#on top of being like a sentimental romantic

[blessthishouse]

Today in therapy I was talking to my counselor about how I wish I wasn’t so attached to the idea of finding a romantic partner in a way that ends up causing me harm. There are some people who are so comfortable with not being in a romantic relationship and that it brings them a sense of security. She advised that it’s okay to admit that I’m in a place right now in my life where I need that sense of deep connection and people are interdependent beings. Being able to admit that was like having a big weight lifted off my chest. It also had a reverse effect, it made me feel like I could be more comfortable being single as long as I know my romantic relationships mean a lot to me, I want them to intentional, loving & balanced

[hautecouturegirlfriend]

Now who is responsible for this 😭 please

[highvern]

Honey

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strip tease, kinda public sex?, unprotected sex, creampie, simp mingyu, established relationship, dry humping (in a hot tub), fingering, face fucking/oral (m. receiving), porn with feelings, mingyu has a thing for being called husband, breeding kink

Length: ~2.8k

Note: inspired by the two seconds of mingyu in lalali. sorry @gyuswhore next time dont let your man act like a fool. this is a continuation of Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) but can be read as a stand alone! see below for their master list

Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) [f,s], Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) II [f]

Pre-Drunk Goggles (in order): Peaches [f], Bite the Bullet [f, h], Jealousy [a, h]

Post-Drunk Goggles (in order): Silk [s], Aphrodite [f, s], Discovery [s], Lucky Me [f], adamas et aurum [f], Baby Blues [f]

Summary: The best way to recover from the stress of your wedding and celebrate your marriage? Some private time in the hot tub with your new husband.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Twenty four hours.

You’d been married for twenty four hours and can barely keep your eyes open from exhaustion. Not because of your husband and the vigorous but romantic sex he insisted on having on every surface of the cabin your friends chipped in to rent as a wedding present. No, you’ve barely managed to touch each other beyond agonizingly fatigued kisses and sentimental cuddles. 

Last night you both barely managed to make it into the bed before passing out cold. This morning, you found Mingyu nodding off at the stove after insisting on cooking breakfast while you showered. A few lazy gropes during breakfast (Mingyu’s hand barely toeing the line of indecent on your thigh) and a hot kiss before he left the bed was all the action managed in the first day as a newly wed couple. 

It’s still a funny word: husband. For so long husband was hypothetical; a distant idea that someday you’d have one. Maybe. If you found someone you could put up with long enough to start considering them as a long term partner instead of a fling.

And then Mingyu went from an acquaintance to boyfriend in a matter of months and the hypotheticals started shaping into realities with shocking speed.

The amorphous face of your hypothetical-husband slowly started to resemble Mingyu’s day after day. Week after week. And now, after months of planning, hair pulling, and a day full of tears, Mingyu is your husband. 

And he’s waiting for you in the hot tub just outside.

It’s the middle of the day but time ceases to maintain importance on vacation. But after a late breakfast you both agreed the best thing for your aching bodies was an afternoon relaxing in the hot tub until you both pruned like raisins. 

You spot the head of dark hair belonging to your fiance husband through the glass sliding doors leading onto the back porch. Beyond him is a full view of the lake, sparkling under the sun. It’s a deception of warmth but a breathtaking sight nonetheless. 

But nothing compared to Mingyu whipping around at the sound of the door opening with a pleased smile. Until his eyes drop to your bikini. 

“Why are you wearing that?” he asks with a pout. 

Glancing down at the black two piece, you pout back. “I thought you liked this one?”

“I like whatever you wear, but the point of being married is that we can walk around naked as much as we want.”

“We already do that.”

“And it’s one of my favorite traditions,” Mingyu says, resettling across the tub to watch. “Now get that off and get over here. I miss you.”

You reach behind your back, you tug at the string of your top until the knot unravels. As the fabric slackens around your chest, Mingyu’s eyes follow with rapt attention. He’s seen you naked thousands of times but never fails to act like it's the first again. Your nipples peak under his stare, sensitive as the fabric brushes against them as you fling the top to the ground. 

“Now we’re the same,” you say with a coy smile, closing the space to the hot tub in a few short steps.

“Wrong.” He fumbles for a second, hands disappearing under the surface. The water sloshes around as he battles to pull off his shorts and drops them to the deck with a splat. “The only thing I want to see you in are those rings.”

“Mingyu!” you gasp mockingly, ignoring the heat pooling between your legs in favor of dragging out the game. “What if someone sees?”

No one will. The cabins on either side of yours are dark and empty, and most of the houses skirting around the lake are so far away no one could possibly decipher what you two were doing in the shade of the porch awning anyway. 

“Then they’ll see how beautiful my wife is.” 

Blood rings in your ears at the way he says it; fond with a hint of pride. Like he still can’t believe you said yes in the first place. Like it was ever a question if and not when.

Mingyu whines pathetically as you scramble to remove your flimsy bottoms without flourish. It's too cold to stand around and do a full strip tease even if your husband’s eyes burn right through you. They join his swimsuit at the foot of the tub before you slip into the gentle embrace of the water.

Your ass barely meets the seat before Mingyu pulls you into his lap and kisses you. Arms circling around his shoulders, you sink a hand in his hair and tug until he welcomes your tongue. Your thighs straddle across his, bare skin on bare skin only interrupted by the silky feel of water. Even that doesn’t manage to disguise the electricity between your bodies. Or the fact that Mingyu's cock is already hard and waiting for use.

“Mmm. Missed you,” he whispers into the warmth of your cheek before descending across your jaw.

Bones turning to jelly, you melt under his attention like always. Mingyu loves to make you putty with little effort. You tip your chin up to make room for his tongue over the dip between your collarbones. “I was gone for five minutes.”

“Too long.”

He punctuates the complaint with a harsh suck of your nipple. It puckers between his teeth, sensitive and needy for attention. The sting serves as the perfect distraction from his hands sliding lower to palm your ass, fingertips grazing your entrance. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. Your hips search for more pleasure, sinking back until Mingyu stretches you around his knuckles with practice ease. The water washes away any arousal lingering but you won’t give up the prod of thick fingers for a little discomfort.

“Can you say it?”

Even before it became official he loved hearing you say any declaration that he belongs to you: boyfriend, fiance, and now—

“Husband.”

Mingyu groans into your chest as you whisper his new epithet, exploding with renewed vigor across your neglected breast. Indulging in the way his cock twitches against your thigh at the word, you curl your hips into the pressure. It's a difficult choice: Mingyu’s fingers filling you just right or the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit. 

Moving back and forth, the water sloshes over the sides of the tub as you greedily try to keep both. It’s hotter knowing Mingyu gets off on it too; the way you always want more, more of him, his hands, his mouth, his cock. Even rutting across his thigh after he cums until it hurts can make him hard again if you’re enjoying yourself.

Sinking a hand down, you tug at his cock, jerking him off right against your folds. With a tight fist, you crumble Mingyu to pieces with a few short strokes. The effort is rewarded with bites into your bottom lip and a hand at the base of your spine.

“Wait, shit,” he gasps. He’s closer than he wants to be. Clear in the tightness of his shoulders and pinch around his nose. Nothing gets him hotter than the memory of your first time together, when he used you pussy to jerk himself off; coating your panties in his cum. You know he still has a picture from the second time he did it saved on his phone after all these years.

Mingyu’s lips don’t leave yours as he stands, carrying you to the lip of the tub and sitting back down. He doesn’t let you slip to your knees in front of him at first. You’re trapped with lewd kisses and the flex of his fingers into the dip of your waist until he calms. 

“Let,” kiss. “Me,” kiss. “Taste,” teeth. “You.” 

Mingyu bucks into your ass at the offer before letting go. He’s never said no to a blowjob and he won’t start now given how much you like it too. 

But he’s cocky, arms resting on the edge of the tub as he presents the nude visage of his front like a dare. It’s bold given his habit of devolving into a needy mess at the first hint of satisfaction.

Your hand keeps pace while your lips ghost down Mingyu’s neck. His nipples stiffen with quick attention, almost more sensitive than your own but that isn’t your goal right now. Your mouth starts to water when you reach his stomach, tracing the ridges and dips with all the time in the world. 

Just as Mingyu gets the first syllable of protest at the tip of his tongue, you suck him between your lips with cruel enthusiasm.

All the kinks in his armor become the highlights: a coarse lick where he leaks, a tight fist at the base, your other hand cupping lower until he moans loud enough to echo across the lake. For your own sick pleasure, you back away enough to tap him against the flat of your tongue, pink against the tip of his cock, eyes on his until Mingyu is forced to look away or risk painting your face in white far too soon.

“Slow down,” he commands. More of a beg since his head tips back when you take him until the curve of your throat objects. “Fuck–Jesus Christ.”

You arch your spine, ass displayed like a prize. Another one of Mingyu’s weaknesses. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s let you suck him off without reaching over to feel how wet you get from the weight against your tongue. If he chances a look down again (inevitable) you’ve provided a great surprise.

His cock falls from your hold long enough to rasp, “Fuck my mouth.”

At the end of the day, who is Mingyu to deny his wife what she demands for?

Timid with the first thrust like always, Mingyu plants a hand on the back of your head, fingers woven into your hair for his own sanity. You like to surprise him by filling your throat as quickly as possible just to see Mingyu squirm. Nothing makes you blinder to your own limits than his pleasure. But years of taking him make it easy to work around. 

He’s trying. The effort is in the twitch of muscles bracketing your shoulders, the gentle tugs of his fingers, the way Mingyu can barely bite back the flow of curse when you choke around him deep in your throat. Your jaw is already growing sore but no obstacle against the desire to see Mingyu shake.

Then Mingyu does something that shocks you.

Your hand pauses its work under the gentle squeeze of his. Mouth still full, you flash your eyes open to find him staring down in awe. For a second you wonder if it's just because time had been short the past few weeks between wedding planning and traveling. But then he pulls your hand away from his cock and towards your mouth, and you finally realize what caught his attention.

The rings. The plain band that matches the one circling his finger and the special one he spent months trying to keep a secret.

Mingyu kisses across your knuckles, thumb tracing the metal and stone like it’s a wonder. He did the same motion over and over again last night: walking back up the aisle as husband and wife, at the reception as you both greeted guest after guest while glued to each other, in the car ride to the cabin across the center console, before you both fell asleep still fully clothed. 

Without any words, you’re pulled up into his lap for a searing kiss.

“I love you,” he sighs. His tongue slides against yours, slick as he tastes the mess you happily lapped up at his crotch.

“I love you too.”

You feel it. Feel it more than anything in the world. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It shivers down your spine, and blushes across your front. The effect of those three words, simple but so much more, seems almost too much for the daylight just beyond the awning of the porch. 

Out of the water, the cool air prickles along your back, forcing your chest to cave against the cold but Mingyu is there to warm you up with the stretch of his cock. 

You hide the satisfaction in the column of his neck, teeth razing wet across the vein there. He tastes like chlorine and that expensive cologne you jump his bones for. The idea of leaving a bruise like some teenager where everyone can see settles an ache in your core. It’s the first time Mingyu is inside you as your husband and it nearly rips apart the fabric of your being,

In a frenzy, your hips rut before Mingyu can orient himself to the snug feel of your walls. The angle is nothing short of cosmic. Clit rubbing against his pubic bone, cock battering that place inside that makes your joints lock. And the stretch after an unfulfilling glimpse on his fingers only burns you hotter.

The slap of your skin against his is an afterthought, background noise to grunts and groans and pathetic whines that meld between your mouths. In the thick of need, you aren’t even kissing. Just panting into one another’s mouth with narrowed vision. 

Mingyu sinks you lower in his lap with a smooth grind. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like my husband is trying to get me pregnant.” You go cross eyed from the drag of his thumb against your worn bundle of never. Nothing makes him more desperate to please than the thought of you heavy with his your baby. 

No chance it’ll happen any time soon but the sentiment does wonders.

Another hard thrust threatening to leave you bedridden for the next week.“Fuck—please.”

“You’re mine,” Mingyu groans.

Writhing against his grip, sweat blooms at your brow. You can’t manage to respond with more than a cracked whine. Too focused on the wave rushing across the edges of your senses. 

“There! Fuck! Right there, Gyu.” You come in hot, carried by the rough way Mingyu forces you down his cock again and again. 

Nails biting into his biceps, your insides flutter tight, trying to pull Mingyu deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Full, deep, stretched beyond belief. Eyes cinched, muscles vibrating, you cum on your husband's cock with a broken grunt you’ll remember to be embarrassed about later.

“That's it, take it.” Mingyu coos with an edge. “My pretty fucking girl, my wife. Mine, all mine.”

Your knees hurt and your legs are numb from exertion and a killer orgasm. But you won’t call it until Mingyu gets his fill too.

“Close?” you pant. 

A hand at your throat is the warning, already knowing your plans to goad him to the edge if he isn’t there already. His thumb cocks your chin up so his tongue can lick the words right out of your mouth. 

A few more weak movements spell his ends. Mingyu cums with a grunt. Muscles tense, stomach caved, you scramble for hold under the threat of slipping back into the hot tub from the rushes of his cock to stuff you full with his spend. You’ll be sore tomorrow from the way he forces your thighs wider, until you’re flat against him, taking it deeper.

A sticky mess grows between your legs, warmly welcomed since the last time you felt it weeks ago. A peek between your bodies gets you ready to go again. But you still crave more. Ringed white around the base, Mingyu twitches inside you again when you clench just to tease him. 

“Love you, love you, love you…” Mingyu chants into your mouth until he goes slack with a long huff.

You find rest in his shoulder. Mingyu rubs his cheek against yours, innocent and domestic. He isn’t shy about most things but after you fuck eachother silly he likes to remind the universe its from a place of devotion.

“Marriage looks good on you.” 

“You too.” You smile. “Now take me to bed, I’m not done with you yet.”

“Whatever my wife demands.”

“That's my good husband.” The hand ruffling his hair is quickly snatched away, giving Mingyu the perfect opening to toss you over his shoulder before heading inside.

--

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @bbychocolat

@dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THE BOYS

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n originally a one-shot, but I couldn’t help myself and wrote some more!

Part 1 [Part 2]

-> <-

Your heart sinks into the deepest pits of your chest. The tiny inconspicuous hole where no one would ever look. Your spirit lies under the earth, while Eddie lies bricks instead of dirt across your corpse. A quite violent death you have taken on.

“Are you still with us?” Gareth waves a hand in front of your face. Grease slips between his fingers from his two day old burger that your school pretends was freshly slapped on a grill that morning.

You squirm. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Eddie says you could come to practice,” he throws his hand up. “You’re one of the boys!”

Right.

Like someone had thrown water across your face, you slide theatrically to the floor in a puddle of you. Theatrically speaking - of course.

The lunchroom chatter dies in the back of your head like you just did a moment ago. You excuse yourself from the group, while claiming that you have forgotten your exam in the next class period and you should really put in at least a few moments of study time.

Your few moments are actually spent stowing yourself away in the ladies room.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he asked you out!” A girl squeals. “What are you going to wear? Tell me everything!”

You had stopped your self doubting and your eternally ill fading romantic imaginations you came up with while you stare at the dull gaze in your eye behind the dirty spotted bathroom mirror. You should focus on your studies anyway. Failing your senior year of high school, again, was not on your list of to-do's.

Then again, the two girls gossiping were very pretty. You took notes. Hair full and down to her chest in length. The kind of hair Texas wishes they had. Cheeks were plump, and dusted pink with some powder of sorts. Full lips covered in sweet strawberry gloss. You can smell their gloss from just a sink away. That, or perhaps that was their perfume. Sweet and feminine.

“I'm sorry,” one of them notices you staring, while she applies a thick coat of her lip-gloss. 'Strawberry Dream' is what the little label on the tube reads. “Are we being loud?”

“No, no,” you shake your head.

“Okay,” she sings awkwardly, before continuing the conversation her friend had started. “Anyway, Josie, I think we should go shopping for a new outfit. Oh! I - so - need a new gloss. Something sexy!”

“Sexy?” You accidentally slip the words, before you could stop yourself.

The girl cocks her head. “Do you usually eavesdrop?”

Not that they weren’t talking in front of her.

“My bad,” you tug at the ends of your t-shirt. “Erm- you’re trying to impress this boy?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “Do you have some sort of advice?”

Looking you up and down, she spots the stains from your lunch at your chest. Trying not to snort and jeer at your expense, she waits for you to respond. Her cocky tight lipped smile says enough.

“Actually,” you reply. “I- Why don’t you try being yourself? He clearly likes you to ask you out, so maybe you could tone it down?”

“Tone it down?” She frowns. “Like you? Tell me er- girl of some sort- how many dates have you gotten with that fresh out of bed look you wear every single day. You look like a shy boy. Yeah, I see you around. You’re small like a shrimp. You need to be shark in these waters or your going to get your head bitten off. Put on a bra. A low cut top. And, maybe some blush to hide that dead corpse face you wear-,”

“It’s my skin-,”

“When you get a date, then you get an opinion. Got it?”

“Got it,” you zip your lips. What a bitch.

-> <-

Practice, as the group of men slamming poorly synchronized chords together, is held at Gareth’s garage promptly after school. You did not participate in the noise, but rather you sit in a lawn chair onlooking. Fanning yourself with your hands, sweat glistens across your skin like armor.

Your friends finish their set. Eyes on you, you cheer for their noise that will surely draw eyes from the neighborhood. Someone will be by soon to tell the boys to quiet their racket, and to perhaps indulge themselves in a new activity like reading a book. The Book, perhaps.

“You’re getting better,” you propose promisingly.

Eddie nudges your shoulder with a fist on his way to the cooler to grab a cold soda. You pretend like your heart didn’t just stop inside of your chest.

“I told you, guys,” Eddie has been raving to his band mates (and occasional D&D players) that you, his B.F.F., wasn’t going to ruin practice. That just because you might have a new rack and hips hidden underneath this t-shirt wasn’t going to change any dynamic within the group.

They all agreed about this while staring at your ever growing chest and hips. You cover your chest again, before speaking out of turn.

“Are you ever going to preform these songs?” You ask the group.

Eddie’s plush lips touch the bottle his soda came in. Condensation from the glass dripped across his chin and down his neck to the exposed flesh of his chest.

And, they were so worried about you “developing.” Here you are, eyeballing your best friend like you haven’t ever seen him before. Suddenly, you woke up one morning and you were obsessed with him!

It isn’t like that at all. You didn’t know when you began having feelings for your best friend. Somewhere between living next to each other in the trailer park. Sneaking out after your curfew to splash in Lovers Lake (Eddie’s favorite way to wash off his worries). And, the times you tripped over your own clumsiness when Eddie was the first to rescue you. You might have just fallen into his eyes you stared at them so long. Maybe- maybe that’s when something changed.

No more boys and girls - there are men and women. High school changes us - all of us. There’s science behind it all, you suppose. You took health courses, but no scientific explanation could bring you to figure out how you were completely enamored by your best friend.

Your best friend, who is sweating underneath the heat of the garage. Finding himself without options, he strips his shirt.

“Hold this for me,” he says like there’s no issue. Because there was no issue for him, you’re alone in your feelings. Classic.

“Sure,” you fold his shirt up in your lap, while resisting the urge to inhale his scent like a trained dog trying to find a missing person. Or, like an addict getting their fix for the first time in days.

“And, yes,” Eddie announces, before slamming down a new chord. “Come watch us at the Hideout!”

“Really?!”

“Sure,” Gareth speaks for his friend. “If you want.”

“I’ll come,” you ask, “What time?”

“We’ll start setting up around six in the evening, but we’re not set to play until seven,” Eddie explains to you. “Friday.”

You nod. “I’ll be there!”

“Oh, Eddie!” Gareth grabs his attention. “You gonna bring Roxie?”

Roxie Martin? Now, she’s a hot pair of tits in a mini skirt. Full scarlet lips, Rockin’ Roxie, as some people called her, was a She Devil in human skin. Sinking her teeth into her pray, she poisons them with feminine venom. She doesn’t even have to sing them a tune, for men will follow her into the depths of the vast blue ocean without question.

Some just thought she was a slut in heels, though.

Whatever story floats.

Eddie strums a sour note.

“Dude, I’m just teasing,” his friend snickers.

Eddie scolds his friend, then the group of boys begin to slam on their instruments some more.

You sat there for hours watching Eddie slobber over his guitar. Sweat glistened down across his skin. His fingers striking each chord by heart as he did every night. Touching the strings expertly with the tips of his cherry red fingers. He begun feeling sore towards the end of the night, and the guys agree that it would probably be a good opportunity to turn in for the night.

Practice would resume tomorrow.

And you were forever and eternally frustrated.

-> <-

“Robin,” you slouched over the clear candy bowl labeled ‘Free.’ “I need to be a girl.”

Robin jabs away at the keypad of the store computer that is clearly frozen. While she might be renting out videos to people, Robin’s shit with technology.

That gave her more time to ignore her responsibilities, however, and acknowledges to your moping. With an arched brow, she sucks in her lips and she lets them go with a loud pop.

“You are a girl,” she states the obvious, while appearing to look down at your chest. “Or- so I think.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you stuff more candy into your mouth like a starved squirrel just coming out from hibernation. Squirrels hibernate, don’t they? Whatever.

“What ever could you possibly mean?” She props herself up onto her elbows.

There was a time when you were a child that a mean boy kicked dirt on you at the playground. Swooping in like your knight in shining armor, Eddie came to you to brush the dirt from your clothes and to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Feeling outcasted, Eddie surrounded himself in the weaker kids. The kids that enjoy recess sitting on the brick wall of their school, or close by the door to wait for your teachers to let you back inside.

You read books with him during quiet reading because he didn’t know how to keep the letters from mixing together. Eddie would apologize for his hair being frizzy, and all over the place. You thought he was funny looking like that.

Sometimes you wish you could go back to the good old days where your heart didn’t sing in your chest whenever your childhood best friend was near. You wish the aching in your bones would sooth itself instead of feeling fuzzy every time Eddie greeted you at a whisper from behind. That his strong hand touching you like a doll would become friendly again, and less like you want to shove him against the lockers to kiss his pretty face.

You knew better.

Yet, here you are.

Say it had something to do with what happened yesterday. Roxie’s sexy. You want her sexy. Not her. But, just the sexy. And, whoever was in the bathroom was right. You’re much more than a baggy t-shirt and a pair of denim on your legs. You grew up during the summer, and so what if you want to show off a bit. You earned your assets.

“I can’t tell you,” you put out there for Robin to read. “You’ll blab to Steve, and Steve will tell- doesn’t matter.”

You wait for her to speak, but Robin never does. She blinks at you.

“There’s this boy-,”

“A boy?!” Her voice echoes against the furthest most walls.

You wave your hands. “Robin!”

“Go on!”

“I just - I want to grow up a little.”

The jangle of the front door opening broke their conversation apart. There was nothing elegant about Eddie Munson. He slammed his jacket into the stand of desperately rentable tapes. The display wobbled. Swiveled. And, slammed into the floor. The video tapes splattered.

“Dude!” Robin huffs. “I just put those up!”

Eddie scrambles to rescue the mess. “My bad, Robs. You know? You might not want to put these right in front of the walkway. ‘Could get knocked over - see?”

Robin knew Eddie from class. Smart mouth guy with a lot to say about literature. He held a lot in his head, but once he got to a piece of paper, he could just go.

“The usual, Eddie?”

Oh, and he also rented out the same tape once a week for the past three weeks. It was a Rated R film that had a single one minute scene of a nude woman on top of a man she was suffocating. Not with her boobs- with his belt.

Robin snaps back into reality.

“Eh, looking for something new,” he fixed the display, before joining the girls at the register. “Suggestions?”

Robin slams her palm against the monitor. “Stupid thing is still frozen. Oh! Did you hear your little pal has a crush on a boy?”

“Robin!” You cringe. Turning into the wallpaper sounds really nice right about now. Hell, you’ll fix that computer if it gets Robin off the topic of you.

Anyone, she can blab to anyone, but Eddie. Where was Steve when you needed him? Oh, you are so screwed!

“What? It’s just Eddie!”

Just Eddie - yeah, Robin, that’s the problem.

“A crush? On who?” Eddie scoffs out loud.

Your jaw goes agape. “Are you saying I can’t have a crush on someone?”

“No, I just- you’re one of the guys!”

“She can’t be one of the guys forever,” Robin defends you. Perhaps she saw you twitch. “She’s a girl underneath those stains.”

You brush your dirty t-shirt.

“Robin-,”

“What? Whoever this boy is, he’s shit out of luck if he doesn’t see what we all see,” your friend continues.

Eddie teeters his balance back and forth on each foot.

“I’m going to go look for a movie,” he says.

Robin ignores him shuffling into the isles. “I’m just saying if he doesn’t like you back that is his loss. Right?”

You peak around for any sight of Eddie. His frizzy mane is locked onto a movie in the farthest isle.

“Oh my god,” Robin follows your gaze. “Oh my god! This is big- no, huge- I can’t believe before my eyes your friends to lovers trope-,”

“Robin! Hush!” You whisper at a much louder volume than you anticipate.

Yet, here comes Eddie back to the counter without a film in hand. Robin shoots you a glance that screams that she’s about to burst like a toddler who has to pee, but they can’t get their overalls off.

“Can’t find anything?” Robin intertwined her fingers in front of her.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eddie sighs.

The sound that came from Robin’s lips could have been the earth splitting in two, and trying to suck her in or the angels above calling her back to heaven. She’s a bit eccentric.

Oh, God, you think she’s plotting.

“Actually,” she settles. “I have a film back here that we haven’t set out on shelves yet.”

“Is it a romance?” He guesses purely based on the actors gazing longingly on the front cover. “Robin, I don’t do romance.”

“Obviously,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “Anyway, this is a mystery. Hm? You know? Like clues and shit.”

“Clues and shit?”

“Maybe,” you signal ‘no’ to Robin, but she blatantly ignores you, “you two can watch it together. Hm? Solve the mystery, before the show ends? Let me know what you think!”

“Robin-,” Eddie begins, but Robin is already scanning the tape to rent out.

“It’ll be fun!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll see you around six for a movie night like old times?”

You mask your embarrassment. Nodding in a set agreement, Eddie left with the film still eyeing the cover like it had just insulted him.

“How could you do that?” You shame her.

Robin shrugs her shoulders, while dancing behind the counter like a relationship fairy.

“Oh! You’ll need something to wear by then!” She shouts to her coworker. “Steve! I’m not feeling well! Will you be okay for the rest of the day?!”

“Ah ha,” Steve appears like he’s been waiting for permission to enter the conversation. “You’re not leaving me here by myself!”

“What was that? I can’t hear you,” she points to her ear, as she’s setting her jacket over her shoulders. “Ear ache.”

“Robin!”

“Huh? Oh, thank you!” She shuffles herself and you out the front door.

Warm air meets you outside. Although you wished to take off another layer, you felt practically naked as is. Cotton blend shirts were thick in these spring days. The same could be said for your denim jeans.

“Won’t he be mad?” You ask.

Robin snorts. “Steve? No.”

No explanation given - no explanation necessary. Robin and Steve were like a pair of siblings at most times. Although, knowing Steve had a thing for Robin at some point made the analogy much creepier than it should have been.

You drive yourself and Robin back to your home where your family was not. They’re out of town for the whole week doing an anniversary trip. Figuring your of the age to take care of yourself, they’ve left you by yourself with only the responsibility of keeping the home clean.

“What are we looking for?” You sit on your made bed hugging one of your pillows to your chest, while Robin riffles through your closet.

Robin shoves another dress across the hanger to the disapproved pile. Her grunts and sighs are discouraging as is, but rather her blatant disregard that you like some of those clothes is hurting even more. Or, maybe you like those clothes. You haven’t gone shopping in a while.

“Do you own anything that isn’t from Forever 40?” She jokes heartily.

You tilt your head to one side. “I like my clothes.”

“Well, we don’t have time for shopping,” she scans around your room for something. Jostling your clean laundry, your papers across your desk and the drawers under them - she finally lets out an, “Ah, ha!”

You groan. “Are you going to clean your mess?”

Clearly ignoring you, Robin holds up a sharpened pair of scissors like a magic wand. Holding one of your plain shirts in the air, she begins slicing away at every angle.

“Hey!” You protest.

She pauses. “Right, put it on.”

“Rob, that’s my favorite shirt!”

“I’ll buy you another one,” she shoves your head through the hole, and continues sniping at the edges. Fondling your chest, she measures where the top of your breast lies. “Hey! Your the first woman to let me touch their boobs. Congrats!”

You laugh at this. “Robin, as your friend, you can touch my boobs any time you need a fix.”

“Don’t tease me with a good time,” she jokes back. With one more snip, she steps away from you. “You have any skirts? No, of course you don’t. Jeans will have to do.”

You couldn’t hear Robin’s tangent. In the standing mirror hung on your wall, you saw someone new. Surely, she moves when you move. Her chest bounces while she breathes. That tan from the summer on the beach is touching her skin in a most devilish manor. You hold your chin a bit higher seeing what a few snips from craft scissors will do.

“Makeup!” Robin insists.

Pink rouge presses into your cheekbones. Those cheekbones you earned from your grandmother. That’s always the compliment your mother spoke. And, mascara coated thickly across your eyelashes. Your lashes are rather short, but with that black mascara you were seeing yourself glow with confidence.

Lip gloss that tasted like honey-

“In case you’re kissing any boys tonight,” she clicks the tube together with the wand. “My dear, you’re ready.”

You take a spin in the mirror.

“I hardly recognize myself,” you touch your hair.

Robin slaps your hand away. “Don’t mess that up, before Eddie gets here. Oh! And, look at the time, I should go.”

You’re left by yourself for another hour. Twiddling your thumbs, and checking your makeup by the minute. Eventually, you pop popcorn in the microwave and place the bowl in the center of the coffee table in the living room. You twist the bowl around, so you can’t see the chip on the side from when you dropped the bowl a few years ago.

Tapping your foot against the plush carpet beneath your feet, you travel between worlds where you feel ridiculous for dressing up like this, but you also feel hot.

Denim cuts at your waist, and you begin to doubt wearing jeans instead of pajamas. You never wore jeans after you got home. Eddie will surely know what’s up.

You have no time to change your mind because the doorbell rings through the quiet house. Stillness - as if moving would threaten your life somehow. Then, again, the doorbell sings.

You drag the sweat from your hands onto the back of your jeans. Jeans that you should have changed to shorts. He’ll see right through your ruse!

You settle your nerves with one more glance over in the mirror in your little entryway. When you open the front door, Eddie’s tickling the lavender your mom set out on the front porch last week.

“What? Your shirt go through a lawnmower?” Was the first thing he says.

You knew it.

“Erm-,”

“I brought the movie, and beer,” he held up the movie and a six pack he snaked off of his uncle. “Come on, I’m freezing out here.”

Eddie doesn’t ask where anything is. He’s been here so many times before, birthdays, holidays and any time your mother has just come back from the supermarket with “the good snacks.”

You knew each other for some time, which is probably why he’s never going to see you as someone other than his best friend. Why would you think about that? You had a shot, right?

“I popped popcorn,” you pointed in the living room.

“Sick,” he drops down into your couch. “We can go ahead and start the movie - the guys will be here soon.”

“The guys?” You blurt.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says. “Like old times?”

“Right,” the light in your eye fades, and you just hope Eddie can’t sense the hesitance in your tone.

In the next hour, your quiet date night that had been set up by your overly optimistic friend, swirls in the direction that it is always meant to be. You squish into the couch arm rest, while Gareth battles Eddie over the movie choice. Although, this time the boys came to an agreement that this was not an action movie like Robin promised Eddie earlier.

“Where’s the gore?!” Gareth flings popcorn at the television screen. “Throw her off the ledge!”

“You want to see an innocent woman flung to her death?” You snap at him.

A piece of popcorn drops from Gareth’s mouth, and into his awaiting lap. You didn’t come to raising your tone with the boys unless something truly bothers you. Clearly, by the tightness in your chest, some of the anger spills over the edge. Quite like the woman dangling the man’s waist.

“Never mind,” you stand. “I’m going to make more popcorn.”

Taking the bowl from Eddie, you stow away in the comfort of your kitchen. Before your mother left for her trip, a folded note stacked on the island told you to not bring anyone over. But, if you are going to have boys over, she asks that you use protection. She has a wild imagination if she thinks her daughter has a sex life.

She must have passed this onto you. You toss yourself at someone, who obviously holds no similar feelings as you do. This whole night was a bust. Your eyes itch from the mascara. Your lips bled from when you chewed on them like they’re your last meal. At least the color matches with your lip gloss that you reapplied many times in the bathroom when you need a break from the crowd in your living room. And, you can’t feel your waist anymore. Tingling below the belt - and for all the wrong reasons.

“You okay?” Gareth’s voice startles you.

You spin around, and he’s there standing where the carpet meets the linoleum.

A yell from the living room suggests something mortifying must have happened in the film like the boy finally kissing the girl, or perhaps saying something romantic.

“Yeah,” you blink. “Just- making more popcorn.”

Gareth doesn’t say anything about the popcorn bags sitting on the counter next to him, but the room reads itself. You scamper over to the bag, before ripping the plastic and the bag apart by accident sending kernels across the floor. Gareth meets you at the floor below.

“Shit,” you sniff. “I’ll get the broom.”

“Hey,” he grabs your arm, before you can run off again. “What’s going on?”

You sit next to the mess on the floor letting out a gust of air from your lungs that you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

“It’s stupid,” you tell him.

Gareth moves a piece of your hair from in front of your face. “What?”

You look at him for the first time. Between you two, you didn’t have to say a word he didn’t already know. Because while you’re chasing Eddie, Gareth’s warm heart is following after you. You’re blind to him before.

“Eddie’s not going to like me back, is he?” You whisper at an almost inaudible volume. Dabbing at your eye, you wipe the single tear threatening to break the damn.

Gareth sits next to you with his arms wrapped around his knees.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I think he just hasn’t woken up yet. He does talk about you a lot when your not around.”

“Really?”

“You scare him,” Gareth lets out a breathy laugh. “In a good way. He- he’s never had someone to rely on in his life besides his uncle. And, if what Eddie says is true, you’ll never truly change to please anyone. You’re loyal, and your funny. You’re beyond beautiful. The Goddesses shrivel in your light-.”

Your cheeks heat up.

“Okay, I might have added that last part,” he admits. “But, you never know if you don’t try.”

You reach out for his hand. “Thank you, Gareth.”

He squeezes your hand. “Anytime.”

You say. “And I- I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Erm- you know.”

“I guess I do,” he looks away. “I’ll be fine.”

You toss a popcorn kernel Gareth’s direction hoping to lighten the mood. Gareth snorts and tosses one back.

“We should clean up,” you tell him.

Gareth agrees. “Oh, and - when I said you don’t change, I meant it.”

You pull at your half shirt. “Yeah, I don’t think this is me. Everyone just kept telling me to stop dressing like a boy.”

“Trust me,” Gareth suggests. “You do not look like a boy.”

“Oh, shut up,” you gather yourself on your own two feet. “I don’t know - I kind of like the look, but maybe tone it down a bit?”

“I’ll get the broom,” Gareth says leaving your question unanswered. "Oh, and I promise to keep myself and the guys out of your way the next time Eddie suggests we all have a 'movie night'" at your house."

"You caught onto that?"

"It's a classic move," he sweeps. "I can't say I wasn't going to try it on you some day."

"Well, I'm sorry that it won’t work out between us," you assure him.

"I'll survive," he won’t really look at you now, only at the task at hand. "Besides, I know how great of a guy Eddie is. If you do go out with him, there’s no hard feelings."

Gareth sweeps every last kernel from the floor, then uses the dust pan to scoop them up and finally tosses them into the bin. By the time he's done scoping out every inch of your floor, you're done popping a new bag of popcorn.

The movie night continues without a hitch (aside from the merciless damning of the film coming from each of the boys in your home). Your eye on the one man, who could never look at you the way you do him. But, you don't know that for sure.

Because, as soon as you look away, Eddie's full attention is on you.

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Height Difference Headcanons

AKA What it's like to love a Short King

I was already inspired after my last headcanon post, and have some more fun little ideas for Lucifer X Reader, namely in regards to our dear Fallen Angel being the short one in the relationship. Got a bit sillier and spicier with this one, and I hope you're all ready for some very spicy ones in the near future!

- He's accustomed to being shorter than most, and while he's not one to accept mockery of any kind, he's more than comfortable enough with himself to accept nicknames and loving platitudes about his height from a romantic partner. Hearing you sweetly refer to him as a "Short King" will always get him smirking, and an affectionate "Little Lucy" makes him melt every time. Cooing over how cute he is is also sure to put him in a happy, purring mood, to the point he'll end up laying his head on your lap if you'll let him. Hearing about how darling you find him whilst having your fingers run through his hair might just be his favorite pastime.

- Between the wings and his angelic powers, he doesn't actually struggle to reach anything high up, but he will still appreciate it if you preemptively grab the item in question. That's not to say he won't ask, but he'll always make a point to be as silly about it as possible when he does. Requesting a lift is his preferred way of doing so, and he'll take his sweet time lounging in your arms after grabbing what he needs, even stretching out bridal style for a bit of carrying. Angelic magic can make him light as a feather for extra long bouts of carrying if you're willing to indulge him.

- He'll be the first to tell you all about the advantages of his stature, and at the top of his list is how often he finds himself at bust height, which is quite the gift for a breast man like himself. Yours are the only ones he's interested in, obviously, but he loves how easy it is for him to come in for a hug and tuck his head in between. You'll find him doing this wether he's had a great day or a terrible one, with the former being to celebrate and the latter being to get some much needed comfort somewhere warm and soft. He can't help it if your boobs are just the perfect place to put his face.

- He's going to borrow your hoodies. Granted, "borrow" is an interesting term for something you'll never get back, but he always ensures you're compensated in some way or another. No top of yours that fits him is safe, and the looser it fits over his smaller frame, the better. These oversized clothes are never worn outside the privacy of his quarters, and he wears them most frequently when circumstances keep the two of you apart, particularly at night. Having something of yours all around him is like having your embrace from a distance, and he can't help being sentimental enough to find comfort in that, even after so many eons.

- He's small, but you'll never forget that he's an absolute powerhouse, if only because it's beyond obvious when you're in his presence. Angelic power practically hums through the air if you listen closely, and that's just what you can sense at a distance. Things are even more intense when you come into contact with his lean physical form. For all of his grace and agility, he doesn't lack for physical strength in the slightest, and you learn that the first time you feel him support your body with his. He'll never once give even a hint of effort, let alone struggle, no matter how considerably you tower over him. Carrying you bridal style takes no more effort than one would to lift a couple of grapes. As such, he'll happily take you into his arms or lap, and showing off his unfathomable strength in romantic gestures always gets him puffing his chest with pride.

[railleriee]

Top, Bottom, Switch? - BSD Men

Hello! I'm back. (finally) I've been back on my bsd brainrot. I can not get enough of them. That being said, enjoy these Headcanons of some of my bungo stray dogs favs! ( I plan to update my layout soon! Any ideas would be appreciated! )

Characters included: Dazai, Chuuya, Kunikida, Ranpo, Poe, Akutagawa, Atsushi.

Reader is non-gender specific!

Warnings: Mention of sex, bratty characters, kinks, whining, etc. (Let me know if I missed any! )

Dazai: 

Switch, a preference for top. 

I feel like when he was laying low for a year or so after leaving the PM he got around a bit. 

He’s been with multiple people and he’s definitely well experienced in bed. 

Dazai loves having power over others, resulting in his need to be a top. 

HIGH stamina, multiple rounds. 

Sex with him is wild, he’s very experimental. 

Rarely ever gets romantic during sex. 

On occasion he’d love to bottom! 

Definitely a bratty bottom, really into overstimulation.

Loves being teased in public, such a big turn on for him. 

Always down for quickies anywhere. 

Chuuya: 

Switch, reference for top. 

He’s definitely not as experienced as Dazai, and hasn't had the chance to get around a ton. 

He claims to know what he’s doing but definitely needs advice/teaching when it actually comes to it.

I like to think he’s surprisingly soft when it comes to sex.

Slow and gentle thrusts, poor baby is afraid of hurting you. 

When he’s on bottom, adores being ridden. 

He’s so sensitive and whines a bunch, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

Prevent him from touching you, it’ll drive him mad. 

Kunikida: 

He’s a top. 

I’d like to say he’s a switch but I can’t see him being on bottom. 

He’d be way too embarrassed to even admit it if he wanted to try it. 

He’s very straight to it, minimal teasing, although will take the time to prep you as needed. 

First few times were definitely awkward, although the more used to it he got, the better it got. 

Handsy. 

Hands are roaming every part of your body, he’s surprisingly skilled with them as well. 

Definitely into more sentimental sex, not into spur of the moment sex. 

Wants to make it as romantic as possible. 

Loves making you feel good <3

Ranpo: 

Switch, preference for bottom. 

He’s adorable, loves to be on bottom 

He’s lazy, and wants to do as minimal work as possible. 

BRAT! 

It’s so easy to break the poor boy, purposely misbehaves because he loves how possessive and angry you get.

He turns into a brainless mess who can’t even speak :-((

Babbling incoherent words while letting out whines. 

Begs! Deny him an orgasm and get the most precious mewls out of him. 

Very lazy if he tops, he whines and makes exaggerated sighs the entire time. 

Poe: 

Bottom, you can't change my mind.

Nothing screams bottom as much as this man. 

He’s very submissive in bed, always behaving. 

Melts when called “good boy”.

He doesn’t make a bunch of noise, but if he does he’s definitely whiny. 

Very shy! 

Reassure him, tell him how pretty he is and how he’s doing such a good job. 

Sex with him is always different. 

Experimentalist. 

Although shy, always willing to bring up new ideas and try them!

Akutagawa: 

Another bottom. 

This boy has never had sex a day in his life, so when you first did, he was clueless. 

Didn’t even know the aspect of top and bottom. 

When educated on it, he wasn’t sure what to do, although did as he thought pleased you! 

Him being on bottom is like stress relief for him.

He’s always trying to please, so someone else is pleasing HIM? He’s signed right up. 

Doesn’t make much noise, maybe a few grunts here and there. 

His entire body is sensitive, shivers anywhere you kiss him. 

Secretly adores marking. Loves having a reminiscence of the night before! 

Some of the PM notices said marks, although he never elaborates on his sex life to anyone. 

Atsushi: 

Switch, no preference. 

Where do I even start with him? He’s such a sweetheart. 

Soft and caring during, willing to try out anything you suggest as long as he doesn’t think he’d hurt you! 

Gasps a ton. 

Easily flustered, tease him during work and watch his face heat up! 

Stumbles over his words when teased. 

Like kunikida, he’s not into spur of the moment type sex. 

Into sentimental and romantic sex :-)) 

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐲𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐈

Taglist: @your-favorite-god

Plot: You, the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen grew up with a very devoted extended family. But after the dance of dragons begins, you know exactly on what side you belong

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere! EVERYONE x reader

>Being on top of Vhagar mid-air is probably the most frightened you have been in your life

>As you have been taught, there is only one rider for each dragon, and only one dragon for each rider, there has been no exceptions ever known, and you understand that the kindness of a dragon has limits, Vhagar will not let you ride on her as if you owned her, if you abuse, you will eventually fall

>The most logical conclusion is that Dagahrion is in Dragonstone, dragons always come back to their homes, but that's a good day of travel (time you don't have), and you could be wrong. Even if you got to Dragonstone safe and sound, to bring such a threat to the island, would be a move short of clever

> [Author's note: I have been stuck here for months and I find torturously tedious to write this part, so for the sake of advanving with the fic, I'll just explain that Y/N dismounts Vhagar after almost falling, and ends up finding Dagahrion on a cave]

>Fortunately, Dagahrion was still wearing his saddle and reins, so you climbed up on him like you had hundreds of times, caressing the rough scales and holding to him. You missed him so dearly, you missed your family, Dagahrion, and the people currently on Dragonstone. The blacks* were your family. No one else was

>It was nightime, an as Aemond's wife, everyone was likely looking for you, and Dagahrion's size will attract attention, you were clear of all the dangers, but did not have many options

>Dragonstone was almost a day away, but you decided to go immediately, taking advantage of the fact that Vhagar would take some time to get to the castle, after she almost threw you off of her

>In the air, you felt free again. Not like with Vhagar, where you flew on borrowed time, you were now with the dragon that hatched on your cradle, the one the gods intended for you

>You honestly feel like you fell asleep and woke up on Dragonstone, you are aware your thoughts were torturing you the whole trip, but the things you thought were only memories that weaked your resolve, sentimentalities and compassions that would not be given to you by the same people

>The handlers were surprised to see Dagahrion arriving, especially nearing the hour of the bat

>Your clothes are hardly enough to keep you warm when it was so late, you were so high in the air, and it was so cold

>Once you arrive, Daemon and Rhaenyra are woken up by the servants, Rhaenyra orders for a hot bath to be drawn for you, to prevent the cold for spreading in your body, despite Daemon's urgency to speak to you

>The bath is pleasant but endless, you would rather be going to Rhaenyra and telling her everything, lay your head on her lap, feel cared for. But you feel cared for now, with the hot water surrounding you, knowing she was caring for you by making sure your body was safe, and you actually needed this, you were exhausted and shivering.

>You were wrapped up in towels, padded and soft, the maids dressed you up for bed like when you were a child, and you are so tired you allowed them to

>You want to see Rhaenyra, and lash out at a poor girl when she says it's better you rest, you know you shouldn't, and that she is not Olivya or Celesse, that they are genuinely looking out for you, and this is nothing like how the greens kept you locked in a room and prevented you from seeing anything the didn’t want you to see. So you quickly apologize, not used to letting out anger this way

>You are aware you should rest, but still ask for Rhaenyra, and this time she comes to you. She's quiet and gentle, and doesn't ask anything, just watches you eat for some time before you speak.

>"Aegon had usurped the throne." You say with trepidation, knowing it was shocking news, but you find no point in dancing around the subject.

>Rhaenyra delicately grabs a napkin from your tray and cleans a stray, lonely tear, but she appears overall so calm

>"I have been informed, child. I have been crowned too."

>"And you lost Visenya" you wanted to say, but the corners of her eyes were red, and it is likely she would not want to speak about that

>"I'm sorr-" you begin before being cut off

>"I will not allow you to be, you were held hostage, ans you will stay by my side when we settle this and I am crowned in King's Landing."

>"I will." You promise, your voice fickle, but the promise behind it strong

>"Kings-" you cut yourself off this time, remembering who you are speaking to. "Queens can annul marriages, can they not?"

>Rhaenyra's lips purse in preoccupation. "Yes, they- yes I can" she resolves, reaching for your hand, which still holds some cutlery

>"Can you do mine?" You looked straight into her eyes

>She holds your hand tighter. "To whom?"

>"One-Eye." You reply with disdain

>"Did-" Rhaenyra pauses, looking for the right words, but you interrupt her

>"Is unconsummated."

>"Then I will do it first thing in the morning."

>You give a nod of appreciation, then let the comfortable silence fall in the room for a minute before your stepmother speaks again

>"You brought Blackfyre to us."

>You nod, with pride this time

>"We should keep it, is important." Rhaenyra suggested "After the words I could give it to Jacaerys, he is the prince of Dragonstone now, or give-"

>You squeeze her hand a little tighter, wanting her to stop speaking but not wanting to be so rude as to interrupt her again. She does as you wish

>"If your grace allows it... I want Blackfyre."

>Her violet eyes widen slightly, then she realizes what she was saying, and feels a pang of shame, she is being actively usurped because she is a woman, and she was now not even thinking of the girl who brought the sword to be the one to wield it

>"Do you know how to use it?" Rhaenyra still needed to ask

>"Some basic moves, but I can learn." You said, a little bashful to have made such a request when you are not too dexterous with the weapon

>"Then is yours, Y/N"

>The conversation continued, you tried to tell her as much as you knew, which was not too much, and she listened and even asked for your advice in some things, perhaps she did it just to make you feel heard, but you accepted it and thanked for it

>Your eyelids were growing too heavy for your own good, and your step-mother left you alone

>You slept with relative ease, your feelings being no true match for your physical exhaustion

>The next days, you familiarized yourself with the atmosphere, it was similar to the keep, rushed and tense, but it seemed less dangerous, it didn't keep you on your toes like the capital did

>You trained with the sword, most days you were alone with the master of arms, but other days, Jacaerys joined you. He was a great swordsman, and you knew tou shouldn't compare to him, but you did, you felt inadequate, you felt like you used the threat of war as a distraction to avoid feeling upset, sad and conflicted for what your own family did to you

>Rhaenyra summoned you, she was seating in the council's table, but she was alone with Jace

>she acknowledged your presence, then spoke, apparently continuing a previous thread of conversations

>"It will be short, it is merely diplomatic. But Starks keep their oaths, you will ideally not be met with overbearing resistance, you have to know how to bargain properly."

>Jace nodded, you didn't ask about the context

>"Y/N, you surely heard. Prince Jacaerys will travel to the North, remind the northmen of the oaths they swore. You will be by his side."

>You did not see it, too preoccupied with the task at hand, but Jacaerys' eyes lit up, and it was hard to contain his smile, Rhaenyra glared at him, to not be so obvious

>You parted the next day, as one of the queen's maids braided your hair, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, and felt the determination of loyalty, albeit mixed with a knot in your stomach, the anticipation of uncertainty

>Your father was nowhere to be seen, apparently patrolling the skies

>You said goodbye to Baela, Rhaena and your step-brothers

>Lucerys was nervous, yet excited to be sent on his first mission alone, you gave him a hug and kissed his forehead

>Rhaenyra hugged you before you parted, and a whisper slipped through your lips.

>"Goodbye, mother."

[imviotrash]

Maurice Cole and "Tart "culture at British public schools

In my research, I came across some articles about British public schools, in particular some of the queer cultures within those spaces. And while a lot of the elements and references of public schools were mentioned by name in the Weston arc (such as fagging, Prefects and the 4th of june), a cultural element that hasn't been mentioned is the culture of "Tarts", which despite not being named, was still featured in the arc.

So Maurice Cole has the role of the prettiest boy at school, being admired by many and causing many boys to get extremely flustered and excited as soon as soon as they're in his presence. While one may argue that this is because of his role as the prefects drudge/fag, I'd argue that this is a special case, since the students reaction to Clayton is quite different. He is clearly not only admired for his status but also for his look, as mentioned by the boys.

Through his beauty he was able to become a prefects fag/drudge and was also able to make not just students, but also adults (such as his dorms cook) do his work. In turn they get his attention, time and praise. Some even continue to do his work after knowing of his rotten character.

On top of that Maurice has a strong attachment to Edgar. And while the prefect and drudge bond is strong, it's very noticeable how obsessed Maurice in particular is. Not just because of his wish to become a prefect, but also because he wants to be the most liked by Edgar.

So what does that characterisation relate to the "Tart" culture in real British public schools?

"Tart" in the context of public schools refers to a young, effeminate boy who engages in romantic (and sometimes sexual) relations with (often older and powerful) students. While unmanly and effeminate students were often targets of harassment and bullying, "Tarts" had a protective status, due to the protection they receive from high ranking students (athletes, prefects, 6th formers). These are referred to as bloods. The relationships of "Tarts" and students were pretty much always solicited and not compensated through money, but through affection, influence, privilege and status. These sentimental relationships were therefore of value for the "Tart". This culture was well known across public schools and generally accepted as long as it was not publicly acknowledged.

(Reference: "Surprised by Joy" an autobiography by C. S. Lewis)

When looking at the characterisation of Maurice Cole, we can see this practice is perfectly reflected in him.

He talks sweetly to the students and compliments them frequently (older and younger ones). His femininity benefits him instead of causing harm, because of his good looks and charisma (which is also why his cosmetic upkeep was of such great importance for him). His heightened status as a "Tart" as well as a prefects fag/drudge greatly benefits him, since he is able to make others work for him, get close to the prefects and gain appreciation and approval. His wish for Edgar's approval goes beyond roles and status and definitely into the crush territory. Women as well as other students who divert attention away from him are proven to be enemies of his, because they are his competition.

He clings to his unofficial status as a "Tart", because it gives him the power that he so desperately craves. He's not able to get there by himself so he needs the attention and help of others to put himself on a pedestal. Once he was found out, not only did his status as a prefects drudge/fag disappear, but also his status as a "Tart", since his sweet persona was uncovered to be a facade.

I think it is interesting that this culture was featured in the arc, since it is often brushed under the rug. It establishes Maurice as a queer character (although that was already clear before my lil essay) and proves that the public school was a homosexual (and unfortunately often abusive) space.

[notjustjavierpena]

Cruel

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Alas I’m back with more filth to feast on. This is very much rough and painful, so please read with caution to the tags. Enjoy getting slapped across the face!

Summary: Joel and you never attend the rest of Jackson’s population when it’s movie night. Instead, you become one messy tangle of limbs and oh, how you love him being a meanie.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, minors DNI, rough p in v sex, dirty talk, f masturbating, nipple play, unprotected sex, pussy eating, pussy slapping, literal slapping, lots of tears, spit, finger sucking and breathplay.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47776672

Cruel

Jackson is quiet this evening. It is movie night, but you remember the one they’re watching from before the outbreak, and it will just remind you of everything before and send you nauseous to bed at the thought of never getting it back. It’s not that you’re ungrateful about your situation, but you often find yourself sentimental about the life you had before everything basically went to shit. You share that feeling with Joel. It isn’t said out loud, but the way that you lock eyes across the room when others are around or the way that he fucks you when he feels frustrated tells you enough. Joel wasn't there before the outbreak, you often remind yourself.

Joel is slightly older and knows a great deal more about loss than you; it goes way deeper than yours. He doesn’t talk about it to you though, only to Ellie, and you certainly don’t have any intention of asking any time soon, afraid that it will ruin what you two have when the others are at the movies. He just makes you forget your sentiments, and you like to think that you return the favor on the roughest of days.

To you, love and human connection is the last thing that matters in a world like this. Joel will agree. It doesn’t have to be love in a way where you forget to suck in your stomach around a guy, it doesn't have to be strawberry ice cream, butterflies and sweet nothings. It can also be his strong hand around your throat as he makes your head swim and cunt clench. He is better than anything else, you think obsessively, referring to the way he once told you that you were better than pills, but your fling might just be the surrounding circumstances. Though no one can deny, especially you, how well you sleep after being with him. 

The bedside table in Joel’s room has a lamp that shines dimly, barely surpassing the fairy lights that shine from outside on the street. He has told you once, in a moment of weakness after getting head, that he’d like to have more decorations in his bedroom. You made a joke about you sufficing and he has called you his pretty little thing ever since.

He is on top of you, a hand sprawled across the skin of where your neck meets your shoulder, thumb reaching up so he is also cupping your face. It is dangerously close to your mouth, and you can hear his breath hitch ever so slightly in his throat when you close your lips around the digit and suck to the point of hollowing your cheeks. 

“Filthy little thing you are,” he mumbles lowly, moving his hand slightly to cup your whole cheek and press his finger down on your tongue. You immediately start to drool, but you make no effort to swallow down your spit and it starts to spill from your mouth, glistening over your lips and making you choke slightly. Joel marvels at you, pushes down further until your jaw automatically opens for him and saliva starts dribbling. You whimper for show.

It feels impossible to move. You are both naked and your legs are tangled on the sheets, but despite the romantic nature of your bodies’ position, you have dampness running down between your cheeks and pooling on the bed from sucking his finger like you would his cock. 

He leans down to kiss your open mouth filthily, not fully removing his thumb to keep you from swallowing, so that his own saliva can mix with yours and his tongue can touch your spit-covered one. It’s making the pulsing between your legs too difficult to ignore, too difficult to not do something about.

You only just manage to cross one of your legs over the other under Joel’s weight in this position, squeezing your thighs together and rocking your hips until you are moaning at the friction to your clit. You are too desperate to even feel shame as you pathetically start masturbating underneath him without your hands, and he growls approvingly at the first high-pitched mewl with his finger in your mouth. 

His thumb slips from between your lips after that, dragging a string of saliva in its wake whilst the air is thick with how much Joel enjoys watching you come apart by your own doing. His hand skims down your throat to lay between your breasts, palming against the left one and then squeezing the roundness of it as he continues kissing you hungrily, lapping at your tongue.

You slide your hands through his salt-and-pepper hair, tugging a little as you continue chasing your high. You do this sometimes alone too, have developed a technique to come from this as long as Joel is on your mind or your own hands are on your tits. Sometimes, when the thought of him won’t go away, you’ll rub your cunt against the corner of a bunched-up pillow too, but it’s rarely worth the effort to get a towel to save the pillow from wet stains. 

“Down, go down,” you whisper when you have a second to breathe, but Joel growls at the idea of you telling him what to do. You squeeze your legs tight over and over, feeling sweaty and wet between your thighs as you speed up your hips. Your mouth is devoured again, but only for a moment as Joel moves to plant lazy open-mouthed kisses down your chin and neck. 

“You gonna come, baby?” Joel hums. He stops his descent down your body when his mouth hovers above your chest, following your plea to a certain extent, but without completely capitulating. You might be a drug, but he can control his addiction. At least he thinks so.

“Close, fuck— yes, I’m close” you moan and let your eyes fall shut. You furrow your brows in concentration, rhythmically clenching and unclenching your thighs and cunt to stimulate yourself closer to orgasm. It feels so good despite how empty you are, but it’s hard to not stop what you’re doing when you know Joel’s cock and hands are within reach, it isn’t enough to start searching him out though. You go faster and more desperate, letting out tiny cries as you near the edge. 

“Jesus, you’re pathetic,” he chuckles as he inspects the redness that has started to spread across your chest. You like it more than you want to admit when he is a little mean to you.

He leans down further to nose along your cleavage and afterwards licks a stripe up along the very same trail. When he reaches the visible dip just below your neck, the suprasternal notch, he presses his mouth into it and sucks hard enough to create a mark of dark red and purple. 

Joel then goes back to your breasts and presses another wet kiss to the swell of your right one, bites down afterwards and watches with satisfaction how your nipple hardens at the attention to the sensitive skin. He laps at the hardened nub, placing the flat of his tongue against it and then gently swirls the muscle around it afterwards. Just when he has given you the illusion of tenderness, he tugs on it with his teeth. 

“Just make me forget it all, Joel, please, please,” you cry as he gives the left breast the same treatment, “I’m going to—“

Your little cute gasp as your orgasm comes has him swearing under his breath. He lets go with his teeth to stare up at you through his eyelashes, marveling at how you arch your back underneath his weight and smile up at the ceiling as you are pulled away from him into a reality of ecstasy. Your thigh clamps down on the other as you ride the wave, hips stuttering on the bed.

The pulsing sensation between your legs fades out until the over sensitivity kicks in, forcing you to relax and sink further into the mattress that sticks to your skin because of its dampness. You dare to open your eyes, realizing what Joel has just witnessed you doing and it makes your cheeks burn with shame, a feeling that had been practically nonexistent a minute ago. 

Joel’s cock hangs heavy between his legs as his eyes roam over your body. It twitches when you gain eye contact, but he looks anything but repulsed by you. Instead, his voice has dropped an octave and you find him curling a hand around your thigh to yank your legs apart for him. 

“You want me to be mean, doll? Is that what you want?” He asks but you only nod for show; he knows your answer, “Good girl. First, I’m going to eat your sensitive pussy until you cry about it, then we’ll see what I want to do with you. Deal?”

You nod. 

“Words,” he roughly grabs both of your thighs and presses them outwards until they’re against the bed, holding you in place whilst settling between your legs. You whimper at the sight of him inhaling your scent, him watching the drips of slick coming from your slit. You don’t have to look down to know that you’re red and puffy from all the blood in your body having gone down between your legs. Maybe that’s why you feel stupid and drunk; you have no blood in your head.

“Deal,” you whine as he cups you, touching you only by covering your cunt with his hand. Teasingly, he slides his fingers through your folds and then goes gently from side to side. You moan shakily due to having come moments before, wiggling as much as possible with one of your thighs being held so tightly in place.

Suddenly, you feel his hand leave you for just a second before coming down onto your swollen clit in a smack. The noise that leaves you is a mix between anguish and pleasure, your free thigh falling inwards to protect yourself from it happening again despite your womb clenching in interest. 

“Lie still, baby,” he says sternly and yanks your thigh to the side again. He repeats the move again, but instead of a single slap to your cunt, he spanks it several times in a row until you sob and thrash as your nerve endings come alive. You try reaching for his wrist, but he doesn’t let you come near a sense of control as he bats the hand away with a tut, “Stop… and don’t act like you’re not thinking about how it’ll feel when I pound her soon.”

He is right.

The torture goes on, your legs still trying to cover yourself up from his huge palm by falling inwards. The feeling is grotesque and hot in a way that is confusing, so much that it makes you beg for him to stop but without wanting him to. It is to no avail, and hot tears fall down your cheeks, your cunt throbbing from the pain that you hope he might soothe soon. 

When Joel finally backs down, you are crying genuinely as you stutter his name, but only because you cannot find other words to say that he has made you want his cock inside of you more than ever. If only he’d put it in you soon. 

Your chest moves rapidly to catch your breath that still feels stuck in your throat, burning from never getting properly into your lungs as you have endured slap after slap to your clit. You babble for a moment, bucking your hips up into nothing. 

“They’re going to stop the movie with all that noise you’re making. You don’t want them to suddenly be in your window, do you? They would see that red cunt of yours.”

You whimper, but silence yourself. You reach down between your legs, trying to soothe your aching vulva but as soon as you touch yourself, your mouth trembles into a little pained noise. Still, you find yourself rubbing your clit and it makes Joel chuckle darkly.

“Shhh, babydoll, I’ll kiss it better,” he tells you in a gentle tone that contrasts the way that he leans over your cunt with hungry eyes. He removes your hand, moves his mouth around for a moment and then spits down onto you. You wait in anticipation, watching it dribbling from his mouth with a disgusted yet aroused curiosity. 

He lies on his stomach with his feet a little off the bed, positions himself so he can press his hard-on against the sheets if everything becomes too much. You’ve been watching, discreetly, you hope, and you can see how much restraint that he shows you, because his cock is angry and red, precome having beamed at the tip for a while now. You won’t point it out though, not when he is in a mood for being mean. 

Every coherent thought flies out of your mind in the next moment as Joel’s face disappears between your legs and the only thing you can see is his gray-speckled hair. You can feel him nose along the mound of your cunt, being kind enough to not start too intensely and so, you reach down to run a hand through his hair to show him how grateful you are. You hear him breathe in through his nose. 

Both of his hands curl around your thighs and slide inwards until they’re resting on either side of your sex. One of his thumbs reach in to scoop slick up to smear along your labia and then clit, where he rubs one or two lazy circles around the hard nub. You breathe deeply through your nose, “Joel… please.”

“I know,” he says softly, but then presses down harshly, and the move makes something tug inside of your body. You wail, pressing your feet into the mattress and arching your back. Joel goes for it then; he covers you with his mouth, holding you in place as he eats your cunt.

His lips suck your folds into his mouth, nose pressing firmly against your clit. He causes a little friction by bobbing his head ever so slightly, and the image of you coming on his face at the mercy of his nose and dripping into his mouth passes through your head. You moan loudly.

Joel opens his mouth against you then, stiffening his tongue to dip it inside of you for a second. He hums with contentment as you clench, tastes you with a soft noise like was he taking the first bite of his favorite meal. You respond by pulling at his hair and saying his name, trying to keep your orgasm at bay for just a little longer so he can stay on you. His warm mouth is soothing, his tongue is experienced and velvety against your sensitive skin. 

He continues lapping, licking, sucking, closing his mouth around your clit finally and pulling with his swollen lips until he releases you with a soft pop. He repeats the move, but there’s something that tells you that he isn’t quite satisfied with himself yet.

You have goosebumps as he pauses and your orgasm starts fading away from you. He lifts your legs to place your thighs on his shoulders to which you respond by crossing your ankles behind his back, tugging yourself closer to him and further underneath him. He nods approvingly, rubs your thighs up and down a few times before going back to make you fall apart again. 

Your orgasm approaches again. You don’t want to ask him to put his fingers inside of you despite needing to be filled by him with a newfound urgency as you now have the ability to pull yourself up against his mouth.

You can see his hips moving a little too, tilting upwards to fuck against the bed. You do it too; start grinding on his mouth and nose.

His hands come all the way around your thighs until his palms are resting just below your belly button. Like before, one thumb goes down to your clit but instead of stimulating you, he pulls back the hood of your clit to suck more directly. The pleasure mixed with pain yanks you closer to the edge immediately.

“Fuck, fuck— Joel, I’m going to come,” you groan, pulling roughly at his hair as you grind down on his mouth to speed everything up. You want it so bad. 

Just a little— oh. 

A little more. 

There it is. You come undone for the second time, and the immediate release of dopamine that floods your body makes every little bit of pain fade into the background. You arch your back, feel Joel moan against your cunt as he moves against the bed with the same kind of desire for relief that you had earlier. 

As the world comes back to you, your legs fall off his shoulders and hit the bed, making the mattress bounce slightly. You are panting in a way that makes you wonder if you’ll ever come down again, head swimming with post-orgasmic bliss. 

“My pretty little thing,” he says lovingly as he crawls up towards you again. His whole face is shiny with your arousal, but you still tug him upwards until you can kiss him deeply. You taste sweet on his tongue. Loving him almost feels like something in a world gone wrong. 

“What about you?” You ask innocently after he breaks the kiss for air. 

“You think I’m done with you?” He laughs quietly, his hand coming up to rest on your chest, just above your breasts, “I recall telling you that I was going to think about what I wanted, and I think that might be pumping you full of come.”

“Yeah?” You can feel his hand going up until it rests against your throat. He doesn’t squeeze but something tells you that it won’t take long before he does.

“Yeah,” he mocks your tiny voice. You love how he switches between being loving and cruel, “Drunk on my tongue, aren’t you? Just wait till I turn you into a cockdrunk whore.”

You want to tell him that he can do whatever he wants to you, that you’re here and willing without an ounce in your body that will protest if he uses you right now. Unfortunately, words are gone from your brain and, in this moment, a foreign concept. You tell him by bending both of your knees on either side of him, planting your feet on the bed and spreading your legs wide on the bed. You’re still somewhat sensitive, but no matter the mouth-drooling intensity, it’ll be worth him feeding your pussy with his cock. 

“Dirty girl, cock craving and all,” he says under his breath, shuffling around a little without lifting his hand from where it is resting at the bottom of your throat. He presses his palm down into your collarbones as he moves to his knees to get comfortable, pushing air out of you. 

You wait patiently, look down between your bodies to watch his hand wrap around his length to stroke himself a few times. Then he leans forward, settles and breathes deeply as he stretches you open. He stuffs you to the brim, thighs against the back of yours. 

“So fucking tight for me,” he growls as he pulls back a little before slamming forward again. Your head swims. You’re his now, forever, until he says he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re so big,” you pant as you adjust to him splitting you open with the way that he drills into you without hesitation. You still feel the impact of being slapped earlier, but the last orgasm has numbed the sting significantly to the point where you stay in a blissed-out haze as he slams his pelvis into your cunt, “Feels like— oh, fuck, feels like you’re splitting me open, baby.”

Joel cruelly fucks you after those words, the severity of them spurring him on. Your eyes roll back into your skull, mouth falling open with the threat of drooling again as the whole bed shakes underneath the both of you. You whimper like a wounded animal, fluttering around his length and sucking him in further with how wet you are.

“Look at me,” he commands and you obey immediately. The hand not on your chest moves to cup your cheek, “Good girl. Keep those eyes on me, want to see the shock in your eyes as you take my come.”

Your brow is furrowed as he angles his hips a little, pounding against your g-spot as he chases his own orgasm. He notices your eyes fluttering closed as you’re stimulated by the head of his cock nudging just right, so he makes them fly open to look at him in horror as he smacks your face, palm landing flat against your cheek. It makes tears start to well up in the corners of your eyes, and the sting goes straight to your cunt that clamps down in surprise.

“I said— shit,” he begins but trails off for a moment when a particular thrust makes his mouth fall open. It takes a moment to recover, “I said look at me.” 

You nod and moan, the first tears spilling again and making you want to avoid his eyes despite everything. You do as you’re told though, trembling as you take his cock like a trooper and feeling the pressure build just below your navel. A part of you wants him to do it again, but you also need to be able to leave your house without red, swollen cheeks; you can avoid questions about why you’re not sitting down by doing outside work, but you won’t be able to avoid getting questioned about why you have Joel’s palm painted on your face.

You lift your legs to wrap around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You want to show him how much you’re turned on by him being like, staring into his eyes with furrowed brows and desire unlike any other. He meets your devotion to him by grinding his pelvis into your clit, barely pulling out anymore to go deep inside you.

“Faster, no, harder,” you moan and Joel growls, “Please, Joel. I’m so close.”

The bed frame shakes by now, knocking into the wall with a force that would have the whole village knocking on your door if they weren’t too busy with a stupid rom-com. Thank goodness that Joel lives in a house and not an apartment complex. 

Above you, Joel is panting. He shifts on the bed one last time, moving to hover over you to press his weight down further and follow up on your request. The hand at the base of your throat goes slightly up and you let out a silent moan when his fingers wrap around your neck.

His calloused palm is warm and somehow gentle, all things comforting despite what the hand is doing. His fingertips dig into your carotid arteries to the point of making your head swim, and whenever you whimper or gulp, you feel your throat burn at the pressure that becomes slightly harder as your neck muscles force down spit. 

“If you could see yourself,” he breathes above you and you can hear that he is about to come, “Come on, doll, milk me dry, honey.”

You cry without sound as your orgasm comes. It hits you like a runaway train, and by the first clench around Joel’s hard cock, he relaxes his big hand’s grip little by little and your eyes widen as oxygenated blood slowly returns to your head. The rush is incredible, making your cunt pulse even harder as your brain suddenly makes a burst of adrenaline flood your body. 

You practically scream as you can breathe again, but the noise is hoarse and pathetic above all else. You’re lost in the moment, staring doe-eyed up at Joel as he thrusts a few times more before finally seating himself inside of you and coming inside of you with a grunt. He must’ve been waiting for that since you got naked. 

After that he collapses on top of you, slipping out of your spent cunt. The both of you make a noise and then melt into each other whilst time stands still for a moment. 

Joel’s cruelty has faded, and you hug him close until he remembers that he isn’t supposed to be in love with you. He remembers the conversation, and how simple it had seemed to just be an outlet for you and vice versa. It doesn’t seem as simple now that he has a moment of clarity. 

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” He asks to stop his train of thought. You chuckle at his gentle giant nature, shaking your head into the crook of his neck. He can feel you smile against his skin, and his body responds by scooping its arms under you and wrapping them around your waist. 

“I could draw you a bath,” he adds, “If you want.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” you reply with a soft kiss below his ear. You mumble a dazed thank you, inhaling his scent one last time before he untangles himself from you. ‘I love you’ is at the tip of your tongue but there’s too much at stake to say it out loud.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[vampykween]

real love

simon ghost riley x f!reader this is just porn tiny bit of plot tbh apologies for the abrupt end, but i could not for the life of me finish this all the way through ugh

You're not sure if your husband is trying to kill you; he looks devilishly handsome in the black button-up he's wearing - which he's conveniently left three buttons open on - and the woodsy notes of his cologne have you feeling inappropriately hot for the lively restaurant you two are in.

Simon’s lips are on yours as soon as you two cross the threshold. He his large palms roaming the expanse of your back until he cups your ass and squeezes the round flesh. You moan into his mouth which is hastily swallowed up when Simon sweeps his tongue into your mouth, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Simon always kisses you like he's trying to simultaneously devour you and convey all the love he has for you.

He unexpectedly pulls away from you and shakes his head, “don’t wanna get too carried away love, I have a surprise for you. But trust, any other day and I’d rip this fuckin’ dress off and have my way with you right here. You look fuckin’ sinful.”

You blush at your husband’s words, somehow you think you’ll never get used to the way he talks about you, like you truly are the greatest gift he’s ever received. You remember that he said he had a surprise for you, but before you have time to question any further, he’s taking your hand and leading you towards your shared bedroom. He stops in front of the closed door and has on, what you perceive to be, a sheepish look on his face. What could possibly have your normally cocky and confident husband feeling insecure?  

“Baby, whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it. I love anything you do for me, you know that,” you try and ease Simon’s nerves if only momentarily. He nods curtly and opens the bedroom door, and you gasp, raising your hand to cover your mouth. Tears began to pool in your eyes, “Simon- I- What’s all this for?” you can believe the sight in front of you. There are a multitude of light candles spread out on the surfaces in the room, creating a romantic aura that’s coupled with the vase of your favorite flowers on your nightstand.

You turn towards him in disbelief, not that Simon being romantic was completely out of the ordinary, but you simply weren’t expecting him to do all this. He pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head lovingly, “Been a year since the best day of my life, I say that’s something worth going all out for.” Now it was your turn to shake your head at him, you both had agreed that you didn’t need to do anything crazy for your anniversary, just being with each other every day when that wasn’t guaranteed was a gift in and of itself. He had already taken you out to dinner at the fancy place downtown you had been wanting to eat for forever, even bought you a luxurious dress for the occasion.

“You’re too good to me Simon Riley,” you convey your sentiment with another kiss and lead him towards the bed. Simon takes him time peeling your clothes off and kisses ever bare inch of skin revealed to him.

“You’re so beautiful love, I can’t believe I get to spend my life loving you.” He trails down until he’s kneeling eye level with your pussy. You run your finger through his blonde strands, which were starting to get rather shaggy something you loved. You’ve never met a guy like Simon before, a man who was content with simply pleasing and worshipping you. You’re brought out of your reverie by hid tongue circling your clit delicately and your grip in his hair tightens. Your husband alternates between lapping at your clit and sweeping his tongue through your wet folds and prodding at your tight hole. His fingers join soon after and he’s thrusting his thick digits into you slowly but deep enough that is has you seeing stars.

“Okay, Si, I’m good. Baby I need you to fuck me,” you whine desperately. You normally can’t resist Simon, but when he’s looking angelic between your legs with warm candlelight flickering across his face; you’ve never felt so riled up in your life.

Simon groans into your slick cunt, clearly in disagreement with what you said. He pulls away swiftly, “You can be patient, my love. Let me take my time with you. I want you to cum on my face, before I fuck you with my cock, yeah.”

You concede simply because he's making you feel so good you can’t really even complain. Your husband was clearly on a mission now though, the pace of his fingers picking up and he sucks your clit into his mouth so fervently that when you come it hits you like a freight train. You cry out as your legs shake and Simon doesn’t let up, continuing his ministrations until you pat the side of his face, your signal for when you can’t take anymore when takes you apart like this.

"Can't tap out now, love. I'm not finished with you yet." God, even after all these Simon Riley was proving to be the death of you.

[st-ivangeline]

aromantic person talking:

it hasn’t always been like this, there was a long season where my my best friend and my other friend got married and pretty much cut everyone off for awhile,

but this last year and a half she and i have been so close despite her being married on top of being out of state, we call at least twice a week and now that she has a baby i get to be a part of the baby’s life too (even tho i’m not a kid person lol)

i think for me as an aro person my deepest fear is to lose the people close to me to romantic relationships or just lose them to other people in general, i can’t speak for every aromantic person but to me i couldn’t have imagined a better friendship to be a part of

she’s one of the few people along with a couple family members that i would use the word love for when i’m feeling rather sentimental

it means the world to me that she hasn’t given up on me throughout our time together

[seouljazzbar]

slow, romantic sex with anton (an absolute need)

it would be out of nowhere, honestly. date night in, just ordering food and catching up on episodes of a show you started together. anton would get sentimental out of nowhere, looking at you like he was seeing you for the very first time. he’d blurt out, “let me make love to you”, cheeks aflame with blush because he’s still a little shy around you when it comes to initiating so brazenly.

he’d commit to it completely, lighting as many unscented candles as he could find, lowly playing a playlist he’d make for occasions such as this one. he would kiss you first, for what feels like hours. his tongue licking into your mouth slowly, twisting with yours while his hands drift from your neck to your shoulders to your hips… he’d pick you up effortlessly before walking the two of you over to his bed (he didn’t have rose petals on such short notice, so he opted for some leftover confetti he used for your birthday party ㅠㅠ).

your clothes come off one by one, but it doesn’t feel like he’s teasing you. he’s worshipping your body and that’s exactly how it feels. his eyes drinking you in with an appreciation you’d never seen in anyone else. his lips falling to kiss at any birthmarks, stretch marks, or bruises. he loves all of it because it’s part of you, it all adds up to the woman he loves with every fiber of his being. his soul aches to merge with yours.

and you feel it in the way your bodies melt together. anton’s fingers slotting between yours as he holds your hand, his legs keeping your shaking ones steady against the mattress, his intoxicating scent flooding your nose unbridled, his hips humping into you with slow and delicious precision. the two of you would communicate through moans and whispered confessions of love that you’d heard time and time again. but this time, more than ever before, you feel every word.

he wouldn’t be able to help getting a little possessive with his chatter the close he gets to his orgasm, moaning into your ear about how you’re his forever, begging to hear you say that he’s yours forever. “never gonna let you go, nngh, shit, you were made for me. right, doll? we’re it for each other, lemme hear you say it”. the cherry on top would be if you called him chanyoung instead, whispering in his ear while begging for more of his cock.

anton would cum the hardest he’d ever cum in his entire life. that night with (in) you

[reverseexorcist]

♡ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡

You couldn't not give me Carmilla fucking Carmine and expect me not to go feral over her-

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !F!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 1,479 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, these are kind've all over the place, Carmilla might be a tad OOC since this is my first time writing her

➲ There are so many different ways this relationship could possibly start. The mind boggles trying to think of all of them. Just think of all the potential shenanigans that could occur and have fun with that

➲ But lemme just say before anything - This woman is fiercely protective over you. Not in the cutesy, clingy kind've obsessive way, but the silently scary scary-dog privilege kind've partner. The epitome of 'excuse me sir, they asked for no pickles', and, because I love this trope, you are the only person (besides her daughters) that she will ever fully be soft for.

➲ Insert 🥺 right here

➲ Just, get you a woman who looks at you the way Carmilla looks at her wife. That's all I can say

➲ The soft moments in the morning when you can just lay in bed and watch her get ready. Pulling her hair up into her signature, gravity defying buns(?) and delicately slip on and twine her angelic steel shoes. The minutes of her fingers expertly working away in a comfortable silence as you just lay under the comfort of your warm blankets? Those are the moments right there 👌

➲ Probably not one for physical affection, at least not in public. Definitely not in public. Her reputation alone would probably put you in danger, which is, y'know, not good, so no hand-holding in public

➲ (Honestly, one part of her probably prefers not to be seen with you in public for that exact reason. The other part wants to keep you in her line of sight at all times because at least then she can personally keep you safe)

➲ All of that being said, can't deny she'd probably give top tier hugs. Proper bear hugs because this woman is tall and strong and would undeniably make you feel safe whenever you're in her arms. Depending on how tall or short you are, she could also probably pick you up if you really wanted 👉👈

➲ (She could 100% pick you up, and probably with one hand as well)

➲ Gives the most tender of little kisses. Small pecks on the cheeks and forehead whenever she's tired from work, her larger fingers gently grazing the sides of your head as her fluffy hair tickles your face

➲ And the adorable little pet names she whispers to you! Maybe you're just passing by each other in an almost empty street or just relaxing at home together, but she'll always try and take the chance to whisper something like 'mi Vida', 'mi Corazón' or 'mi Reina' just loud enough for the two of you to hear

➲ Let's be real, this woman is really goddamn tall, so you're probably shorter than her and she absolutely loves it and would absolutely tell this to your face just to fluster you. What she loves even more is the way you'd have to reach up on your tippy toes with her leaning down to meet you halfway just to have you playfully kiss her on the tip of her nose or her chin

➲ Maybe, very rarely, if she's feeling extra sentimental, she'd love it if you sat on her lap while she works in her home office, just so she can have your comfort and warmth nearby. More often than not this scenario would end up with you falling asleep in her lap and her carrying you back to bed with the smallest of smiles on her face

➲ If she could really help it, she'd prefer to keep you as far away from her work as possible. As much as she would love to have you in the office, maybe helping her with paperwork or something similar so she could have you at within her reach at all times of the day, arms dealing is a dangerous job. At least her daughter's have each other's backs' when they're out doing business, but you'd probably have to make it on your own or with one of her other employees and that's a big no no in her eyes

➲ Also, speaking of her daughters, your relationship with them would vary wildly depending on when you met them

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when Clara and Odette were rather young, they'd probably cling on to you like a second mother figure. In some cases, they might've even preferred you over Carmilla for the sole fact that their toddler puppy eyes work on you better than their biological mother

➲ Your dynamic would probably just be the three of you racing to see who could give Carmilla a hug first after she gets home from work

➲ (Though, this only works if Carmilla is hell-born seeing as sinner's can't have children)

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when they were older though, there might be a bit of a tense air when you first meet. Carmilla's protectiveness isn't just one way - Her daughters absolutely adore her, and although they definitely couldn't protect her physically, they'd do their damn best to protect her emotionally

➲ They'd warm up to you after some time though, seeing you do truly love their mother with your whole heart. You'd never be a parent to them, barely even a step-parent, but they'd respect you and care for you like family nonetheless because you make their mother happy

➲ Either way, her heart melts seeing the three of you getting alone, and she 100% has a family picture she keeps on her desk for her eyes only

➲ Sometimes she just waits until you fall asleep so she can cradle your head in her heads oh so carefully. She just sort've stares at you, her eyes glowing in the dark with her wild mane of hair spilling out behind her, and she just traces all the intricate details of your face with her eyes

➲ And then she just sort've hugs you closer to her, tugging the blankets a little tighter around the two of you as she presses the littlest of kisses to your forehead before relaxing into the pillows

➲ But just imagine Carmilla with a wife who died so much later after her. Just this tall, scary and proper woman that strikes fear into the hearts of millions with her little gremlin wife who keep talking about shit like reddit that the other sinners just don't understand (not even Carmilla herself, but she finds your antics somewhat entertaining, at least when she doesn't have to act as your self preservation instincts and keep you safe)

➲ Extermination is your least favourite day for multiple reasons

➲ The first being, well, the exorcists descending form heaven to brutally murder sinners left and right, but also because Carmilla changes around this time

➲ It's understandable, especially with what happened in one of the previous exterminations when she and her daughters got caught, but it still scares you to see you usually cool, calm and loving wife turn into a robot who's only goal is to get you and her daughters to a safehouse to wait out the terror outside

➲ Doesn't mean you're not grateful, though. You can look past all of that because you know she's just doing it to keep you safe, and in the end you'd rather be safe and living with your family rather than dead on the end of an exorcist's spear

➲ You probably also have a good relationship with the other overlords, despite never having gone to a meeting

➲ (It's because of this you've never met Velvette or the other Vee's, and if Carmilla has a say, you never will)

➲ Rosie, being the social butterfly she is, loves to talk gossip with you every chance she gets. Zestial likes to join in on your little sessions, not saying anything but bringing tea for everyone to drink and enjoy. Clara also likes to join in sometimes, but her sister would much rather sit with her mother and just watch the chaos unfold in front of them

➲ Almost certainly has caught you trying on her shoes when she's not looking. A part of her is annoyed because she'd rather not have you involved in anything to do with her work, but the innocent look you give her makes her rethink her annoyance in the moment

➲ She'd later found out Clara helped you because you also wanted to try and walk around on pointe like the rest of the family. No idea why you skipped straight to trying the angelic weapon shoes, but Carmilla does offer to help you later

➲ Overall, great wife and I'd give her a 9/10. One point deducted probably because she'd be a tad too overprotective, but everything else about her is great; From her bear hugs to those little moments the two of you share

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (10)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: she finds herself as a pivotal lead in the case. wc: 4k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long. I realize I’m not smart enough to be writing a crime-mystery plot so this went through a lot of editing😭

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Y/N NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD SPEND HER MORNING THIS WAY, the unfamiliarity of this foreign place had her questioning how her life turned out the way it did. Becoming a witness to a heinous crime was already overwhelming enough for her, and now sitting in this cold, empty interrogation room was making her lose her mind.

She had never thought of being in this situation—a scenario that solely belonged to crime novels and thrilling movies. Yet, here she was, feeling more uncomfortable as time passed by. She slowly glanced toward the two-way mirror and the thought of watchful eyes observing her every movement intensified her discomfort, leaving her feeling judged and exposed. But above all that, there was one question that seemed to float at the top of her head.

Was Spencer there?

She heaved out a sigh. The one time she allowed herself to indulge further with her one-night-stand, it didn’t go the way she expected. She had thought that maybe—maybe—opening her heart was something she could try again. After a long time of not wanting to be romantically involved with anyone, waking up in his bed hadn’t seemed so bad...

Now it was just wishful thinking, her past naive self becoming a mockery to her now.

She was engrossed in her own thoughts when the door to her left suddenly creaked, drawing her attention, and she couldn't stifle the disbelief laugh slipping through her mouth.

"Out of all the agents in this building and they decided to send you?" She wondered as Spencer cautiously walked into the room with a file in his hand. "Isn't this against the rules?"

"What is?" He asked, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Questioning someone you know personally."

He regarded her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. Something about him seemed so different, it was baffling how someone could change so drastically in such a short period. Last night he had been sweet, attentive, and full of affection. But now, as she looked at him, it was as if he had morphed into a completely different person. The warmth that had once radiated from his eyes was replaced by a distant, guarded gaze.

Spencer Reid and Doctor Reid were really two different people.

"My personal matters won't intervene in the work I do."

"Somehow I doubt that," she murmured, watching as he sat down. She leaned back and crossed her arms. If he was going to act like they hadn't spent the night sleeping on the same bed, she might as well give him the same reserved attitude. "So, what now? Are we going to continue where we left off?"

"Actually, there's something else I'd like to know." He pushed the folder in his hand across the table and opened it. "I'm aware that you were associated with Harvey Webb?"

What the—

A sudden chill ran down her spine as the name slipped from his mouth. It was the last person she wanted to remember, a name she had fought so hard to push into the depths of her subconscious. But now it all came rushing back, threatening to engulf her in a wave of memories. She saw glimpses of piercing eyes that held malice, a voice dripping with menace, and a presence that loomed like an ominous shadow.

As she laid her eyes upon the files in front of her, a shiver coursed through her body. The face that stared back at her from the photograph was etched with lines of time. His eyes, once filled with unsettling intensity, now bore the weight of years gone by, their depths guarded and inscrutable.

"Why are you showing me this?" She asked quietly, trying to think of any possible reason why she was forced to recall her past.

"Did you know him?"

With a hesitant pause, she uncrossed her arms. "I did."

"And how did you know him?"

"He—" she stopped, trying to decide how to describe the nature of her relationship with that awful, dreadful man, and finally responded with, "He was my landlord."

"Was that all there is? Was your relationship with him simply one between a landlord and a tenant?"

She met his gaze. "What are you trying to imply?"

"One of our agents visited his wife before this."

Oh.

This was probably why he seemed so guarded, his words laced with a hint of something familiar yet unspoken. She was sure he already knew what happened. It was in the way he carefully chose his phrases, the slight pause that followed, and the knowing glimmer in his eyes that gave it away. But even when the buried memories were fighting to resurface in her head, a sense of unease gripped her. Why was he delving into her past?

"Why are you—" She shook her head. "What does he have to do with the current case?"

There was a pause before Spencer replied, "We believe he might be a link to the investigation."

She narrowed her eyes. "How?"

The room suddenly fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the quiet hum of tension that seemed to hang in the air. Their eyes locked.

"Let's make a deal," he suggested. "If you answer all the questions I have for you, I'll tell you what you want to know."

She considered his words and slowly nodded. "Fine," she agreed. "But you probably know who he was to me if one of your agents had already questioned Mrs. Webb."

"I want to hear it from you."

The weight of her past bore down upon her, pressing against her conscience. She understood, with unwavering certainty, that the time had come to lay bare the chapters of her history that she had kept hidden. With a breath that carried the weight of her past, she finally mustered the courage to speak her truth.

"Harvey and I had an affair."

A subtle change swept across his face as her words hung in the air. His expression remained stoic, a reflection of the knowledge he carried within him. She wasn't sure how much he already knew, but she continued.

"It wasn't my proudest moment," she admitted. "I was young, it was my first time in the city and I got this great apartment at an affordable price. Harvey helped me when I moved in so we talked a lot back then and easily became friends. He eventually mentioned how his divorce had gotten to him very badly, and I... I guess I took pity on him."

"He told you he was divorced?"

"Yeah, he told me the property that he owned, this apartment building of his, was the only asset he got for their divorce settlement. I was too young and naive to even consider he could be lying, I guess I was too smitten by the attention he constantly gave me."

"How long did it happen?"

"A couple of months. It wasn't until he kept on disappearing that I started to suspect him. He said he had to go out of town for his work, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow him one day." She gave him a pointed look. "Turned out he wasn't leaving town, he was going back home to his wife and kids."

"What happened then?"

"I confronted him about it..." Her body shifted uncomfortably. "That was when I realized how messed up he really was."

"What do you mean?"

"Harvey was a manipulative son of a bitch." He raised his eyebrows at her choice of words, which she shrugged in return. There really was no other way to describe him. "It was as if a switch had turned inside him the moment I confronted his lies. He became overbearing, controlling, possessive, and just—he became someone I was very afraid of."

He studied her closely, trying to decipher the unspoken layers of her narrative, the nuances hidden beneath the surface. "Did he ever hurt you?"

“Physically? No—well, there was this one time he got physical when he got so mad, but that was it," she confessed as her past flashed through her mind. "Although mentally, he was draining me. He would often threaten to harm me, or himself, if I ever left him. I think he was also diagnosed with a lot of mental disorders."

"Was his wife aware of everything happening?"

She nodded. "One day I visited their house when he wasn't home and confronted her about everything. Instead of blaming her husband's questionable behavior, she blamed me for ruining their marriage and started calling me a slutty home wrecker."

"Did he find out about this?"

"Yes," she replied. "He was not happy about it."

"And how did you get out of that situation?"

"I got accepted for the current job I work at now."

"He was fine with that?"

"I didn't tell him about it." She looked down, her gaze focusing on her hands sitting in her lap. "I had to move my things secretly whenever he went home to his family. When most of the stuff I needed was secured at my new place, I finally left, changed my number, and never looked back."

"You never saw him again after that?"

"The next time I heard of him was his own obituary printed on the paper." As the weight of her past slipped into the open, exhaustion suddenly settled over her. Her gaze then flickered toward the files on the table. "Now will you tell me how he's linked to the case?"

Spencer’s attention was completely focused on her, analyzing every detail of her movements. He paid close attention to the way she shifted in her seat, the way she blinked, and the way she tilted her head. "Were you aware of how he died?"

"Yes, he... he hurt himself."

Spencer shook his head, the lines on his forehead etched themselves deeper, highlighting the concentration etched upon his features. He leaned forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, as he turned the files over, taking out a few pictures before presenting them in front of her. "We believe his death was a homicide."

"What?" Her eyes widened in surprise as she gazed at the collection of photographs spread out before her. She should be appalled by the amount of blood seen in the shots, but her eyes darted across the blotched writing carved along the bruised skin. "Something was written on his arm?"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course not, why should I know of this?" She glanced up and was taken aback when she noticed the same doubt on his face she saw this morning. Her heart sank as the realization washed over her like a chilling wave. "You're still pining me down as a suspect."

"Your personal connections to all three victims have raised some concerns," he pointed out, voice carrying a controlled intensity, each word measured and deliberate. "And what's even more concerning is that they all had somehow wronged you in the past."

She suddenly felt a surge of anger as he leveled his accusations. Her lips thinned into a tight line, and her eyes narrowed as all her frustration and tension bubbled over. "I had nothing to do with their deaths."

"So it's a coincidence that they all suffered the consequences of their actions that affected you directly?"

"Just because I had issues with them doesn't mean I'd resort to murder," she spat. "Why are you so persistent in painting me as a suspect?"

"Your past grievances with these victims paint the picture." Spencer leaned forward, his palms pressed firmly against the cool surface of the table. His eyes, narrowed with determination, locked onto hers with palpable intensity. "Tell me, do you have an alibi for the times of their deaths?"

She leaned forward and held his gaze, not wanting to back down. "I'm not responsible for any deaths, so no, I don't have an alibi for something I didn't do."

"That's a very vague answer."

"You don't say?" She responded sarcastically. "Are you going to dump me with facts on how my body language is being defensive right now?"

"Would it help you to answer my questions clearly?"

She felt her patience breaking. She had been doing her best to remain calm and collected, but as his gaze remained fixed on her and he continued judging her with that harsh stare, she finally snapped.

"You know what, you want an alibi? I'll give you a damn alibi."

The tension she had been holding in her body suddenly exploded. With every inhale, her chest tightened, a reservoir of pent-up emotions yearning for release. And then, like an unleashed storm, she let it all pour forth.

"According to his obituary, Harvey Webb's death happened on Halloween and that was when I attended this stupid party held at the office. I was in the parking lot when Jamison called for my help before I scurried back only to witness his death. And don't get me started on Kevin Marshall."

She steadied her gaze on him.

"I studied his files for work so I'm aware of the time frame when it happened, and for someone with an eidetic memory, you sure had forgotten where I was that night so let me help you jog your memory back, Doctor Reid, because I spent the night in your bed before you fucking kicked me out the door!"

A heavy silence settled upon them only to be broken by her labored breathing and the pounding of her heart.

Had she really said that?

Y/n was never one with a foul mouth, but with the way the cuss word flew out of her lips in the heat of the moment, it was clear to her how furious she was. Although she did feel a sense of relief as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders after speaking her truth... But at what cost?

The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a fragile stillness, as his eyes locked onto hers. The weight of her words settled between them, casting a heavy shadow in the room. And there he sat, frozen in the moment, his face etched with shock and surprise. His mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged, as if the force of her words had momentarily robbed him of his ability to respond.

She wondered what was going through his mind right now. Was he processing her words, attempting to unravel the layers of her frustrations? Or was he grappling with his own emotions, struggling to find the right words to respond?

And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washing over her. All of the emotions unleashed during her frustrated rant had left her feeling drained. Every fiber of her being ached for respite and seeing him again felt like an additional burden she wasn't ready to bear. So she let her eyes fall on the two-way mirror, focusing in nowhere particular.

"I want to request another agent in here."

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed from the corner of her eyes but decided to ignore it, keeping her gaze on her reflection instead. And just as she was about to accept the fact that nobody was going to listen to her, the sound of the door opening echoed throughout the space, its noise cutting through the silence.

A dark-haired woman stood by the entry, her hand gripping the door as she focused her attention on the only man in the room. "Dr. Reid, I can take it from here."

The weight of the situation suddenly settled him. He studied the woman sitting across from him who was trying to maintain her control. But beneath it all, he saw the cracks in her facade, the vulnerabilities concealed beneath her frustration. It became clear that her actions, though seemingly distant and cold, were rooted in a desperate attempt to protect herself from further hurt.

And he was responsible for it all.

With a heavy sigh, Spencer finally rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. His mind was telling him he was only doing his job, yet his heart was pointing out the unfairness of his judgment of her. And for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

"There you are," Emily announced, walking into the meeting room as she spotted Spencer standing by the large board adorned with webs of information, his back facing her. "Are you okay?"

Spencer turned around and regarded her with a sigh. "No."

She gave him a sad smile. "She left already." Then she crossed her arms, studying the way his expression fell at the mention of the woman she had questioned for the past hour. "Do you really think she has anything to do with the case?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head, his shoulders dropping at the revelation of his words. "No."

"Then why were you being so hard on her?"

"I... I don't know."

As her gaze focused on his face, she observed the flash of vulnerability that briefly danced across his features. His eyes darted away, evading direct contact, betraying a flicker of unease that she couldn't ignore.

"I think you do," she noted. "I think you have this logic in your head that if she had something to do with the case, you'd have a reason to stop getting involved with her. But now that you know she's innocent, you think it's too complicated to harbor your feelings after the way you accused her. "

He drew his eyes back to her. "I thought we agreed not to profile each other."

"I wouldn't consider this profiling when you literally have your heart on your sleeves."

He let out a sigh, his voice trembling as he mustered the courage to acknowledge the truth of his actions and the pain he had caused. "What should I do?"

"You're asking the wrong person for relationship advice here," Emily remarked. "But what I do know is that if you wronged someone, you apologize."

But was it enough? Was apologizing to her enough to compensate for the hurt he had put her through?

Guilt has a funny way of coming after the moment has passed, like a relentless pursuer in the shadows of our conscience. Right now it was sneaking up on him, resurfacing with a relentless grip on his emotions. After he left the room, he got inside the small space behind the two-way mirror, continuing his job as an observer instead of the one questioning her.

Hotch had looked at him pointedly when he stepped to his side, and although his boss kept his mouth close the entire time, Spencer knew he was secretly assessing him with judgment. Especially when, after observing Y/n behind the glass, it was clear that she wasn't a suspect. He saw the scars of his misjudgment etched upon her face and the guardedness in her eyes.

It took him as an observer to comprehend she was innocent, that the darkness he had attributed to her was merely a reflection of his misguided assumptions. But it was too late now. He had allowed his biases to cloud his judgment, staining their relationship—or the potential of it anyway—with a hue of mistrust that was now difficult to wash away.

"I don't think she'll ever forgive me," he admitted, feeling dejected.

"Reid, you haven't even tried, and even if she won't, I'm sure you'll find a way to fix it." As the weighty words of their conversation hung in the air, a playful spark suddenly ignited in her eyes. "So."

Her teasing look cut through the tension, catching him off guard. "What?"

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," he quickly responded.

"After all that tension between you two and you're still denying it?"

"She's—" he stopped. "I'm not sure what we are, honestly."

Emily let out a soft chuckle. "Well, any type of relationships are complicated. That's why I don't bother with them anymore." Her eyes then shifted behind him, noticing the numbers written on the board that wasn't there the last time she was here. "What do you have there?"

Spencer let out a sigh of relief. Her request to shift the conversation to something else offered him a lifeline, a respite from the vulnerability of delving into his own feelings. A flicker of gratitude flashed in his eyes as he realized that she had unknowingly granted him an escape from his discomfort.

"I did the geographical profiling and these numbers are each respective coordinates of the location where all the victims were found." Emily nodded and he continued, "Basically, I did a coordinate rounding to eliminate the decimals until I come up with two digits for each location."

"And you think these numbers mean something?"

"They must. Here, take a look at this." He motioned her to step closer toward the round table before showing her the map he had drawn over with his handwriting, highlighting three precise locations that formed a triangle. "Even when Harvey Webb wasn't found at his house, he was found at his apartment which was technically his second residence. The same goes for Kevin Marshall, his body was found at home."

Then he pointed at one of the marks located at the top of the map.

"But Jamison Lynch was found at his workplace. The Unsub must have a reason to commit the crime six blocks away from his house."

Emily scanned the map before turning her attention back to the board. "So these numbers represent each location? Eleven is the first victim's residence, ninety-one is the second victim's workplace, and nineteen is the third victim's apartment?"

"Precisely."

"You know," she started, head tilted to the side and eyes piercing onto the numbers presented before her. "The third victim is technically the first victim if you consider the timeline."

As her words lingered in the air, a spark of realization ignited within him. It was as if a puzzle piece he had been searching for had finally fallen into place. "Wait." He walked over and grabbed the marker by the table. "You're right."

Emily watched as he rearranged the line of numbers.

19 91 11

"Does that mean anything to you?"

But Spencer couldn't hear her, his head was already turning its gear as shreds of evidence he had gathered these past few days swarmed his mind. "The Unsub has the same MO in all the victims and they're fixated using verses from the bible so if those numbers have an indication of that conviction then the first two digits could be the number of The Old Testament which means—"

He quickly wrote down his next words.

"Psalm 91:11," Emily read out.

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways,"Spencer recited. "That's it—a guardian angel."

Emily's eyes widened as she stared at the revelation before her. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, revealing a connection that had eluded her grasp until now. It was as if a veil had been lifted, granting them to reshape the narrative of the case.

"Y/n isn’t the killer," she mumbled, turning her head towards him. "She's being protected."

He returned her gaze with the same disbelief.

"Someone else is doing it for her."

>> NEXT PART

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Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[sweetsuo]

I SWEAR I COULDNT RUN FAST ENOUGH WHEN I SAW YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN ive been looking for a suosakurreader lover can I request suo x reader x sakura relationship headcanons? pls and thank you with sugar on top 🫶✨ the smut had me ascending

Hello lovely anon~! Sorry for the delay in getting to this! But yes! Here are some person hc I have for then and different dynamics. I didn’t include hcs about arguments or hardships, but I have a few about those as well~ nsfw hc are under the cut!

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐂𝐬

Suo Hayato x Sakura Haruka x Reader

genre. [SMUT under cut] Fluffy hcs.

Cw. Polyamory. Fetish/kink. Commands. 

Suo enjoys teasing. He makes sure to see a blush no matter what means it takes to get there. This is to both you and to Sakura! Anything from little quips to ‘unintended’ touches. Sakura gets especially blushy from it so depending on the reader, they also can join in on the fun of teasing! 

Over time as he develops more confidence, Sakura would start to adopt some of Suo’s mannerisms with it, but his teasing is a little bit more clunky and straight forward. Less flowered prose and more physical. While Sakura is the type to be extremely tsun to the point where the dere is hard to show, his growing confidence and little pushes from Suo truly help him interact more lovingly.

Sakura and Suo chit chat about cute things you do all the time. And over that time, Suo gives little suggestions to Sakura to try out because he can see you both blush. There’s satisfaction in Sakura being able to be the cause of it, too! Since words can be hard for him, he leans heavy into ghosting touches that leave heated goosebumps in their trail. 

Sakura is a man of action, so his go-to way to show his love is via acts of service. He cleans your house when you’re away at work. He tries to cook for you (although he needs help from Kotoha every now and again). If you mention something needing to get done off handed, he’ll have it done for you within 24 hours. The benefit of being a street cat is that he picks up a lot of skills and so most things he can do himself, too! Suo appreciates this as well, as if you’re a busy person, seeing you less stressed is best. 

Suo takes care of gifts. He’s a thoughtful gift-giver and remembers a lot about what you say. He and Sakura plan corresponding gifts, although it’s mostly Suo as Sakura tends to seek gifts that are practical over sentimental.  

Suo prefers to use his vernacular and charisma. Knowing his words can hold so much power strokes his ego thoroughly. He will use romantic prose, letters, cutesy teasing, gentle remarks, anything to see both of his partners light up. And when it comes to sex, while he enjoys being part of the action, Suo particularly enjoys giving instructions and guiding the events to create a scene. It’s something he enjoys not only from a love of teaching, but also to remedy Sakura’s insecurities. Sakura can learn what touches work best without needing to think it through. He can trust that Suo knows what touches you like and where, so all he must do in that moment is act. 

I personally hc that Suo is a frequenter of fetish/kink meets. Not that he partakes in the sex, but that he enjoys learning and seeing different forms of intimacy and interaction. He views it as an artform that may not need an emotional connection. He’d bring you and Sakura with him on these ventures as well to educate and appreciate the arts. While he is educated in many different things, learning from professional is valuable when introducing his two adored partners to something new. 

[pixiesfz]

any headcannons to share about niamhy???? 🥹🥹🥹

I LOVE NIAMH

okay Niamh is such a sentimental girl, she loves everything to have a meaning so that she can look back onto it and remember her life

(Like the ring from the World Cup)

Niamh is very competitive and you are literally the only person who can get her out of it, her teammates usually run up to you to help.

Before you started dating Jessie teased her non-stop , like literally non stop.

Pass the ball, tease

Walk around the corner, tease

Niamh have never seen her talk so much.

Niamh was very scared you would say no so she was very quiet your entire date so you thought she was trying to break up what you had going on

“Niamh are you trying to break this off?”

“What no I’m trying to ask you to be my girlfriend”

It wasn’t the most romantic ways but it still worked.

Her love language is gift giving and physical touch, if you’re in different countries or cities she will buy you a small gift that reminded her of you. She loves doing it, especially seeing your face whenever she handed you a very badly wrapped gift box.

With physical touch whenever you’re alone or with personal friends she’s always got her hands on you, whether it’s just holding your hand or fully on top of you like a koala.

She loves children, especially her niece and it gives you the biggest baby fever whenever she’s around which brings Niamh to invite her sister more often.

What you don’t know is that it gives Niamh baby fever to.

Niamh is very cocky in the bedroom and surprisingly turns you on, you never admit it outside of the room but she knows.

Especially when she becomes captain.

Niamh is not much of a crier, she doesn’t like being vulnerable, but when Magda and Pernile left Chelsea it was the first time you really saw her breakdown.

You promised the couple you would take care of her.

It worse when Jessie left.

She put on such a front but as soon as she watched Jessie step on the plane her eyes started to water and her grip on your hand tightened.

It wasn’t long until the tears started flowing.

“If Emma had just played her more”

“I know baby, I know”

“I should’ve noticed her unhappiness sooner”

“None of this is your fault Niamh”

You both sit down and watch drag race, the UK and the American one but you refuse to watch Down Under because Courtney Act wasn’t hosting it.

Niamh loves you so much and wants to spend the rest of her life with you, she knew that when she asked you out and her opinion never changed through your 3 years of dating, but she was stilly a horrid mess when asking important questions.

“I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore”

“Niamh are you breaking up with me?”

“What no! I’m asking you to be my wife!”

Things never change with Niamh and you love her for it.