#prompt/request fics

[itsevanffs]

saves the policy & abuse team a little time and effort on a good day, too. lord knows they've got enough shit on their plate already. https://archiveofourown.org/tos_faq#original_fiction for the uninformed. in this example i'm specifically talking about placeholder fics to gather requests.

(this is just my way of doing things, btw, just reporting a post that breaks tos & doing nothing else is fine too, idc. this is mostly aimed at the people who break tos, not the people who, like me, see it and report it)

[fromdove]

ㅤ DOMESTIC FLUFF ✶ PROMPTS . . .

SCENARIOS . . .

i  , sitting on the bathroom counter while their partner gently dries their hair with a towel after a shower, murmuring sleepy compliments

ii  , holding the other steady while they stand on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet, hands resting firmly at their waist

iii  , fixing their collar or hoodie drawstring before they head out

iv  , pressing their cold cheeks against the other’s warm ones and giggling when they flinch from the sudden coolness

v  , tugging the other’s oversized hoodie sleeve back into place when it starts slipping over their hand too far

vi  , pressing a kiss to their shoulder as they pass by in the kitchen, not even thinking about it, just muscle memory

vii  , slipping thick socks onto their partner’s cold feet and pressing a soft kiss to their ankle before pulling the blanket back over them

viii  , pulling the other’s hood up over their head before they leave the house together into the cold

ix  , one cooking, the other perched nearby on the counter, lazily kicking their feet and stealing ingredients from the cutting board

x  , tracing gentle shapes on the other’s back while they lie on top of them

xi  , noticing their partner’s hands are cold and immediately sandwiching them between their own without a word

xii  , brushing their partner’s eyebrows into place with their thumbs while lying face-to-face in bed, just…because

xiii  , sharing headphones in bed, both of them curled under the covers, softly humming along to the same song

xiv  , helping them zip up a dress or jacket from behind and pausing to press a kiss to the back of their neck

xv  , giving their partner's cheeks the gentlest little squish while brushing crumbs off their face after a snack

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

[angel06babysworld]

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

You’re Hired

✦ ･ﾟ⭑｡✧˚. ❍ ⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆ ❍ .˚✧｡⭑ ･ﾟ✦

She was desperate when she applied. The kind of broke that made her skip breakfast and pray her bus pass didn’t expire midweek. Twenty-one, a full-time student, and buried in debt deep enough that she couldn’t see a way out of it without selling pieces of herself—her time, her energy, her sleep. Babysitting, at least, was honest work.

The ad had been short: In need of a sitter. Afternoons and occasional evenings. Must be patient. Call Rafe Cameron. 699-696-6969.

She’d called. He hadn’t said much, just gave her an address and told her to come by Tuesday at five. No interview details, no talk of pay. Just the kind of man who didn’t have time for formalities.

The house was nicer than she’d expected. Clean siding, trimmed hedges, a porch swing that looked used but not loved. She checked her reflection in the window before knocking—lip balm, cardigan buttoned up, smile rehearsed. When he answered, she forgot all of it.

He looked like the type of man who didn’t try anymore. His shirt was wrinkled, his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and there was a shadow of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. His hair was still damp from a late shower.

“Hi,” she said, voice a little too bright. “I’m here for the babysitting job?”

He stared at her for a beat longer than polite, then stepped back to let her in without a word.

“Ellie’s five,” he said, walking ahead of her into the living room. “She likes dinosaurs, won’t eat anything green, and she’ll probably pretend she doesn’t like you for the first half-hour. Don’t take it personally.”

She clutched the strap of her bag, nodding. “I have three younger siblings. I’m used to moods.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You a student?”

“Yes, sir,” she said automatically.

Something shifted in his expression—barely. A raised brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was amused but too tired to show it.

She flushed. It came out too respectful, too eager. She always defaulted to that when she was nervous.

The interview—if you could call it that—was barely five minutes long. He didn’t ask about certifications. Didn’t ask for references. He offered her a glass of water she declined, and then sat on the edge of the couch, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

She stayed standing, trying not to fidget. There were toys under the coffee table, coloring books on the floor, a coffee cup going cold on the windowsill. She wanted to ask questions, but he didn’t leave room for them.

Ellie appeared a few minutes in—small and solemn in an oversized t-shirt, dragging a stuffed triceratops by the tail. She blinked up at the stranger in her living room and said nothing.

“Hi, Ellie,” the girl said softly, crouching down to her level. “I like your dinosaur.”

Ellie looked at her. Then at her dad. Then back again. “He’s my favorite,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

Rafe stood slowly, his gaze unreadable. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said, too fast.

“You’ll pick her up from school. I’ll text you the schedule.”

He didn’t say anything else. Not about the pay, not about rules. Just gave her a nod like they’d made a deal. Like she’d passed some unspoken test.

As she left, Ellie waved once—just a small flick of her fingers from behind her father’s leg.

Rafe didn’t wave. He just watched her walk down the steps, jaw tense, eyes tracking her until she was halfway down the sidewalk.

She didn’t let herself look back. But she felt it—his gaze. Heavy. Curious. Cautious.

It was just a job. She reminded herself that on the bus ride home, when she replayed the entire meeting in her head. Just a job.

Except… she already wanted to be good at it. Wanted to impress him. Wanted to hear him say her name in that low, quiet voice again.

And she had a feeling that was going to be a problem.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria

[cameronsbabydoll]

reader crying to rafe when her friend is mean to her and he comforts her and secretly loves that their friendship is falling apart bc he has her all to himself now

Rafe knew the second he walked into the penthouse that something was wrong.

You were curled up on the couch, knees to your chest, face buried in your arms. The soft sound of sniffling reached his ears, and his jaw clenched.

His first instinct was anger—who the fuck made you cry? But he schooled his expression as he approached, crouching down beside you. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice all smooth concern. “What happened?”

You lifted your head, watery-eyed and pouty, and it nearly made him grin. You looked so sweet like this—so fragile, so his.

“She was so mean, Rafe,” you hiccuped, rubbing at your wet cheeks. “She said I’m too needy, that I always talk about you, and—and that I’m—” You trailed off, voice cracking.

Rafe’s jaw ticked. He had always thought that friend of yours was a brat. Too nosy, too opinionated. A bad influence. She was needy. She was the one trying to keep you from him.

He exhaled through his nose and sat on the couch, pulling you right into his lap without hesitation. His arms wrapped tight around you, big hands smoothing over your back as you buried your face in his chest.

“She’s a jealous bitch,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Probably wishes she had what you have.”

You let out a little whimper, and fuck, Rafe’s grip on you tightened. You were so soft like this. So reliant on him.

“I just don’t get it,” you whispered. “I thought we were friends.”

“You don’t need her,” Rafe murmured, stroking your hair. “You have me. Don’t I take care of you?”

You nodded weakly, clutching onto his shirt, and Rafe had to bite back his smirk.

That’s right, baby. Let her go. Let it all fall apart. Because now? You were all his.

[ash5monster01]

hi hi!! could i please order the chicken wings extra hot to dine in, with a side of onion rings and a lemonade :)

Order #1

Now Serving!

Main Course: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Ingredients: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, enemies to lovers, hate sex, fingering, handjob, semi-public, p in v, dirty talk, lots of teasing, close proximity, language, no use of protection, no use of y/n

Meal: Steve Harrington angst/smut, enemies to lovers, with hate sex.

Total: $30.98 = 3k words

Menu - Masterlist

You could kill Robin, fingers twitching with a need to strangle, as her drunk form slumped onto Vickie. This was her fault, dragging you here and then getting so drunk she didn’t realize what she had just done. It had been a miracle she had gotten you to agree to ride with her and Steve in the first place, a deep hatred boiling in you for the brown haired boy. Now here she was, inebriated and fawning all over Vickie who had just agreed to take her home instead. Leaving you with the two options of walking home seven miles in the cold or riding back alone with Steve “The King” Harrington. 

“It’s really no problem. I only had one drink, and I kind of want to go with her.” A heavy blush paints Vickie’s cheeks at her confession, a protective arm wrapped around Robin who could barely keep her eyes open. 

“Go ahead, the spare key is under the mat,” Steve tells her, trying to hide the way his skin crawls at the idea of letting the drunk girl out of his sight. A need to take care of her tugging at his heart. He had half a mind to follow behind them but he also knew Robin would never forgive him if he did. This was her moment. 

“Thank you, I promise we’ll be safe,” she says once more before stalking off, a smiling Robin stumbling beside her. As soon as they’re out of earshot, you let out a huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. 

It’s then Steve realizes that even the two drinks you had did nothing to lighten your hatred towards him. Not that he cared, it would just save him the trouble of you acting bratty on the way home. 

“Are you riding with me, Princess, or hitch hiking?” he sneers, using the nickname to deem you as high maintenance, no interest in what you decide. The only reason he was still offering is he was quite certain Robin would shave his head while he was sleeping if he had left you behind. 

You glare at him for the nickname. “To be honest I don’t have a preference, Harrington. Both are bad choices,” you state, trying to mask the unease you have at being alone with him. Steve Harrington had been the bane of your existence since middle school. From the moment younger you had slipped a love note in his locker and heard him laugh with his friends as you waited around the corner. What a fool you’d been and an asshole he always was. 

“Fine, walk,” he says with a heavy roll of his eyes, turning to the front yard where his BMW resided with a few other abandoned cars from the party you both had just attended. 

“Not that it matters to you but I don’t have any interest in ruining these new shoes, so I’m coming,” you growl, stomping after him with anger and determination. He made your blood boil and the adrenaline that gave you was better than any drug you could’ve had here. It was enough for you to willingly swing open the door and slide inside of the car. 

“Pretty princess and her poor shoes,” Steve mumbles, joining you in the cab of the car and slamming his door shut behind him. 

You smirk as he turns the key over, the engine rumbling to life. “At least you think I’m pretty,” you tease and he fumes, steam practically coming from his ears at your words. Yet he ignores you, shifting the car into drive and leaving the party in both of your wakes. Hopefully the entire situation as well. 

You last only five minutes before you start fumbling with the radio, unable to take the silence and the close proximity of the evil boy beside you. His cologne invades your senses and stray hairs fall onto his forehead, it was annoying and made your skin crawl. You don’t miss the way he scowls every time you switch it from a song he likes. Finally, you land on a station that plays a staticky version of Waterloo by ABBA, and you’re immediately humming along. 

“God, you have shit taste in music,” Steve mutters, and you roll your eyes. Not the least bit surprised he couldn’t recognize the fun and whimsy of ABBA and instead probably lived by synth rock, Tears for Fear and Starship, all bands who wouldn’t exist without the ones from the 70s, including ABBA. It only made you even more annoyed with him. 

“Damn, I guess I’ll never be good enough for you Harrington,” it’s a low blow, you know it, but he deserved it. You loathed him for all the right reasons, he was smug and cruel, but he loathed you for everything else. The very being of who you were and things you couldn’t change, and that made all the difference. 

“I don’t recall ever saying that, Princess,” he says, fingers gripping tightly over the steering wheel as he sped down the dark street. Determined to get as far away from this night and you as possible. 

“Oh please. It’s always something about me having bad taste in music. I’m too loud. Not good looking enough to date,” the last one slips out as you mock him, words uttered from so long ago, heavy laughs bellowing through the halls and shattering your heart even more. A bitter taste settles on your tongue and you accept that your anger has revealed more of your feelings than originally planned. 

Silence fills the car, a realization settling over Steve as the last few years play behind his eyes. He had despised you for making assumptions about him, always seeing the worst, and never giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he knew there was reason, something tangible enough to fuel this fire towards him for so long. You had overheard him and his friends all those years ago and suddenly some of your resentment had become reasonable. Yet a new spark of anger hits him, annoyed at you for not being honest with him from the start, and instead assuming it had been him who said those vicious words all those years ago. Now it made sense why you hated him so much when he had become friends with Robin. No matter what he did, or your shared best friend said, you still wouldn't give him an inch. Instead you had been making his life hell for so long instead of just asking him for the truth. 

“And this is supposed to make me pity you? You are always calling me an asshole, assuming I don’t care about anyone, pestering me by asking when was the last time I did something nice for someone? God it drives me nuts!” he gasps out, mocking you right back, and his dismissal of your words reignites the deep hatred for him in a whole new way. You knew some of your claims had been unjust, that he did in fact care deeply for many people, and had just been nice enough to still drive you home. It still didn’t change the fact that he thought he was better than you when you pined after him all those years ago. 

“Yeah well someone ought to put you in your place,” you huff, watching as he slams the gear shift into park, now across the street from your house. All the lights are off inside, your parents probably expecting you to stay the night with Robin. 

“Yeah well, someone should put you in yours,” he exclaims as he turns to face you, no longer half focusing on the road. He cuts the engine, either to not wake your neighbors or yell at you more, you’re not sure. Yet when the headlights go out and you’re both left in the dark, something electric fills the vehicle. 

“Oh yeah? And how exactly would someone do that?” you ask viscously, body instinctively leaning closer with a need to hurt him or maybe something else. 

Steve isn’t sure what comes over him, whether it was the adrenaline from the current fight, or the single beer he had at the party, whatever it was he finds that his distaste for you borderlines with something heavier. A desperate need tugging at him and as he studies your face, eyebrows high and angry, he finds himself grabbing the back of your head and smashing his mouth against yours.

You don’t react, a bit shocked but a little fuzzy from the blood pumping in your veins and Steve Harrington’s lips against yours. You hate that he tastes like mint and cigarette smoke, a dizzying combination, and you also hate that it makes you melt into his embrace. Your anger matches his own, bleeding into something else that brings you to grip the collar of his shirt. When it’s clear you’re both participating in this shocking turn of events, Steve dares to dart his tongue into your mouth, tasting and memorizing the feeling of you against him. He’s on autopilot, embracing the heat of your anger, and lust stirring something deep in him that yearns for more of you. 

“This doesn’t change anything, by the way,” you say when his mouth finds your neck, sucking and scraping teeth against skin as your perfume invades his senses. His hands light your skin on fire, and when one of his palms cups your breast, it’s shocking how wet you get for him. 

“Trust me, I still can’t stand you,” he mutters against your skin but his hands roaming every inch of you says otherwise. Knowing you’re both on the same page, you surprise even yourself by tugging your shirt off your form, detaching Steve from your neck for only a moment before his lips find his way trailing down your skin and to the tops of your breasts. 

“Sure seems like it,” you say in a heavy breath, fingers tangling in his hair when he pulls one of the cups of your bra down and runs a tongue over your hardened nipple. He growls against your flesh, fingers brushing softly over your stomach as his hand travels down and under your skirt. He doesn’t regard the material of your panties, merely tugging it to the side when a calloused finger drags through your wet folds. 

“Same goes for you,” he smirks, now aware of how turned on you were for him. Quickly he teases your clit and enjoys the feeling of you soaking his fingers. You want to give a snarky comeback but it feels too good, the arousal coming from the deep hatred the both of you shared. There was something hotter about the fact it was Steve of all people making you feel like this. Both of you too worked up to care if it was the other filling that need. 

Instead of yelling at him some more you tug him close and put your lips back on his. He accepts the kiss the same time his free hand circles around your back and finds the clasp of your bra. It annoys you even more that he’s able to undo it with just one hand, the straps falling down your shoulders and leaving your upper half completely bare. You couldn’t be anymore thankful for the fact your parents were asleep right now. He stops kissing you only to suck a nipple into his mouth the same time he plunges a finger deep into you. You can’t suppress the loud moan that falls from your lips at the combined sensation. He grins against your skin and moves to tease and suck your other nipple, finger pumping in and out of you as you drip against his hand. 

“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he mumbles against your chest, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake that you knew would fuel your anger even more in the morning. 

Wanting to feel like you have some sort of control you reach for his pants, hand traveling blindly until you feel his hard length taut against his zipper. You grip him over the fabric, feeling his body shutter against yours despite the pesky center console in both of your ways. Almost as if he was arguing physically, he adds a second finger, feeling you clamp down on his hand the same time you begin to drag down his zipper. With much effort you finally have him freed from his pants, heavy length squeezed tightly in your palm, thumb rubbing the beads of precum softly against his tip. His cock twitches from the touch, giving way how good it is for him too, and for just a moment instead of hating each other, you both jerk each other off. 

“Fuck it, take those panties off,” he demands, hand slipping out from under your skirt. You want to disobey, glare at him for trying to boss you around, but then you watch him suck his fingers clean and without a single thought you lift your hips and slide the fabric out from under your skirt. At the same time Steve slides his seat as far back as it can go before discarding his shirt and tugging his pants and boxers down to his knees. 

“Come here,” he says once your panties are abandoned on the floor along with the wedges you previously didn’t want to destroy on the walk home. You move quickly, hands finding his shoulders as your leg swings over his lap and center console. You clench around nothing when his hardened length brushes against your heat now sat over him. You grind softly against him, watching as his eyes close before grabbing the handle on the side of the seat and watch as it lays him almost all the way down. 

“I’m in charge now,” you tell him, feeling his fingers tighten around your hips as you reach between you both to grab him again. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as you drag his tip through your folds, using your wetness to make it easier to take all of him. He was bigger than any guy you’d had before but you’d never tell him that. Instead you press him against your entrance and slowly sink down until he’s all the way inside. You don’t move at first, hands steadying yourself on his hairy chest that only makes you even more wet. It was a curse that he was this attractive for an asshole. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks after you don’t move for a long time and you roll your eyes before lifting and sinking back down. His head falls back against the seat when you do and the reaction causes you to find a pace, moving up and down and gasping every time he hits the right spot. Pretty soon it’s no longer about pleasuring him but finding that angle that feels just right. When you start grinding back and forth with him inside you, whining as the coil inside you begins to tighten. Steve sees his opportunity, reaching to rub circles onto your clit so you’ll cum before he does. He didn’t need the extra embarrassment of finishing too soon, especially with you of all people.

“I’m close,” you tell him, panting out your words as his hips start to lift and meet your own. You’ve left scratch marks down his chest, dangling your tits in his face. When finally you meet each other in one hard thrust that has you crumbling on top of him, cumming fast and hard as you shudder against his body. The suddenness has him finishing right behind you, hips bouncing your almost limp body above him, and adding to the sensation of both of your orgasms. 

Finally silence settles in the car, something other than indifference and desire filling the air. You lay against his chest, neither of you speaking or looking at the other even though he was still inside you. It was intimate and scary, both of you showing more to the other than you ever have before. The shield of hatred is drawn away for just a moment and you can still barely feel the heartache younger you still carried for the boy. A puppy love that might never go away. 

“I better get going,” you grumble when it becomes too much, sitting up and reaching for your shirt while still straddling his lap. You avoid eye contact at all costs, pulling the shirt over your head and pretending you weren’t still pressed against Steve Harrington of all people. 

He watches with furrowed brows as you reach over and collect your shoes and bra, avoiding the confrontation of what you both just did before popping his car door open and slipping out. Finally your head lifts, eyes meeting his own that look different for the first time you have ever known him. Your anger is still there but for a moment it temporarily settles in your stomach and doesn’t jump to be let out. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell him and he nods, maintaining eye contact as he pulls his pants and boxers back up his still half hard length. A fear constricting him at the prospect he may never feel this good with someone ever again. 

“Anytime,” he jokes, still remembering how an hour ago he was prepared to leave you behind and instead a weird and different kind of fondness intermingled with his annoyance towards you. It’s then he remembers your words from before. 

“It was Tommy by the way. He was the one who found that note and said you weren’t good looking enough. If I had found it I would have checked yes. I still would,” the confession feels like a bomb dropped, shocking you to your very core and you can still picture the lined paper now. 

Do you like me? ▢ yes ▢ no

And your nervous signature signed sweetly beneath with a crooked heart next to it. Steve still had it, stuffed in a drawer at home, but he would probably never tell you. 

“Goodnight, Steve,” you say, using his actual name for the first time all night and Steve nods, lips pressed together tightly. Slowly you walk away on shaky legs, leaving behind your panties as a reminder of the one time you both seemed to be on the same page. When Steve sees you disappear inside the house he lets out a heavy sigh and restarts his car, wishing he could go back in time and change how things happened between you two. 

“Goodnight, Princess.”

[amethystarachnid]

Omg thanks so much for opening the requests again!!💛 (and sorry for dumping my long ass requests girl😭) How have you been?

please give us an innocent & shy y/n and flirty-drunk-jealous tony drabble pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee TQ!

SHY READER & FLIRTY TONY STARK - a Drabble

(you'll find the others drunk/jealous in this post but scroll down, I wanted to try something new and divided it in parts)

Tony Stark notices you the moment you step into the lab—mostly because you trip over your own feet. Smooth.

“New intern or did Fury finally send a spy who isn’t obvious?” He grins, leaning against his desk. You turn red. Mission: Speak. Failed.

You mutter something about coffee runs. He tilts his head. “Uh-uh. Try again, Casper. Louder, for the people in the back.”

“I—I’m here to—to assist,” you squeak. Tony gasps, clutching his arc reactor. “A shy scientist? Illegal. I’m calling SHIELD.”

He nicknames you “Bambi” after you bolt out of the room the first time he winks. (”Like the deer. All wide-eyed and skittish. Adorable.”)

He “accidentally” sends DUM-E to bring you tools—every five minutes. You swear the bot winks at you. (Traitor.)

“Friday, play Careless Whisper,” Tony announces when you drop a wrench. You groan. “I hate it here.” He grins. “No, you don’t.” (…Damn it.)

One day, you snap. “If you’re this annoying, how does anyone like you?” Tony beams. “There’s the fire! Knew it was in there.”

You sigh. He winks. This might be a problem. (…Or the start of something very fun.)

SHY READER & DRUNK TONY STARK

Tony stumbles into the penthouse, tie loose, cheeks flushed. You blink from the couch. Oh no.

“There’s my favorite person,” he slurs, pointing dramatically. “You. Yes, you. The cute one. With the face.”

You sigh. “How much did you drink?” He gasps, offended. “Rude. I’m perfectly sober.” (He is not.)

He flops onto the couch, head in your lap. “You’re so soft. Like a… a cloud. A shy, blushing cloud.” You cover your face. Why me.

“Tony, you’re heavy—” “And you’re beautiful,” he interrupts, poking your nose. “Boop.”

He tries to whisper but it’s loud. “Hey. Hey. Wanna know a secret? I like you. Like, like like.” You groan. “We’re dating.”

“Exactly,” he says, as if this is groundbreaking. “Best decision ever. High five.” (He misses your hand entirely.)

You try to get up. He whines, clinging to your arm. “Nooo, don’t leave. What if I wither without you?” (Drama queen.)

“You need water,” you mutter. He grins. “I need you.” Pause. “…But water’s cool too, I guess.”

SHY READER & JEALOUS TONY STARK

You’re laughing at something Steve said—just Steve, harmless, platonic Steve—but Tony’s grip on his drink tightens. Uh-oh.

“Wow, Rogers. You really needed her to explain the WiFi password?” Tony’s grin is sharp. “Or were you just fishing for conversation?”

Steve blinks. You kick Tony under the table. He fake-gasps. “Violence? From you? I’m wounded.” (He’s smirking.)

When Bucky dares to hug you, Tony loses it. “Barnes. Hands to yourself or I’m donating that arm to science.”

“Why are you texting Steve?” Tony demands. “He asked for cookie recipes.” “…Captain America bakes now?”

You’re late. Tony paces. “Maybe she’s with Bruce—he’s all ‘calm’ and ‘listens’—ugh.” (Bruce, from the couch: “I’m right here.”)

A paparazzi photo surfaces of you smiling at Thor. Tony prints it out, circles it in red. “Explain.” “He told a joke.” “I tell jokes!”

You catch him Googling “how to be more charming than Norse gods”. (Spoiler: He already is.)

Finally, you kiss his pout away. “Relax. You’re the only Stark I want.” He smirks. “Better be.” (Mission: Secure the Girl—complete.)

[missswritesalot]

Can i request some possessive, maybe even a little mean, Robb Stark nsfw? i need that man in a way that borders on obsession 😭

A/N hope you like it anon. Gets soft at the end. Will edit later for historical accuracy. Requests open.

"Your grace," you began nervously as your husband threw open your bedchamber door. Opening it was hard enough so thinking of the force it took to rattle the hinges made you wince. Perhaps you could finally see the King Robb that maidens swooned for and bards sang of.

"Like a dog? A beast? Numbskulled brute? Is that what you said?" He spat out. His anger, so hard to provoke but equally hard to quell. Now it was righteous too.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” you nervously said. “I only wished to entertain.”

Robb walked towards you and you took a step back. You were vulnerable, only wearing your shift.

“And what did you call yourself? Little more than a whore I paid two coppers for? A greedy little queen, at the mercy of the king?” Robb said. “I can’t even repeat what I heard. Yet you said it when I have done nothing but treat you gently with kindness.”

“It was only my ladies, and I didn’t wish to disappoint, husband.” You said. You placed your hand gently on his chest. “They dream of you, and I couldn’t appear jealous. I needed to show you didn’t lack passion in bed.”

“Wasn’t just the ladies. My men heard you recount your pleasure and now they’re the ones salivating.” He shouted.

“Cease this! It’s childish and I will speak as I wish.” You said, feigning annoyance.

Robb looked madder with each word out of your mouth. He gripped your wrists to the point of pain and spun you around. With a hand on your back, he pushed you face down onto the furs.

"You talk like a whore you get taken like one."

He pushed your chemise up and you felt his fingers find the most sensitive parts of you. He shoved two in roughly, making you scream. Thank the old gods, your plan worked better than expected.

“And what of my men guarding you? Did they have to hear your of escapades? Know how you enjoy in my chamber?” Robb demanded.

The twist of his fingers in your unprepared cunt made tears spring to your eyes.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked. You refused to reply. You shook your head.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Robb yelled. He slapped your arse to make his point. No need to trigger him even more, you decided. “Who owns ye?” He asked again.

“You do,” you mumbled.

“And I am your King, and your husband. And you had better remember that.”

“Yes, husband.” You whispered. You heard the sounds of him undressing. You didn’t dare move.

Robb held your hips on either side of you and pushed you into the bed.

“Who’ll take you now?” He demanded.

“You, my lord and husband.” You replied submissive. His breathing behind you told you he was still furious.

His hands tightened around your hips and you felt the impossible thickness of his member at your entrance. He'd taken you before, he was your goddamn husband, but never in anger and never like this.

He began to push in, deaf to your cries.

"Robb," you pleaded, your will breaking. He was deep in you but not to the hilt yet. This new position was physically uncomfortable adding to your humiliation. "Please, please." You begged. You didn't know what you were asking for, for him to let you go or for a moment to adjust. But you were so hot you could barely see. You had never felt desire like this. You anticipated your release like Robb returning home.

"No," he said quietly. "You will accept this, wife." He sheathed himself to the hilt within your body. You were glad he'd let go of your arms, so you could twist your fingers into the furs on your bed.

He was deeper than before in this new position, you felt like you were being split open. You reminded yourself you were trying for this reaction. Some part of your heart hurt most of all, knowing that your husband didn't care about the pain he inflicted upon your body. He was mean.

He pulled out again and pushed back in slowly. The deep pleasure knocked the breath out of your lungs. It added to everything you felt from the stretch of his girth.

Your cries grew louder due to pleasure, and you were screaming in abandon at how good he made you feel.

“More, husband, Robb, please.” You begged incoherently. The snap of his hips against yours set a harsh pace.

He tried to stop, to tease you, but he couldn’t. He was too excited looking at your body beneath him.

It didn’t take long before you were clenched around his cock in your pleasure, and he spent in response to you.

Robb collapsed atop you. He rolled over to the side, breathing heavily. You took a moment to calm yourself down and turned to face him. You took his hand in yours carefully, you wanted to know if his anger had been quelled yet. You were pleased when he brought your hand to his lips to kiss it.

“I love you,” he said. “And I have no desire to share you. Not this. Not our time together when we get so little.” Robb confessed. Your heart broke for him. Perhaps you’d gone too far in seeking his passion.

His face grew tense as you didn’t reply. “Have I hurt you, love?” He asked, caressing your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

“No, dear husband. I love you too,” you said softly, content.

[totalswag]

Heyy!! Hope you’ve been great! I have a request…….💌💌

How about Drew and popstar!reader do like a super hot Calvin Klein ad together, and launch a collab with the line. xx

calvin klien collab ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note i've been doing great thank you for asking lovie!! ugh I enjoyed writing this and coming up with some good ideas heheh. i hope we get to see drew on an ad one day (he would look so good). since i usually write about singer!reader x drew being in a relationship, i wanted to write something that doesn't involve them together, more so meeting for the first time.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary in which you and drew starkey are collaborating in a hot calvin klien photoshoot for the first time.

warning(s) high tension, flirting, bodies touching, y/n and drew being the hottest people on the planet.

Being asked to be involved in a Calvin Klein photoshoot was a complete dream come true. You've always wanted to be one of those women, and now you are able to say you are. When you got the news from your manager you were filled with loads of emotions.

What no one was expecting⎯Drew Starkey and Y/N Y/N featured on Calvin Klein together. After the announcement, everyone was going wild over the news. No one would've thought to two most upcoming talented people in the industry in a photoshoot together.

The room is alive with the low buzz of cameras clicking, stylists altering clothes, and the subtle smell of expensive cologne and body oil hanging in the air. The buzzing of music playing in the background set the mood for the shoot.

Meeting Drew for the first time felt unreal. He was so generous, kind, and understanding of boundaries. He told you, "anytime you feel uncomfortable please let me know."

That made you trust him during the entire process.

"Thank you for coming, my name is Andrew, and I will be your photographer for the shoot," he says while shaking your hands; "for this shoot, we want it to be super hot as the company quoted." 

You and Drew are standing in front of a full-length mirror, bodies inches apart, wearing nothing but the sleek, minimalist Calvin Klein underwear that has already been dubbed the year's best campaign⎯and it hasn't been launched yet.

"Lean in a little more," the Andrew says.

Drew tilts his head, grinning slightly as he approaches. His fingers ghost over your waist, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through the dense tension in the room. Your pulse quickens. His gaze drifts down to your lips for just a second too long. The camera flashes, recording the moment in real time.

When you put your palm on Drew's bare chest for the following shot, you'll notice how hard he swallows. His skin is warm, and his muscles feel taut when you touch them. You're supposed to be playing a role⎯selling desire, closeness, and the effortless Calvin Klein fantasy⎯but neither of you knows where the performance ends and reality begins.

As you two pull away the tension between you two is still lingering in the air. Drew's usual playful smirk soften into something unreadable. This is all supposed to be professional.

The second part of the shoot arrives. Drew is lying on his back in jeans, with you on top of him in jeans and a jean jacket. Drew's right leg was sitting up, while his left leg laid down. You rested your head on his bare chest, peering into the camera.

Andrew clicks many times in a matter of seconds, prompting you both to change positions. Drew was directed to place his left hand on your waist beneath the jean jacket, and you were asked to lift your upper body while maintaining eye contact.

His piercing blue eyes on you and yours on him. Chills going down your spine. Everything in your body was on fire.

Once the third portion of the photoshoot came to an end, Drew and you were sent back to your dressing rooms to get back into your normal clothing then come out to look over the pictures.

Pictures came out perfect.

"That one has to be my favorite" you say, referring to the picture of Drew sitting behind you, left hand on your waist, head on your shoulder. You sit between his legs, lean back against his chest, and wrap your arms tenderly around his head. You both look sexy and badass. 

Drew and you walked out together with your managers trailing behind you two keeping good distance. You laughed at something he said about filming for Queer when he nearly fell.

"It was really nice getting the chance to work with you, Y/N," Drew admits. "Maybe we should hang out sometime?" Could I get your phone number?

"You're a great person to work with Drew and I would like that, I'm free this Friday if you aren't busy?" You suggest, smiling sweetly.

He chuckles before gazing at his feet, reaching into his pocket for his phone, and handing it to you.

"Perfect, see you soon, Y/N" Drew says, pulling you in for a hug.

"See ya!"

It's been four days since the shoot and your fans have been eager. Calvin Klien teased viewers with behind-the-scenes footage prior to the release of the entire campaign.

One of the clips shows Drew casually tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in between shoots. Another angle captures the way he murmurs something to you right before a shoot, causing you to giggle softly—an intimate, unscripted moment that only heightens the tension.

Fans on all sorts of social media apps were going crazy. The edits of the clips were being posted. Your phone was blowing up from texts and calls from your closest circle over the campaign ad.

fan88: They didn't have to go this hard for a Calvin Klein ad, but here we are 😳

fan15: i can take them both all at once btw

fan22: so you're telling me this their first time meeting???

fan11: I CAN’T DO THIS. WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY’RE ABOUT TO DEVOUR EACH OTHER!!! 😫

drew starkey: i think we just broke the internet

drew starkey: i'm about to pick you up too

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[wolvietxt]

hiiiiiii jay!! ive been having an unhealthy sleeping schedule lately, so i just wanted to know what you think frank would do if he catches you up pulling an all-nighter cause of some uni work when he came home from one of his missions. most especially, when you tell him you’ve done it for three straight nights while he was gone…

FRANK knew something was off the second he stepped into the apartment. it was quiet, too quiet, but not in the way that usually meant safety. the tv wasn’t on, no music played softly from your phone, and you didn’t come running up to him the second he locked the door behind him.  

his gut clenched.  

he slipped off his boots, careful not to track any dirt or blood onto the floor, and listened. he heard it then - the faint sound of typing. quick, rhythmic, desperate.  

with a sigh, he followed it, walking toward the kitchen, where the glow of your laptop screen cast shadows across your face. papers were scattered everywhere, some crumpled, some covered in highlighter. empty redbull cans were scattered around the tabletop. a half-eaten granola bar sat next to an empty coffee cup, and another coffee was in your hand, fingers curled tight around it like a lifeline.  

you didn’t even notice him.  

“sweetheart.” his voice was low, firm.  

you startled, eyes snapping up. he saw the exhaustion in them instantly - red-rimmed, glassy, dark circles bruising your skin.  

“frank,” you breathed, blinking fast like you were trying to clear your vision.  

he didn’t move toward you just yet, but he looked you over, taking in the way your hands trembled around the coffee cup, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever you were doing.  

“what’re you doin’ up?” he asked, though he already had an idea.  

“just… finishing some stuff,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to your laptop. “it’s nothing, really.”  

he glanced at the time on the microwave. 4:12 a.m.  

his jaw ticked.  

“when’s the last time you slept?”  

you hesitated, biting your lip, and he knew right then you were about to say something he wouldn’t like.  

“um … a little bit, here and there,” you finally said, voice too soft, too small.  

frank sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “baby.”  

“it’s fine,” you tried to reassure him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “i just needed to catch up on work. it’s been kinda crazy, and i thought, you know, since you were gone, i’d just - ”  

“how long?”  

your mouth opened, closed.  

he took a step forward. “how long you been doin’ this?”  

“…three nights.”  

his nostrils flared.  

“three damn nights?” his voice was sharper now, and you flinched. not out of fear, but because you knew how much he hated this - hated seeing you worn down, pushing yourself past your limits. you’d hate to see him disappointed in you but in your defence, you thought he’d be home a whole lot later.

“i just - i had to, frank,” you whispered. “i got so behind, and i didn’t want you to come back to me all stressed and falling apart, so i just - ”  

his hands were on you before you could finish, tugging you up and out of the chair, wrapping you up tight against him. you didn’t even realize you were crying until he sighed against your hair, feeling the dampness on his shirt.  

“sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something heavy, something that made your chest ache. “you think i care ‘bout any of that? you think i want you doin’ this to yourself?”  

“i just wanted to keep up,” you sniffled, fingers fisting in his jacket. “i didn’t wanna be a mess when you got back.”  

he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. his eyes, dark and tired but so damn full of love, locked onto yours.  

“you could be the biggest damn mess in the world, and i wouldn’t care. you hear me?” he said, low and firm. “don’t wanna come home to you runnin’ yourself into the ground. don’t wanna see you like this.”  

you nodded, lower lip trembling, and he groaned, pressing a kiss there, then another, then another, like he was trying to fix it, to erase the exhaustion, the stress, the weight you’d been carrying alone.  

“c’mon,” he muttered, tugging you toward the bedroom. “you’re done. no more of this.”  

“but - ”  

he shot you a look. “no buts. you’re gonna sleep.”  

you wanted to protest, but the second you hit the bed, exhaustion slammed into you like a tidal wave. you barely registered the weight of him next to you, pulling you against his chest, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.  

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered against your hair, voice soft, warm. “always.”  

and for the first time in three nights, you believed it.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[buckevantommy]

From the prompt list: “Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?”, please? Thanks in advance!

👀 it's gotta be injured Tommy + worried Buck to the rescue.. send me a prompt or two..

Tommy's awoken by turbulance, jostled in his seat from external forces, except..

It can't be turbulance. He can't be in the air. He's a decent pilot but he can't sleep and fly at the same time. The last thing he remembers was flying over downtown L.A, Lucy saying something about windsurfing, before—

A metallic banging snags his attention, his head throbbing and neck protesting as he tries to turn towards the sound.

The whir and grind of tools, muffled voices yelling— and then a great groaning sound and— bright lights blind his already poor vision, the voices are louder. There's a flurry of activity around him, the hurried capability of professionals doing their job, cautious touches to his body, inspection of his seat. Someone moves behind him, probably to get to Lucy—

"—Tommy?"

"..'van?.." His eyes are screwed shut against the torchlight but he'd know that voice anywhere.

"Tommy!"

"..Y're here.."

"Yeah, yeah I-I'm here— we're here, we got you— we're gonna get you out, okay? Just— just stay with me."

The other voices filter in and out of his awareness. He zeroes in on Evan: he's close, right by Tommy's ear, voice strained but beautiful. He hasn't heard that voice since..

Since Bobby's funeral. Since that night everything went to hell. Since the morning after they..

It's been too long. There's been too much complication and hurt. He misses hearing Evan's voice happy and unburdened. He doesn't want to add to his worry or stress.

As he shifts to try to move— pain lances through his side.

"Woah, woah, easy Tommy," Howie says. He must be the one evaluating Tommy's condition. Which mustn't be great, considering the pain.

"Just hold still," Evan says in his ear, voice wobbly. His hands— they must be Evan's hands— are braced on his shoulders, holding him steady.

He's missed those hands, strong and capable and eager. He'd do a lot to hear that voice again, feel Evan's touch again. Like stealing another helicopter, or..

..crashing one?

"Try not to move, just breathe for me, o-okay?"

Nodding seems like a bad idea and requires too much energy anyway— and he's so very tired —so he settles for humming in the affirmative and focusing on the grounding, heavy warmth of Evan's hands on him.

Lucy groans off to his left, reminding Tommy he's not the only one who's fucked up right now. "..Luce?.."

"..Wha' h'appen'd?.."

Good question.

"Civilian drone," says Howie.

An attack? It's not unheard of, people tend to target police helicopters but from far away it's hard to tell what's LAFD unless you know.

"Dumbass was tryin' to get an aerial shot for his stupid ass zombie movie," says Hen, condescending as hell.

Tommy's missed her, too. And Howie. All of them. He misses Evan's people, his old friends, misses being in their orbit almost as much as he misses Evan.

"Oh m' god— w're gonn' be in a zombie movie, T'mmy!" Lucy snickers as Hen chides her to hold still.

A laugh bubbles out of him, ending on a groan as another flare of pain shoots through him like a lightning bolt. Evan's hands grip him tighter.

"Chim—"

"Buck, just keep him steady— Ravi, get in here with that saw—"

Through slitted eyes, Tommy glimpses a long, metallic shard protruding from his midsection. So that explains the pain. As Ravi takes the saw to the metal, Howie and Evan hold him down.

Just before he blacks out, Tommy could swear he feels lips press to his temple, firm and desperate.

+ + +

There's murmurs and hushed conversation, but it's Hen's voice saying, "He's stable," that are the first clear words Tommy hears as he gradually resurfaces from unconsciousness.

The pain has subsided to a dull ache. He's comfortable, horizontal, and there's the telltale sign of a heart monitor beeping quietly nearby.

He's in a hospital bed. His hand is clasped between two strong, warm hands. Familiar hands. Hands clutching at Tommy like his only tether to this world.

Hen's a great medic, Tommy trusts her assessment, so if Evan was worried about him slipping away it sounds like he doesn't need to anymore. Not that he deserves Evan's concern, but he could probably let go of Tommy's hand now.

Tommy doesn't want Evan to let go. He squeezes Evan's hand.

"'m not a fan of deathbed confessions, j'st for the record," he says, voice low and raw.

"You're not dying," three voices say at once. A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy's mouth. Howie and Hen sound a little exasperated, but fond. A hint of humour colors the latent urgency in Evan's voice.

Tommy blinks his eyes open to find Evan smiling, tentative and gorgeous, blue eyes big and red-rimmed, brow unfurrowing as tension sloughs from his shoulders on a sigh, his messy curls limned by the morning sun. Evan could put the brightness of the sun to shame even when he looks exhausted.

"m' sorry, 'bout us. I shouldn'.. shouldn'..ve.. left." His brain is still a little foggy, words coming a little slow, but he can't wait for it to catch up. He needs to say this now. Evan needs to know.

And he'd forgive Evan for asking: which time? because he'd deserve the jab for being a coward more than once, for not fighting for them.

"No— I'm sorry," Evan says instead. "I didn't mean to push you away, and I-I should've reached out sooner."

Why didn't you? Tommy doesn't ask, because he's not sure he wants to know the answer. But he knows for certain that Evan has been grieving Bobby's death and so doesn't blame him for their lack of correspondance following the funeral. It's a two-way street, Tommy could have picked up the phone, but he didn't. Maybe he was giving Evan space after everything or maybe he was using circumstance as a scapegoat so he could stay couched in his own fears.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Evan says, eyes shining, brow furrowed.

Tommy squeezes his hand again and manages a small, sad smile. "M' neither." He wants to pull Evan in, hold him close, beg for another chance, promise to never run away again. But he doesn't know if it's welcome, and he doesn't know if he can trust himself anyway. He'd want to, for Evan. He'd do his damndest to not screw this up a third time, to stay despite his fears.

Evan adjusts his grip, strokes a thumb reverently over the back of Tommy's hand. "I've missed you."

Tommy's heart flutters. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You were open and honest with me that night, and I-I should've said this then— I wanted to tell you, but I-I needed— and then I—" Evan shakes his head, clearing it to refocus. "In the helicopter, I decided. Afterwards, I was gonna ask if we could talk, but.."

Tommy squeezes his hand.

"Everything's been so messed up, Tommy," he starts again, "for so long—" He pauses to take a steadying breath, "I don't wanna lose you. I wanna fix this— us— because I miss you, and.. I love you." His hands cradle Tommy's. "I love you."

The second I love you — and Tommy's head spins at the words — seems to settle something in Evan. Tommy's heart is soaring. His eyes are welling up, voice cracking as he says, "Yeah?" lips twitching up.

Evan nods. "Yeah."

"Well, then.. y'should know.. I love you, too."

Evan breaks into a watery grin. "Yeah?"

Tommy blinks, a tear tracking down into his hairline as his own smile breaks free. "Yeah."

It's just the two of them, hand in hand and laying their hearts out on Tommy's hospital bed.

"Thought you weren't one for deathbed confessions," Howie chimes in.

Tommy totally forgot he was there. Hen tsks and half-heartedly whacks his shoulder as she and Evan both say, Evan chuckling now, "He's not dying."

Hen's eyes are glistening and she's trying to hold back a smile. Howie looks touched, too.

"Hey," Tommy tugs on Evan's hand. "What're y'doing Saturday?"

Evan laughs and ducks his head. "Uh. Today is Saturday."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And I, uh." Evan threads their fingers together. "I was hoping to spend the day with my boyfriend."

Tommy beams. "Lucky guy."

"Yeah, I am." Evan's smile turns soft and intimate.

Tommy adores him.

Buck blinks in surprise.

"D'I j'st say that out loud?"

"Uh-huh," Hen and Chim pipe up in unison, but Tommy only has eyes for Evan.

"S'true," he says, knowing he'll say the words again with intention and feel just as content in having them known.

"I'm kinda crazy about you. Hope that's okay?"

Tommy was lucky enough to glimpse a bit of Evan's crazy during their first try at this. The thought of being the focus of that intense emotional spectrum makes him giddy. "I like y'r crazy."

"You two are sickeningly adorable," says Howie.

Tommy lowers his voice to a stage whisper. "Wan' make out in front of th' pean't gall'ry?"

Evan laughs, the sun flaring above the city skyline behind him nothing compared to his light. "Yes, yes I do."

"So this is the thanks I get for saving your life again, huh?" Howie balks.

"Ravi handled the saw with expert precision, I gotta say," Evan tells him.

"R'mind me t'.. send him.. muff'n bask't.." The exhaustion is creeping back in, trying to pull him under.

"Buck's got you covered on the baked goods front," Hen adds.

"..Hmh?" His eyelids are heavy as he blinks in slow motion, trying to focus as his brain slows down again, urging him to rest.

"Just, uh. Some of my crazy," Evan admits, a shy note in his voice.

"Hm.. g'd.." Tommy hums happily as his eyes lose the battle to stay open.

There's whispered voices around him as his breathing deepens and evens out.

"Call us if either of you need anything, Buck."

"I will. Thanks, guys."

There's footsteps and rustling. A dip in the bed and a warm solid presence at his hip. Evan takes the hand covering Tommy's to brush back some wayward curls from his forehead.

Evan likes his curls. He said it more than once, but it was his hands and even his eyes more than his words that clued Tommy in.

Plush, bitten lips press a lingering kiss to his brow, Evan's hand cradling Tommy's skull, thumb scritching against his scalp.

"Get some rest," Evan murmurs between them, the gentle pressure and comforting warmth of his forehead pressed to Tommy's.

I love you, Tommy thinks, and a warm puff of air ghosts over his lips.

There's a smile in Evan's voice when he says, "Love you, too."

Tommy surrenders to sleep, his last nebulous thought being that he can't wait to wake up to this.

[achilles-rage]

Texting Your Boyfriend Evan Buckley: Part One

(aka: giving him a heart attack most days)

a/n: okay these were so fun to make lol. i’ve also never really thought about how buck texts, so it was fun to try and figure that out (and i’m still not completely sure about what i stuck with). anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: none, reader is slightly chronically online (i think??), reader’s gender/race/body type are not specified

part two // part three

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[angel06babysworld]

https://www.tumblr.com/angel06babysworld/785837310470209536/my-new-obsession-is-greys-anatomy-so-here-i-am?source=share

THAT WAS SO SWEET !!!!! i would love to read how he would handle giving reader an injection 'cause i know she would be the biggest drama queen about it 😭😭

doctor!rafe x gf!reader

“It’s Just a Shot, Baby”

୨♡୧───♡───୨♡୧

Rafe had warned her.

All week, he’d been gently reminding her about the vitamin injection she was due for. He brought it up at breakfast, mentioned it casually while rubbing her back as she laid on the couch, even offered to do it himself so she wouldn’t have to go into the clinic.

And she had agreed — a little too quickly.

So now, here she was: sitting on the edge of their bed in one of his t-shirts, legs swinging, arms crossed, and a pout firmly in place as he prepped the syringe on the dresser beside her.

“I changed my mind,” she announced, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he flicked the cap off the needle. “I don’t want it anymore.”

Rafe didn’t even look up. “Too bad.”

“I think I’ll just take vitamins. Like pills. Chewables. Gummy bears, even.”

He chuckled under his breath, rolling the syringe between his fingers to warm it slightly. “You’re not five, sweetheart.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m five and let me skip it!”

Now he did look up — slowly — and she immediately shut her mouth. His expression was calm but serious, the way it always got when he was in doctor mode. But under the cool professionalism was that little crease between his brows — the one he got when he was concerned.

“You haven’t been eating properly,” he said softly. “You’ve been exhausted, getting dizzy, and the pills upset your stomach. You need the injection. You know that.”

She groaned, flopping backward dramatically across the bed like she was being sentenced to death. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he replied, smiling as he sat on the bed beside her. He patted her thigh gently. “Come on. Roll over.”

“No.”

He raised a brow. “Are you really gonna make me wrestle you, princess?”

She looked at him, offended. “Yes.”

But he was already slipping his hand under her hip, effortlessly flipping her onto her side like she weighed nothing. She yelped in protest, squealing into a pillow as he tugged the hem of her t-shirt up to expose the top of her thigh.

“Rafe!” she screeched. “This is so undignified!”

“You’re getting a tiny injection, not a spinal tap.”

She kicked weakly. “You’re gonna stab me!”

He leaned closer, pressing a warm kiss to her lower back before gently gripping her thigh. “Baby,” he said patiently, “I stitch gunshot wounds with less whining than this.”

“I’m sensitive!”

“You’re dramatic,” he corrected, still smiling.

She buried her face deeper in the pillow, one hand reaching back to grab his wrist with a death grip. “If it hurts, I swear—“

“It won’t,” he said, already swiping the alcohol pad over her skin. “I’m the best damn doctor in this building.”

“We’re not in a building,” she snapped.

“Still counts.”

And before she could argue again, he slipped the needle in with one practiced motion. She froze.

“…Wait. Was that it?”

“That was it,” he said smugly, capping the syringe. “And you were about to fake your own death.”

“I was not.”

“You flopped like a soccer player.”

“I hate you.”

He leaned down and kissed the spot he’d just injected, then her hip, then her spine. “No, you don’t.”

“…Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m not talking to you for ten minutes.”

“Make it five,” he said, already pulling her into his lap. “And I’ll rub your back until then.”

She huffed dramatically, still pouting — but her arms went around his neck anyway.

“You’re annoying,” she mumbled.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured back, pressing a kiss to her temple.

But she didn’t fight him when he tucked her against his chest. Didn’t protest when his hands started gently rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles.

She just stayed there, warm and safe and very, very full of drama.

And he wouldn’t have her any other way.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove

[magical-reid]

could you do prompt #41 "Can i kiss you?" with Spencer Reid?

Permission To Fall

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Setting: Post-case at the BAU, a quiet evening in Spencer’s apartment.

Word Count: 700

Prompt: 41: “Can I kiss you?”

Summary: After a grueling case, you find yourself in Spencer's cozy apartment, where the quiet comfort of his company leads to an unexpected, vulnerable moment between you both. As Spencer finally admits his feelings and asks for permission to kiss you, the slow-burning tension between you two culminates in a tender, long-awaited kiss, signaling the start of something deeper.

The door to Spencer’s apartment closed with a soft click, muffling the sounds of the bustling D.C. streets outside. You leaned back against it, letting the tension of the long case seep out of your shoulders. Spencer, ever the gentleman, had already offered you tea and started tidying up his book-strewn coffee table, though it hardly needed it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call you a car?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve been running on fumes for days.”

You shook your head, watching him move with a kind of absent grace, his fingers brushing over hardcover spines to make room for your mug. “No, I’d rather stay. If that’s okay with you.”

His face softened into something you couldn’t quite name. Relief? Something warmer? “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You followed him into the small living room, noting the faint lavender scent of his space and how homey it felt despite being cluttered. You’d always admired how it reflected him—intellectual, meticulous, but comfortable. Books were everywhere, the muted glow of a floor lamp casting shadows over the worn couch and mismatched cushions.

“You’re too good at this,” you teased as you sank onto the couch. “I mean, hospitality after a grueling week? Most people would just shove me out the door.”

Spencer chuckled softly, setting a steaming cup of chamomile tea in front of you. “You’re not ‘most people.’”

The words hung in the air, weighty but unintentional, judging by the way he immediately busied himself with fussing over the edges of a throw pillow. You studied him—how his hands trembled slightly when he tucked the fabric in, how his eyes avoided yours.

“Spencer,” you said gently. He froze mid-movement, his hands still gripping the pillow. “Sit down. Please.”

He obeyed, perching awkwardly on the opposite end of the couch, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The tension between you felt almost tangible, as if the unspoken truth lingering for months had finally decided it was time to be addressed.

“You’ve been really quiet tonight,” you ventured, taking a sip of the tea he’d made. It was perfect, of course—just the right temperature, the right amount of honey. “Everything okay?”

Spencer hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was strained. “I’m just…thinking.”

“About what?”

He looked at you then, and for a moment, you saw every layer of him—the genius profiler who could unravel the darkest minds, the sweetly awkward man who spent his weekends reading quantum physics for fun, and the vulnerable soul who was so, so careful with his heart.

“You,” he admitted, so quietly you almost missed it.

Your breath hitched. “Me?”

His lips parted, but no sound came out. You could see him warring with himself, running through every possible outcome in that extraordinary brain of his. The silence stretched, a delicate thread threatening to snap.

Finally, you decided to take the leap for him. “Spencer,” you said softly, leaning toward him. His gaze dropped to your lips, then darted back to your eyes like he was terrified of being caught. “If there’s something you want to say…or do…you can. It’s okay.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands flexing against his thighs. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was so simple, so vulnerable, that it made your heart ache. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Spencer’s eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, and when he found none, he leaned in. Slowly, as if afraid to spook you, his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his palm warm and slightly calloused.

The first brush of his lips was hesitant, almost featherlight. But when you leaned into him, threading your fingers through his hair, he melted. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he poured every unspoken word, every unacknowledged feeling, into the space between you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his temple. “Me too.”

For the first time all night, Spencer smiled—a real, unguarded smile that lit up his entire face. And as you settled back against the couch, his arm draped over your shoulders, you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

[bills5lut]

Hey baby! I have a request if that's okay! I'm not sure if you are taking any, though, so please feel free to ignore my love.

I'd love to see the reader being the photographer who's taking all the photos, and right after this busy day, billie just cuddles with us looking through all the photos. (Cons of having a famous photographer as a gf) 🤍

photographer

masterlist prompt list

warnings: none. just fluff.

synopsis: you’re billies photographer gf, and go through the photos of the night after a long show.

You push open the green room door with your shoulder, camera still slung heavy around your neck, and the moment you step in, Billie lifts her head from the couch with a groggy little noise.

“Hi,” she rasps, voice croaky from the set, one arm flopping weakly to pat the cushion beside her. “C’mere.”

She’s stretched out, one leg bent, the other kicked up lazily over the couch arm, oversized tee damp with sweat and clinging to her stomach. Her eyeliner’s smudged just a little under one eye. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her look hotter.

You grin, setting your gear bag down and slipping in beside her, her arm automatically curling around your waist.

“You wanna go through today’s photos?” you murmur, already pulling your camera up into your lap.

She nods, sleepy and slow, letting her cheek rest against your shoulder. “Mhm. Show me.”

You scroll back to the first few from this afternoon,Billie with her in-ears still half hanging, mic tucked in her back pocket, staring out at the empty stage during soundcheck. Then a shot of her laughing at something her brother said, her tongue poking out as she flipped him off.

Billie chuckles softly. “He deserved that. I was right.”

“Always,” you murmur, kissing the top of her head.

Next are a few of her just before going on,her arms crossed tight, head bowed a little, lights from side-stage casting these golden streaks across her red roots. Then mid-set: one where she’s pointing at the crowd, her mouth open mid-yell, and the stage lights catch in her sweat like glitter.

“God,” she mutters. “I look like I’ve been hosed down.”

“Sexy as hell though,” you mutter, flicking to the next. She’s got one hand in her hair, shirt riding up just enough to show her hip bones, legs wide in that signature power stance.

You let out a soft groan. “Fuck… how are you so hot.”

She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. “Good angles. Great photographer.”

You roll your eyes. “Biased.”

Then you swipe to the next,a quick mirror pic the two of you took before she went on, her arm slung around your shoulder, both of you grinning like idiots. You in your camera rig, Billie mid-laugh, tongue out.

“Aww,” she murmurs. “That one’s cute.”

You go to the next and freeze. It’s a photo you didn’t know you took,probably hit the shutter by accident, camera reflected against a mirror. You’re sitting cross-legged side-stage, camera in your lap, looking down at your phone, a little sunbeam catching in your hair. You look… soft. Unaware.

You quickly try to swipe past it, muttering, “Oops. Didn’t mean to keep that,”

“Wait, wait,go back,” Billie says, sitting up a bit.

“It’s nothing,”

“Baby,” she insists, grabbing your wrist. “Back.”

You sigh and swipe back. Billie stares for a second, then grins. “You’re so pretty. Why’d you try to hide this?”

You feel your cheeks burn. “Because I look,tired. And sweaty. And not the point of the camera.”

“You look beautiful,” she murmurs, nuzzling her nose into your cheek. “Don’t skip pics of my girl.”

You grin shyly and lean your head against hers. “Fine.”

You scroll through a few more,her jumping, arms wide, her crouched low singing to the barricade, a close-up where she’s half-screaming into the mic, expression wild.

But her responses get quieter. “Mhm… that one’s… loud,” she mumbles.

You glance down. Billie’s eyes are half-closed, lips parted just slightly, her head fully resting on your shoulder now. You keep scrolling slowly just in case, but her breathing evens out, her hand slipping down to your thigh and going still.

You turn your head and smile. She’s out cold. A little damp strand of hair’s stuck to her temple, and her mouth twitches every now and then in her sleep.

Carefully, quietly, you reach for your camera and angle it down. One click.

The final photo of the night: Billie curled up beside you, utterly spent, lashes resting on her cheeks, your hoodie bunched up under her arm, and the soft, golden light of the green room glowing around her.

[ash5monster01]

Addicted To You

Pairing: Chris Evans x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, dirty talk, thigh riding, language, fluff, desperation, no use of y/n

Summary: Unable to keep dirty thoughts about your boyfriend at bay, when he provides an opportunity, you take it.

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

He had to know what he was doing, he just had to. There was no other explanation for the tight white T-shirt on his form and the way he leaned over you at dinner, his heavy cologne invading your senses and T-shirt tugging down to reveal his tattoos shaded in by heavy chest hair. Maybe it was just you, a desperate and aching need filling you at the idea of him. Already drunk off just his smell and the heavy way his accent lolled off his tongue. You were desperate for him, in literally anyway, imagining that same tongue that peeked out to lick his lips was somewhere on your body instead. 

It’s not long until the other dinner guests leave, you and Chris automatically in the habit of cleaning up after the fun night. You retrieve all the dishes and dump them in the sink, determined to have them all placed in the dishwasher while Chris collects empty beer bottles scattered around the home. You’re thankful for the distraction, arms wet to your elbows as you rinse each dish, mind no longer wandering on Chris’ broad body and all the things you want to with it. 

“Sorry,” Chris’ voice suddenly mutters, a hand falling to your hip as he presses his hard body against your back. His free hand reached above the both of you, opening the cupboard there to retrieve who knows what. The infiltration has you tightening your grip on the ledge of the sink, the curve of your ass fitting perfectly into the dip of his crotch. A perfect puzzle piece match and you can’t help the way your head droops and a sigh escapes your lips. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Chris either, realization dawned on him that you are putty in his hands. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and heavy in your ear. You gulp, trying to keep your voice steady and mind off of the fact you would do anything to desperately grind back into him right now. 

“Ye-yeah. I’m fine, just a little dizzy from the wine,” you say, eyes opening and offering a soft smile over your shoulder. He hasn’t moved away yet, fingers still wrapped around your waist, and he doesn’t realize he might just be the death of you. 

“Okay, you sure?” he asks, this time with less curiosity in his voice. It makes you question his reassurance until you feel him push tighter against you, hips lifting just a bit that you can now feel him under the curve of your ass. 

You don’t answer, unsure if any words could actually come out right now. Your knuckles turn white from how hard you grip the sink and Chris abandoned whatever it was he came to grab in favor of turning off the sink. His hand returns to hold the other side of your waist and it’s at this moment you realize how screwed you are. 

“I don’t think it’s the wine making you dizzy. I mean I’ve never seen you so desperate,” he mutters, hips rolling into you again while one of his hands trails to your stomach, pushing you tighter against him. This time you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips, your ears turn red from embarrassment but Chris just grins. Slowly his hand dips under your shirt, a large palm gliding up your stomach and rising the fabric with it. When he reaches the cup of your bra, your body finally stops fighting him, your ass grounding into him while your head flings back to rest against his shoulder. 

“It’s your fault,” you accuse, more whines leaving you as he lays his hand across your breast and offers a soft squeeze. 

“Yeah baby, how’s that?” he asks, lips closing on your neck and leaving the faintest of kisses. Cleaning the house has now been abandoned in favor of each other, a desperate need coming from you both. 

“You’re just so big and you smell so good. Every two seconds you had your chest in my face and I’m just a girl,” it’s nonsense, pure nonsense leaving your lips because what words are there to even say as he feels this good pressed against you. 

“So all night, you were just sitting there and imagining me in the most filthy ways?” he asks, a hand brushing some hair away from your shoulder so he could have more access to your neck. He continues to taste the skin there, sucking softly and soothing it over with his tongue. 

“Not exactly, I was imagining all the different ways I could use your big body to please mine,” you answer honestly, in too deep to go back now and a little dizzy with the idea he might actually give you what you wanted. 

“Care to show me?” he asks and you nod eagerly, not a bit of shame in your eyes as he releases his hold on you and guides you to the living room couch. He stands before you, a mischievous grin on his lips as he presents himself to you. 

Without any words shared you grab the hem of his shirt, lifting and revealing more and more of his happy trail. He allows you to remove his shirt, enjoying the way you gape at his sturdy and hairy chest like it was some sort of dessert. When the fabric is thrown somewhere to the side, your small fingers take their time wading through chest hair and exploring the tattoos littered along his chest. He tries to hide the way he shivers as you glide them down and tangle in his happy trail before finding the buttons of his jeans. It's not often he relents control in the bedroom but how turned on you are for him when he had done nothing to you yet made him desperate to submit. He was curious to know what had been in your head all night. 

“Look at you,” you muse, smirking up at him as you grip his length through his strained briefs. He winces at the sensation before grinding into your palm. He’s so hard for you already but having him inside you wasn’t first on the list. “Sit down Chris.”

He is quick to obey, unsteady steps backward until he falls to the couch. He still looks so big against the cushions and you just smile as you slowly undress. Your panties are a mess and you can feel your arousal on your thighs as you look at the Greek God of a man in front of you. Once completely naked you stalk your way over to him, one leg hooking around his waist. He prepares for you to follow suit with the other but instead it wedges between his legs and your wet heat settles against his thigh. 

“Fuck baby,” he says heavily at the sensation. His hands grip your hips, to ground you or himself, he’s not sure. His length pushes against the top of your thigh and you laugh lightly at the very dirty predicament you're in. 

“Been imaging this all night,” you tell him before gliding your hips forward. You move easily due to how wet you are and even though his cock barely brushes along your leg, he’s the one moaning. Discovering it felt even better than imagined you find a rhythm and begin to grind down on him. It should be embarrassing, using him to get yourself off, but the way he looks at you mesmerized takes it all away. 

“Please cum like this?” he begs and you just whine, your clit scraping over his leg hair just right and he removes a hand from your hip to grope your breast. You moan again when he pinches your pebbled nipple and Chris is certain he might cum in his pants just from this.

It’s not long until you feel that coil tightening in your stomach, your slick dripping down his thigh, and you’re so close. Chris notices and brings his mouth to your breast, sucking your nipple softly into his mouth. The new sensation has the rhythm of your hips faltering but he uses his hands to steady you and when he switches to the other nipple, your body stutters to a stop. You convulse, slumping into him as you finish all over his thigh. Chris’ cock jumps, his precum leaking desperately through the fabric, and you look so fucked out already. 

“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced,” he mutters, nuzzling you close and you hiss when your sensitive clit nudges his thigh. He’s so hard it almost hurts. 

“Can I ride your abs next?” you ask and he lets out a hearty laugh, head tipping back in the process. You smile softly, eyes heavy with exhaustion and Chris looks at you lovingly. 

“Not yet, I need to be inside you first. Maybe tomorrow,” and you don’t complain as he uses his strength to lift you and lay you along the couch. You watch dreamily as he finally removes his boxers and frees his length. It’s so hard it nudges his pelvis, angry and red. Your pussy clenches just at the sight and he grins before sealing his lips against yours and pushing up inside of you. 

Finish cleaning the house be damned.

[fictionalmenxyn]

ꨄ𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭ꨄ

Pairing: Drew Starkey x actress!reader (established relationship) (prompt, see post below for context/what prompt is)

(Also ik Drew has sister/s. Idk how old they actually are so imma make it up to fit the story line) (reqs are open!!!)

Warnings: language, SMUT, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap before you tap), detailed-ish smut. (First smut post so sos if it’s bad!)

𐬺ꨄ𐬺

Being back in your hometown felt great. After finishing the latest season of Outer Banks, you both wanted a small break. So that’s exactly what you did.

It was currently 11:38pm, all the younger siblings were in the basement. You were the eldest out of your siblings. You had two brothers and one sister. Your sister was 17 as your brothers were 15 and 13. Drew’s sisters were both 18 and 19.

You and Drew were in the kitchen. While all the siblings were in the movie room (your parents converted basement). You wore one of Drew’s grey sweatshirts and a pair of (has favourite) navy cycling shorts. Drew wore some grey sweats, his Calvin waistband poking out of the waistband of his sweats.

You sat on the island counter, a bowl of grapes in your lap. Drew leaned against the counter opposite you. You were watching something on your phone, he just watched you. God he could eat you up, right here, right now.

He stepped forward, standing between your legs. He placed the bowl down onto the counter next to you. He placed his hands either side of you, on the counter. “Hey, baby?” You look up to him. “Yeah?”

He grinned a little “you know… we haven’t had, ‘us’ time in a while… with all the filming and stuff… and you here, in my sweatshirt and those little navy shorts you know I love dearly… makes me think things…”

You smiled, putting your phone down “oh yeah? What things?” He chuckled lowly, moving his face closer to yours “well, all our siblings are in the basement… our parents are all over my parents place… we could head up to your room?” You smirked. Pecking his lips “sure, ba-”

Next thing you know you’re over his shoulder as he carried you to your room.

He opened the door with his spare hand. Then closing it with his foot. He walked over to your bed and placing you down.

Climbing, so he’s hovering over you. He moves his lips against yours. Kissing you as if he hasn’t in years. Drew was one for physical touch, he was heavy on hand holding and kisses. You kiss back, matching his energy. He groaned against your lips. He pulled away, only a centimetre. He whispered “god missed this, so much… gonna take you, right here.. right now, okay baby?” You nodded “yeah…”

His hands go to your thighs, pulling them apart. Letting himself kneel between them. He starts to kiss you again as his hands rub your thighs gently. His hands soon get to the waistband of your cycling shorts. He mumbled against your lips “love these shorts… but they gotta go… getting in the way of my sweet girl…” he tugs down your cycling shorts in one swift movement. Discarding your shorts to the floor.

His hips pressed against your pantie covered entrance. You hummed “fuck, Drew…miss you…” he knew what you were referring to. “Yeah? Missed my cock, babe?” You nodded. He grinned. He rolled his hips against you. Causing a soft gasp. God you could never get over how big he was. Being lovers for three and a half years, still you couldn’t fathom how huge he was. Still took all of him though, which he loved.

He rolled his hips again, he groaned “fuck baby…” he grabbed both waistbands of his sweats and boxers. Taking them off together, at the same time. Making him completely naked. He climbed back between you. You softly moaned as you felt him rub against you. He grinned “shall we get rid of this, sweetheart?” He tugs on your panties. You nod, not wanting to waste anytime.

You were completely bare, besides the oversized sweatshirt of his still on you. Just how he liked you, bare, but in his clothes.

He rubbed against you again. He groaned at how excited you could get, every time. Seeing you drenched for him, made him feral. He slowly pushed in, making small rolls as he adds more of himself to you. Causing soft moans each thrust.

Once he was completely in, you leaned down onto you. His face close to yours “gonna make you feel so good, sweet girl… I love you… so much.” You press a kiss to his forehead “I love you too, Drew.”

His fingertips rub up your forearms. Then interlocking and holding your hands into the mattress.

He started to slowly thrust, causing you to gasp. The noises becoming music to his ears. He slowly started to lick up the pace. His one hand lets go of yours, moving under the sweatshirt and needing your breast softly and lovingly.

Meanwhile, downstairs, both girls from each side were wanting you both for help. The coffee machine wasn’t working, only you and Drew knew how it works. Since both parents were over Drew’s family’s house; you two were their only help.

Drew moved his hand down from your chest to your thigh. Pushing it into the mattress more. His thrusts started to get sloppy and quick, every other would be hard thrusts.

You were a moaning mess, Drew smiles, knowing he does this to you. And only you.

Drew spoke “fuck, you look so good..taking all of me, like a good girl… always one f’me aren’t ya? Love when I fill you, don’t you?” You nodded. Your head tilting back into the pillows. He smiled.

Drew picked up the pace, moving the fastest he could go. You could feel the edge staring to come. You were almost there, about to finish. He could feel it, he was almost there too. Loving how you feel against him “feelin’ so good f’me baby… ssshhiitt…” he moaned. You rolled you eyes as his thrust became harder than before.

Both sisters headed upstairs, to the second floor. They walked down the hallway. As they got closer to your room, they walked over to the door.

You mumble to Drew “Drew, fuck… hmm shit.. gonna- ohhh…” Drew grinned “gonna finish with me, baby?” You nodded. Your free hand coming up to his bicep as you dig your nails into his muscle. He moaned at how much that turned him on.

Your sister knocked the door and opened it. Drew’s eyes widen, quickly pulling the covers over your lower bodies. He leaned down into you.

Both sister’s eyes widened. Your sister, Kayla spoke “what?! Ew you guys! Couldn’t you wait till we were all in bed?!?” You chuckled. Drew on the other hand… he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His intwined hand squeezing yours. He felt embarrassed, not cause of being caught making love to you. But the fact it was his sister, you’ve been walked in on a few times. Austin has walked in on you guys a few times on set; that being the reason you don’t do it on set anymore. But when it’s family, that’s different.

Drew spoke against your shoulder “what do you two want?!” Kayla giggled “uh the coffee machine isn’t working, we wanted to see if you two could fix it.. but clearly you’re busy.” You chucked “oh shut up Kay!” She playfully gasped “what?! I can’t help it if you two are getting frisky while we’re all awake still!” You playfully roll your eyes “you done now??” Kayla chuckles and nods “well let you get back to your… entertainment…” you flip off your sister “close the door in the way out!”

As she shuts the door, she calls out “make sure to lock it next time, dad didn’t put one on there for no reason…”

Once they left, Drew removed his head from the crook of your neck. He looked down at you “um…” you chuckles softly. Carding your fingers through his hair. “Turned off, huh?” He nodded. Not wanting to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to you. You knew exactly what to do. You grabbed both his wrists and gently tug him closer to you.

You whispered “want me to ride you? I’ll let you kiss my chest when I do it?? How’d that sound?” He moaned softly. “I’ll take that as a yes?” He nodded and gently pulled out before flipping you both over.

Letting you straddle him as he leaned back against the headboard. He placed his hands in your hips, just wanting to touch you. You slowly started to rock your hips. You leaned forward, letting his mouth attach to your chest. Moving from the left side to the right. He worked away as you rocked your hips. Slowly picking up the pace. You moaned his name. He groaned and started to rock up into you.

When you felt that similar feeling in your lower stomach, once again. You felt his hands move under your thighs. Holding you up so he could fastly rock up into you. Both of you moaning together. You gasp “Drew! Gonna!” He replied “right there with ya…. Fuck baby, cum on me, sweetheart… so fuckin good” You held onto his shoulders. Finishing down his cock, he groaned as his pace slowed down. He soon came a second or two after you. His hips stutter as he finished too. He moans your name as he does.

He then puts you back down on his lap. He tucked some hair behind your ear. He placed his hand in the back of your neck. Pulling you in for a few soft kisses. Then pulling away and resting your forehead to his. He mumbles “forgot about the lock, haven’t done it in here for a while, huh?” You chuckle. Agreeing with him. Last time was when you were both seventeen. Both of you wanted to be each other’s firsts, thinking it was better to be close to someone when you both do it for the first time. Which can come off as cute. Even if you didn’t date till a few years ago. He presses a few more kisses to your lips and forehead before starting up a bath for you both. Which was then followed by some movies and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

𐬺ꨄ𐬺