on a pedestal and admire sometimes when you feel bad, not the sort of one that you actually expect to come true. So now that he's finally got his chance, he's gonna prove his worth in every way he can! He just hopes they'll keep him around until he can...

-a few months later-

Deuce tries his hardest to pull his weight around the place, constantly volunteering and helping out when he sees you carrying stuff. And he's learning to cook! So far it's mostly egg recipes, and it's a great start! Just... get used to slightly burnt food for the time being. Plus somehow he also managed to get a part time job at a mechanic shop, buying himself a motorcycle after paying you back for the food and everything else.

Life has become so busy for Deuce, that he often forgets about going home entirely. Of course he really misses his mom, but he knows he'll regret it way more if he ever leaves you behind. He's not trying to dismiss you when you bring it up, he just really wishes you'd forget about it.

"When will I go home? I mean, I dunno... It was a pretty complex spell to get me here, and it'd be hard to replicate. But, does that mean you want me to leave? I swear I'll do my best to be more helpful from now on!"

He knows he may need to leave one day, but he's so scared of you being out of his life. He's already decided that he'll only leave if he can take you with him, and nothing will change that. So please wait for him!

-----------------Ace Trappola------------------

Ace... Well goodness. Not only did he catch himself, but he managed to pose with heart hands as well. This smug boy seemed to have known he was gonna fall, and prepared accordingly. And now he has a smirk on his face as he looks you straight in the eyes.

"Hey player~ looks like I've fallen for you~ pfft- haha just kidding. Kinda. It's good to see you face to face! And y'know, since I put in so much hard work to get here, do you think I'd be able to crash at your place for awhile? You wouldn't say no to me, would you?"

The sheer charming arrogance practically exuding from this scamp, it's endearing in an annoying way. Even when he takes your hand to help himself up with a wink, it's honestly a little infuriating. And believe me, Ace knows this.

But he also knows he can't risk a bad first impression with you either. The player has been there since the beginning, Ace was one of the first folks to meet you through that screen. He'll never say it out loud, but he's been planning how this meeting would go, for a long time. He knows he pulled it off pretty well, but he hopes it's good enough so you'll let him stay with you for a long time.

-a few months later-

Ace wormed his way deep into your life, not wanting to give you a chance to leave him behind. Just look at him! He's such a fun and great guy! He's even gotten a job at a movie theater to pay you back, so why don't you go watch a movie with him later? His treat~ he'll even help you with the chores around the house, and make you (pretty okay) food! Ain't he your favorite?

What's there not to love about him? He's trying so hard, stop asking about him going home. He just wants to stay here, you wouldn't kick him out so heartlessly, right? C'mon, stop asking about it. He's not gonna just leave now that he's finally here with you! Let's just forget about that, please?

"Huh? When am I going back? Ha, didn't think you wanted me gone so soon~ no way am I leaving you by your lonesome, who knows what sorta mess you'd get yourself into without me! Now c'mon, I got us tickets for that movie you were talking about! I'll even buy you snacks~"

Life falls into a regular (but nice) routine, anything to keep you from kicking him out. See player? He's definitely worth keeping around! You wouldn't just throw him out now, would you?

[lidiasloca]

what do you think about azriel x reader that has daddy issues, like she does small things to try to make him proud and at first he thinks she’s just being cute but he realizes the depth and her need for praise and what’s going on and just reassures her. like he immediately knew why reader was so attached to him when they first met, and he just took on the role as her provider and protector🧎‍♀️i’m just literally projecting😀

reader with daddy issues in a relationship with az

azriel x reader

a/n: this is not exactly what you ask for, but my mind clang to this scene very fiercely. maybe not entirely daddy issues, but definitely issues ig. ps; i plan to write a headcanons blurb about this.

You and Azriel had been seeing each other for a while now. Though he was falling more and more in love with you with every passing day, and so were you, deep down, you felt like you were also growing attached to him in a very particular way.

You tried not to look too deeply into your heart, to avoid understanding the needs that only your partner seemed able to satisfy.

Things like the constant reassurance of his touch—whether it was holding hands, tracing patterns on your back lovingly, or caressing your thigh when you were at dinner. Anything that involved his familiar, scarred hands touching your skin—you needed it.

You guessed it was because what you truly needed was to know he was there with you. Azriel, the male who protected you as if it were his sole duty—you needed to be certain he was with you.

Because of this, you had grown accustomed to his words of love. You always had a voice in your head asking, “Why does he take such good care of you? Why would he choose to love and protect you?” And that voice could only be silenced by his sweet words.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so much, I don’t even know who I’d be without you. I wouldn’t even want to be someone, I think,” he’d tell you as he hugged you tight.

“That was impressive, Y/N. How did I ever get so lucky that the best Valkyrie noticed me?” he’d ask.

“You are doing great, love.”

“You are so talented.”

“What did I even do to deserve you?”

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Those words he would say, you repeated in your mind like a mantra, rejoicing in the memory of him saying them.

But the joy of his love wasn’t enough to make your worry disappear. And so, you kept growing more concerned about him noticing your neediness.

And your biggest fear finally came true one night at dinner...

“Hello? Y/N?” you heard Azriel’s voice from the kitchen, where you were cooking a special dinner for him.

“Here!” You heard his tired footsteps follow your voice. “Hi, Azzie, how was the mission?” you asked when he leaned in to peck your cheek.

“Good, I guess,” he said weakly, but then he peeked from where he rested his head on your shoulder at what you were cooking. “That’s my favorite,” he mumbled, as if talking to himself.

You smiled sweetly and stopped stirring the soup to turn to your mate. “It is.”

He returned your smile, and there was a genuine sweetness in his eyes one could only find in an innocent child. “I love you,” he whispered.

You flushed, looking down at your feet at the sound of those words.

But he went on, pulling your chin up so you met his eyes. “You are too good to me. Too good for me.”

No, you were not.

“I love you,” he concluded.

I love you.

He didn’t. He didn’t. You just made soup. It probably wasn’t even good. He’d probably hate it. But he was too kind to tell you it was terrible. Just like he was too kind to tell you he didn’t actually love you. He didn’t. The soup was terrible.

“Y/N,” he whispered, wiping something wet from your cheek. “My love, what did I say? Why are you crying?”

Oh.

You were crying. “What?” you blurted. “Nothing. It’s probably the onions.”

He didn’t buy it one bit. And though to be loved was to be known, you only found fear in your mate knowing every bit of your soul just by looking at you the way he was watching you now.

“Y/N. You... Is this because of what I said? What I say?” You didn’t dare reply, so he continued. “I see your face change every time I tell you I love you or praise you. Or when I…” He sighed and brushed his hair back. “I don’t know.”

More tears were running down your cheeks. You hated seeing him so defeated and knowing it was your fault. “I’m sorry.”

He met your crying eyes in an instant. “Don’t. Love, don’t be sorry. I’m not mad, and you did nothing wrong. It’s just—I want to understand you.” He put his hand back on your cheek as if he knew how much you needed it there. You immediately leaned into the warm touch and saw how his eyes registered your reaction.

He knew. By the way he assessed you, you knew he had already figured you out. And to your surprise, the thought made you feel free.

So free that before you could think about it, your mouth was speaking of its own accord. “It’s the way I need to feel love. It’s rare,” you said, embarrassed. “You surely must have noticed it already. The way I need certain things from you…”

“Touch,” he said softly, and you weren’t sure if he was asking or simply reflecting on memories that proved what you were saying.

“Yes. Or having you around the house most of the time. Or… words of affirmation.” You were sure your face was wholly red, but, on the contrary, Azriel was all ears, no trace of judgment in his honest eyes. “I can't help but balk at your confessions, but—I… I love them deep down. Most of the time, I need to hear them. It’s... It’s terrible. I’m just very… needy.”

You wanted to run out of the room.

“I understand,” he said tenderly. “And this is nothing to be embarrassed about. Everybody has different ways they want to be loved.”

Oh.

“It’s a relief you actually like when I tell you those things. And that you love to be near me so much. Because I want to give you that, Y/N. I want to do everything you need to feel my love for you,” he explained gently.

You were left speechless.

“But know one thing—I love you no matter what, and despite everything. If you don’t have my hand to hold someday, I want you to still be certain I love you. If I don’t praise you someday, I want you to know you are brilliant. And if someday I don’t tell you how much I love you—Gods forbid that happens—know my feelings for you are just as strong.”

You were a sea of tears at that point. “Please promise me,” he asked.

“Promise you what?” you mumbled weakly.

“Promise me that, at every turn, you’ll know I love you. Promise me, Y/N.”

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

and you can also request any fic idea you have through my inbox so i can write it down :)) i much appreciate requests for azriel and other acotar characters