#—swe writes

[sweetieviktor]

viktor is in love! (headcanons)

summary: how he acts when he loves someone.

content warning: just fluff!! also, this was written with season 1! viktor in mind!

author notes: life has been hard (exams, school stuff, looking for a job and a lot of other things lol), but now im finally able to write again!! :) and season 2 is just arrrgh so good, so good. also, thank u for the request! i really want to write more about vik (and any other arcane characters), so please keep sending those in!!

» at first, viktor would be pretty oblivious about his feelings for you, always ignoring the little tingling in his heart whenever you talked to him, the smile that appeared on his face every time you laughed or the way he seemed to be draw closer and closer to you, like if you were magnetic.

» whenever you talked to him, he would look at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the whole world, like every word you said was sacred, like you were the most beautiful thing he laid his eyes on. and you could swear it was possible to see hearts on those eyes.

» if you happen to work close to piltover’s academy, he will find himself going out more, looking for you in every corner on the streets. but if you work on the academy, he will go to your workplace quite often to brainstorm or just to talk about some subject he is working on.

» and when you happen to talk about the things you like, be prepared to either face viktor staring at you, completely silent, or to be bombarded with viktor questions, trying to learn more about whatever you're interested in.

» after your meet-ups, he always come back to the lab and talk to jayce about you, about the things you like, how you're amazing and beautiful and understanding and pretty and intelligent and so, so many good things.

» maybe he is in love...

[meziniart]

Something about science and PDAs

[tachvintlogic]

In Sword Art Online Abridged episode 17 at the time 17:04, there's a moment where there are two people and one of them says "I don't mean to brag but... I'm deathly allergic to the latex~~"

Which is just a bizarre line for some random background character to say, but it goes deeper than that. In the post-mortem stream for the episode at the time 2:28:32, they mention that the second person was supposed to have a line in response, but they never got someone to voice the other character so they just cut it even though it was a great line.

What was the other person supposed to say in response?

"Oh, how exotic."

And that line has been bouncing around in my head ever since because it's fucking amazing and it should've been in the episode because— just— what?! How is that a brag? Why are you saying it so flirtatiously? Why is the other person into it? How is that hot?????? How is being allergic to latex exotic????????

[indecisive-v]

rewatching the saoa post-mortem stream vods made me realize there's some alternate timeline out there where we're already over halfway through gun gale but at the cost of the entirety of fairy dance which, considering the masterpiece we've gotten out of it so far, is not something i'd want to sacrifice

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Mando, Bo-Katan and Other Things

Spoilers for The Mandalorian Season 3

The S3 premiere has left me with some thoughts so I'm gonna write them down here because I haven't done a Mando analysis in a while!

Going into this season, one of the key questions is whether or not Din will realise that the ability to identify as Mandalorian does not hinge entirely on whether or not you hide your face. Now I've seen different opinions on whether or not Din should ditch "The Way" ranging from him choosing to keep the helmet on all the time again to him just taking it off whenever.

Personally, I kind of fall somewhere in the middle. Taking the helmet off is something that is obviously very uncomfortable for Din and while I could definitely see him coming to terms with that rule not being something he has to stick to so rigidly, I don't think that that would mean he could automatically resort to taking it off without any issues. The creed was something that he was willing to put above his own life, so it's not going to be easy for him to move away from that. But then there's the matter of Grogu: the one thing that Din put above the creed itself. In my opinion, I think a good balance would be him taking the helmet off around Grogu and around Grogu only. I could maybe see it evolving past that, but for now, I feel like that would be a suitable solution for him.

But let's go into a little more detail about some things.

Din and Grogu

The boys are reunited! And with that comes some interesting avenues for how their relationship will evolve. Something I have said in the past is that throughout S1 and 2, while he is clearly showing a much more vulnerable and protective side around Grogu, it always felt as if Din was still trying to keep some semblance of a wall up between him and the child. We never see Din actually refer to the kid as his own in any way and I think part of that may be Din trying to stop himself from becoming too attached. Now obviously that didn't work, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was partly due to him knowing that he would have to let the kid go.

Din has lost his family, and so has Grogu, so they both know the pain of saying goodbye. Din also knows that he is going to have to give the kid to a Jedi at some point, so if he can try and put up a wall between them, then maybe that goodbye won't be so painful for either of them. At the end of the day, that didn't work because both of them are going to risk everything for one another, but I'm interested to see if this shifts slightly going into this season.

Grogu chose to go back to Din, meaning that Din now knows that that is where he wants to be. And I hope that this means we'll see Din becoming much more open around him. He doesn't have a mission to take him anywhere anymore, so he can just spend more time with him as father and son. We do already see a little bit of that in Chapter 17 when Din is showing Grogu the ship controls (my heart melted). He's teaching Grogu what it means to be a Mandalorian and what it's like the lead the life that Din does. Knowing that he doesn't have to give him up means that Din can open Grogu up more to his own life because this is (hopefully) how he'll be spending it from now on.

But let's tie this back to the helmet thing. Will Din choose to give up the ways of the creed if it means being able to show Grogu his face?

I think it's definitely possible, but it is going to create a lot of internal conflict for Din. Din wants to show Grogu his face, he wants to get rid of the physical barrier that is between them, but doing that would mean surrendering his connection to the creed. Yes, I mentioned earlier that Grogu is the one thing that Din has ever put above the creed itself, but this isn't just about a choice between Grogu and the Covert, it's a choice between Grogu and Din's own identity as a Mandalorian. Din took his helmet off once to save Grogu and once to say goodbye because he couldn't truly know that he would see him again. A split decision in a moment of high emotions is not the same as asking someone to give up their entire identity for the rest of their lives.

As the audience, we know that the helmet rule is kind of stupid. Of course Din can be a Mandalorian while taking his helmet off! But it isn't like that for him. He was raised to believe that the only "Way" was the Way of the Mandalore. He's been indoctrinated into this belief that showing your face means giving up your identity. And for someone like Din, who has spent the majority of his life sticking rigidly to those rules, letting them go is not going to be a simple decision. It means unlearning so much of what he's been told and going against everything he believes in. For him, this is still the only Way.

Which leads me onto my next point.

Bo-Katan

We only see Bo-Katan for a short time at the end of the episode but something she says here actually links to something The Armourer once said, which actually links to the helmet thing. Look at everything connecting!

Bo-Katan reveals that her people left once they knew that she didn't return with the Darksaber. Her entire group has collapsed because of what they believe (that only someone wielding the blade is a worthy leader). But let's think about this from the perspectives of Din and the Covert.

The Armourer once said that the ones who survived the Purge were the ones who followed the Way of the Mandalore, suggesting that they survived because they were the elite. They are the true Mandalorians and that is why they had survived for so long. And yes, they haven't been thriving the entire time, but look at them now. At the beginning of the episode they are in the process of recruiting a new foundling: their forces are growing! And then on the flip-side, you have Bo-Katan and her forces, aka the people that the Covert don't consider as true Mandalorians. And they're failing. Their group has collapsed. For someone like Din, who is trying to navigate his identity and what it means to be a Mandalorian, being told that the Way of the Mandalore is the only Way and then seeing the "other-side" falling apart probably reinforces his belief that he needs to be redeemed. He needs to follow the only way. And the audience know that Bo-Katan's forces dispersing has nothing to do with the helmet thing, but to Din it's evidence that they aren't true Mandalorians.

And I think it's interesting that the downfall of Bo-Katan and her people is due to their inability to let rigid beliefs go. Her people left because she didn't have the Darksaber; they didn't see her as a worthy leader. But that rule is almost as ridiculous to the audience as the idea that you can't be a true Mandalorian if you show your face. Yes, the person who wields the Darksaber has to be "worthy", but someone not having the blade does not make them a bad leader. They claim that without the saber, then they can't be a competent leader at which point, they're not following the leader, they are following the Darksaber itself (which then begs the question of why the person wielding it really matters).

Concluding Thoughts

Overall, I'm very excited to see where this season is going to go and how Din's relationship to the creed, and to Grogu, shifts. He wants to show his face to the child, but that means turning back on the way of life he's been leading this whole time. And is that a good thing? Maybe evolution is the best thing, even if it means giving up on the rules that you so rigidly live by.

I think Alex at Star Wars Explained over on YouTube put this really well. He said that we're seeing some interesting parallels between those who are choosing to evolve and those who are sticking to the one thing that they know. Nevarro is prospering because the people chose to turn away from their life of crime. The pirates wanted things to be the way that they were and they lost the fight. Bo-Katan and her people are stuck following the way that they know and because of that, their group collapsed. The Covert are following the rules that they believe to be right and while they are under the impression that they are doing well, they had to be rescued from the creature by Din, the one who has evolved (or is in the process of trying to find his way). I think it's an interesting narrative and I would definitely check out the Star Wars Explained Chapter 17 review because the video explained this better than I did.

Din's growth is going to be an interesting thing to watch and I hope that Bo-Katan gets a deserving character arc as well. I'd be lying if I said I knew where this season is going but I believe that it'll be an interesting look into what it means to stick so rigidly to a particular way and how that can affect your life, for worse or for better.

Random Thoughts

Now that the longer, waffly, slightly more insightful bit is done, here are some random thoughts about the episode that don't really fit anywhere else but I feel like sharing.

I love that we get to see a new foundling being recruited at the beginning of the episode. At first I though that it might have been Din but even though it isn't, I think it is something to reflect on. We're watching a child make a commitment that will affect them for the rest of their lives. While it may seem like the right thing for them to do now, what happens if they get further down the line and realise that there is more to the world and being a Mandalorian than the Way of the Mandalore? I mean look at Din; he made the same decision that this child did and now he's stuck in an internal battle about his own identity.

Do you think that Grogu is aware of what exactly is going on with Din and the creed? Because he's over 50 years old, but he's also still a young child. I definitely think he's aware of the fact that Din is struggling and that the creed is why (look at the puppy eyes he gives The Armourer) but do you think he knows the full extent of what's going on? Does he feel guilty that Din is going through this struggle because he chose to associate with Grogu? Does he think that maybe it would've been easier for Din if he has stayed with Luke? What is the poor child thinking???

Din sitting all hunched up in the Anzellan's store is hilarious and it's a crime that they didn't show us him having to crawl in there.

Were the Mandalorians aware that there was, as the descriptive captions called it, a dinosaur turtle in the lake before they started the ceremony? You'd think they'd check to make sure that there weren't any man-eating monsters in there before they started. Has this happened before? Did they know that this had a chance of happening??? Feels like maybe they should've looked into that.

The droids holding Greef's cape are adorable and we need more of them.

Ngl, the way they explained where Cara Dune went is hilarious to me. She got explained away in one sentence. I love it.

[ilynpilled]

im such a basic fuck but asos is so good like its so good idgafff. still da fave as much as i like feast/dance

[ravenwolfie97]

is it a controversial opinion to have that abridged series can actually be a work of art in and of themselves

[kuskuskuadrat]

My favorite trope in fiction is when the absolutely unapologetically incorrigible psychopathic asshole™ becomes the hero of the story, not through character development or redemption arcs, but by sheer force of "everyone around me is worse HOW IS EVERYONE AROUND ME WORSE I HUNT PEOPLE FOR FUN"

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

We are social creatures who have survived only because we are capable of great love.

Something no one tells you when you’re going through a tough time, is that even the smallest people will remember you. They’ll wonder why you haven’t bought food for your dog, where the pictures of your boyfriend went, or why their favourite cashier hasn’t been there for awhile. People notice you. People love you. Even if it’s for your jokes, even if it’s for your patience, even if it’s just seeing you around. People miss you. People love you. People care. 

I’m grateful for everyone who is still here today, no matter how hard it is. 

[sweetieviktor]

jealous! viktor x reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: viktor sees you talking with a friend and get jealous.

content warning: idk if it counts as a cw but jealousy?? also, i made with s1 viktor in mind!

author notes: heyyy, so sorry this one is little, im still trying to find motivation after the end of the series but i think it turned out cute! thank u for the request and hope u like it!! :)

» it was a common sight to see you walking up and down piltover’s academy, working or just chilling on lunch breaks, but every time viktor would approach you, you were already with someone. sometimes an unknown person, other times with a friend, laughing and joking, touching them in such a sweet way, side by side in the aisles.

» he looked at you both, blood boiling and shaky hands. if you looked at him, it was possible to see his lips forming a thin line, brows furrowing, his left eye almost twitching. oh, he was jealous.

» he felt angry at himself to feel like this, he didn't mean to be jealous at all, but he wanted to steal you away, just for a second, and be the one by your side, be the one you smiled to, the one you’ve been touching so sweetly.

» he wanted to reach for you, to interrupt your silly conversation about whatever you two have been talking about, he wanted to share his new discoveries with you, he wanted to be in their place so bad.

» but he couldn't complain, not when you waved a goodbye at your friend, and turned your body, recognizing viktor, eyes lighting up immediately, smiling from ear to ear.

“viktor!”, you shouted, voice echoing in the aisle while you walked to him, “i’ve been looking for you all day. you wouldn't believe what happened!”

he looked at you, expression softening, eyes shining, mimicking yours, his thin lips now turning into a little smile, “yeah? tell me."

» soon all the jealousy melted away, now, he is the one walking by your side.

[kurooh]

INTERRUPTED ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. he hates it when someone (or something) interrupts his time with you.

⟡ feat. gojo satoru, kento nanami, fushiguro toji, kamo choso.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), modern au, roommates! satosugu in gojo’s, stupidity, phone calls, being walked in on, oral [m&f]. not proofread

⟡ xoxo juno: first time writing for jjk.. i’m nervous about the characterizations; i’ll write more characters for hcs if i get reqs. rbs are loved !!

— GOJO SATORU.

“t-toru, that’s perfect, faster please,” you plea, tangling your fingers in his snowy hair and pressing his head closer to your dripping pussy. gojo lets you, whining a little as he scissors his fingers in and out of you and licks at your clit.

you inhale sharply, back bowing right off the bed; a large hand spreads your thighs impossibly wider and press them into the duvet beneath you.

“oh, i’m gonna cum,” you whine, hips jerking towards his fingers desperately. bright blue eyes latch onto yours, and he’s about to watch you fall apart when—

“yo, satoru!” your boyfriend’s roommate, geto, calls breezily from behind the door. before either of you can respond, the door opens and he strides in, looking at his phone. “what do you want for dinner tonight? i’m going to head out to go shopping and—” he looks up, and a pillow nails him right in the face.

“get out, suguru!” gojo yells, covering you with part of the duvet.

geto laughs awkwardly, a blush blooming across his face, and he apologizes quickly before stepping out and closing the door.

“also!” gojo calls, facing the door as he sits down beside you, “tonkotsu for dinner tonight!”

— NANAMI KENTO.

“fuuuck,” kento groans lowly, pressing your head further into his pelvis, his cock sliding down your throat. blond strands fan out around his head as it drops back onto the couch cushions behind him, his eyes fluttering shut.

your soft hands stroke the parts of his cock you can’t fit in your mouth, wet sounds mingling with your choking and filling the room. “angel,” he sighs, fingers soothingly rubbing against your scalp, “this is perfect, i love it when you—”

a familiar ringtone cuts his sentence off, and his face twists in aggravation as he lifts his hips, fishing his phone out of his back pocket with his free hand.

“i’m sorry. it’s ijichi.” kento answers the phone, his cock starting to soften in your mouth.

your eyes meet his as you mischievously slide off the length of his cock, your lips gently suctioned around his tip. kento sits up, his eyes widening, and he’s about to mouth something to you when you slam all the way down, placing your hands on his thighs for support.

he gasps sharply, nearly letting out a moan; he reassures ijichi, who sounds worried.

“oh, yes i’m alright. something nearly fell off my shelf is all..” his voice drifts off and his eyes become lidded, his cock hard enough to cut diamonds.

a heat rushes through your body, and you clench your thighs, removing a hand from his own. you fingers slip into your panties, rubbing at your clit as you look up at him, mouth full. on the phone, ijichi rambles on frantically about something that’s probably not even important, and kento bites his lip, slamming you down hard.

the sudden movement and force of his tip plowing into the back of your throat has you choking, pussy clenching as tears build in your eyes. he looks at you, hearts practically in his eyes, and moves the phone as far as he can from him.

“please, angel— make me cum, just like you always do.”

— FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“you like bein’ fucked like this, huh?” toji grunts, his breath coming out in hard pants, warmth fanning over your face. moaning, and desperately attempting to feel him deeper, you spread your legs impossibly wider.

“yes, toji!” you whimper, hands running down his muscled back; your nails bite crescent moons into the sweaty skin before they rake down his back as your eyes roll back into your head. “a-ah, i want you to fill me up, please—”

“don’t worry doll,” toji murmurs, beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he fucks into you much harder and unforgiving than earlier. “i-i’m gonna fuckin’ stuff you until you can’t breathe. gonna take it all like a good girl, yeah?”

you nod eagerly, eyes shining with tears while your pussy clamps down on his thick cock. he can barely breathe when you’re like this, so pretty and pliant and willing beneath him, taking his cock greedily. your tits bounce, smacking against each other due to the force of his thrusts; he palms at your ass with a large hand of his, squeezing the plush skin before slapping it.

toji can’t wait to fuck all his cum back into you.

“baby, i’m gonna fuckin’ cum—SHIT!”

his face contorts in pain, the cum rushing back down into his balls, and before you can even register what’s happening he’s pulling back and choking out curses.

“what happened, toji?” you’re at his side immediately, rubbing at his back soothingly before he pushes you away, clearly embarrassed and unhappy.

“fuckin’ hamstring cramp, god damn it.”

he rubs at the back of his thigh angrily, his cock deflating between his legs as he grunts out something scathing below his breath.

“i’m fine,” he hisses, punching the back of his leg before finally laying on his back. “fuck, i don’t know where that shit came from.”

“well, you’re getting to that age..” you tease lightly, a smile splitting your lips when he glares at you, hard, and roughly yanks you between his legs, raising them both carefully, for fear of another debilitating cramp. his half hard cock rests against his pelvis, and you stare at it briefly before he pushes you towards it.

“let’s hope you don’t have any more old man cramps, toji.” you stick your tongue out at him before leaning your head towards his tip.

“you better shut that mouth before i fill it for you, princess.”

— KAMO CHOSO.

“o-oh, fuck,” choso heaves from beneath you, his jaw slack with drool trailing down as he watches you ride his cock. the ripple of the muscle beneath the plush skin of your thighs and the soft bounce of your tits always leaves him stuttering and unable to look away from you.

“you like it, baby? want me to go a little faster?” your voice is sweet and soft as your small hands press into the muscle of his pecs for balance.

“mm mm, this is perfect..” he sighs, his back arching uncontrollably as you slowly slide upwards, leaving his tip inside you. then you sit all the way back down, shivering. “are you getting tired?”

“a little,” you smile, giggling softly as he places his hands on your hips. your voice promptly breaks into a whimper when he starts to thrust upwards, erratic and strong as his cock stretches you out and fills you up.

close to going dumb on his cock, you gasp, fingers reaching up to pinch and tweak your nipples for extra pleasure.

“c-choso, right there,” you choke out helplessly, pressure building inside you, all over and racing through each limb.

he finds himself gasping after a particularly rough drag of his cock against your ridged walls, leaving him thickening and throbbing inside you. the room fills with the heavy sound of skin smacking against skin, choso’s deep groans, and your whiny moans.

“so good, s-so good,” he mumbles, back bowing off the bed. strands of his dark brown hair are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead and temples, the rest bouncing against his head and the pillow as he fucks you.

your mouth opens in a plea, eyes half lidded; but you snap your mouth shut and your eyes widen in some kind of panic that has him sitting up, the mood practically ruined. choso’s about to ask what went wrong when he hears a loud pounding at the door and a whiny voice calling for him.

“chosoooo!” the voice is unmistakably yūji’s, and his knocks only grow louder and rougher. “you comin’ out here or what? you’ve been gone for a while and everyone’s looking for you!”

oh, right. the party that he and yūji were hosting at their shared apartment, which is full of their closest friends and the sound of happy voices downstairs.

“i’ll be downstairs in a bit,” choso fights against the urge to snap at him, “five minutes, okay?”

“alright,” yūji finally calls back, sounding disappointed as he stops knocking and leaves you and his brother in bed together.

your eyes widen as he slowly lifts himself out of bed, clearly disappointed but gritting his teeth through it nonetheless. he pulls at the hair bands on his wrists, tying his hair into its usual spiky buns on either side of his head.

“cho!” you gasp, thighs clenching, “we’re not gonna finish up?”

“can’t,” he huffs, rubbing a hand over his face as he makes himself accept it. “we need to go downstairs, we’ve been gone for far too long.”

“i-i was gonna cum,” you whine, peeling yourself away from the bed against your will. tears form in your eyes in absolute frustration. “please don’t do this..”

he sighs before he leans in to kiss you hard. he looks at you, his face flushed and clearly just as unhappy as you are, though his feelings are hidden. “later, when everyone’s gone, i promise i’ll make you cum again and again.. you’ll be begging for me to stop, crying and shaking.”

your face heats quickly, and you look towards him happily, eagerly anticipating later.

with a sexy little laugh, he asks, “does that sound good, baby?”

[bones4thecats]

Hello! Could I request Hades and Poseidon (separatly) fell in love with dummy nymph!reader, who just doesn't notice their feelings, please? (◕‿◕)♡

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Hades and Poseidon Name: {Character} with a Oblivious Nymph! Reader Requester: Anonymous

A/N: My first Record of Ragnarok piece in quite a while, and thankfully, this was quite funny to write. This is so full of fluff and crack that it makes broken attics look nice😂

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💀 Oh sweet mercy, this guy loves yet hates your obliviousness

💀 When he first met you, he would joke around about how you were so oblivious to things, but, when he tried to confess his feelings towards you for the first time and you just replied with something so platonic-sounding, he froze

💀 Your obliviousness was going to be a hint of a problem now

" My dear, have you ever thought about having a relationship with someone? " " I guess so, yeah. Why? " " How would you feel about courting with me by your side? " " Aw! You would help me with courting! You're so sweet, Hades! "

💀 Grabbing your hand when you were scared didn't get you to realize his feelings, even when he gave you the biggest hint while still hiding the straight-forward admission, you didn't get it

💀 Hades does understand that, because your a nymph, you haven't gotten that much experience when it comes to anything romantic, as many believe you only are attracted to things relationships non-romantically

💀 Zeus and Aphrodite have tried getting you guys to get together for centuries, from trying to have you guys go on a blind-date to having you literally go on a real-date with him, you always stayed blind to the real emotions hidden behind his gestures

💀 So, unsurprisingly, Hades eventually does have to straight-up admit his feelings, leaving you flustered and a hint embarrassed

" Y/N, I must admit that I am quite fond of you. So fond that I must ask, would you like to be in a courting relationship? " " You fond someone that wants to court me? Aw, Hades, how swe- " " Not someone else. Me, my dear. " " Oh... how long have you liked me like this?! " " About the past four centuries. " " Oh sweet seraphs... "

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🔱 Poseidon is not amused at all.

🔱 He is not fond of people not understanding what he said, and it doesn't help with the fact that he's very blunt and honest when it comes to his words

🔱 When he first met you, you were speaking to your boss, Aphrodite, and when he arrived to speak with her about the waves causing damages to the nearby forests

🔱 That was when he noticed how oblivious you were to pretty much everything

🔱 Aphrodite eventually noticed how Poseidon seemed to soften with his actions whenever you were around, and she was the one who prompted him to finally begin trying to tell you about his feelings, unaware that you had no clue how to take a hint

" Y/N, would you like to accompany me to Zeus' reunion next week? As my date, of course. " " Oh, yeah! It'd be fun to spend some time with my best friend! "

🔱 Okay, ouch.

🔱 It took him only two tries before he began to lose his already strained patience, and he burst that bubble the third time you pushed his advances off as a friendly confrontation

" Would you like to accompany me to Hades' meeting tomorrow afternoon, Y/N? " " Of course! Spending time with my favorite friend is amazing- " " Not as a friend. As a future spouse. " " Huh? "

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 17

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16

Eddie’s back to school on Tuesday, black eye turning a mottled sort of green, lip scabbed over. From where he’s hemmed in by Robin and Chrissy, Steve watches Eddie catch a glimpse of him and bolt the other way.

Jeff sighs, lets go of his hold on Chrissy’s arm, and says, “sorry, Steve. I’m just gonna—” and then he points toward Eddie and follows after him without another word.

Steve’s gut clenches with guilt. He’d put that look on Eddie’s face, had caused the rift in his and Jeff’s friendship, had split the forming group up with his ridiculous crush. But Chrissy and Robin are still here, standing by his side.

“Are he and Jeff okay?” Steve asks, biting his lip as he glances at Chrissy.

“I think so,” she says, looking after her boyfriend. “They talked on the phone, but Jeff didn’t tell me what about.”

“Forget about them,” Robin replies, reaching out to take his hand even as it makes everyone around them stare. “Come on, Stevie, or we’ll be late to Ms. Clickity Clack’s class.”

Steve passes the rest of the day in a daze, the spot at his side a revolving cast of Chrissy, Robin, and Jeff, like they’d all talked behind his back and decided he couldn’t be trusted with being alone right now. Steve can’t blame them because as soon as he’s left unattended in his big empty house, he gets out his notebook and pen, and begins to write.

   Eddie —

   I’m sorry I never got to read your last letter, but it wasn’t for me anyways. Maybe none of them were, not really. And I’m sorry about that, even sorrier about how your pretty face got caught in the ceasefire. I’m just full of sorries I’m to scared to tell to your face—from the way you ran when you saw me in the hallway this morning, maybe you wouldn’t want me to anyway.

   You’ve always been the brave one, so you must really want to not see me, huh? I hope you and Jeff are friends again. I’m sorry about that too, I’m the one who asked him not to tell you. I was afraid, but that’s no excuse.

   I don’t know how to stop wanting to right write to you. I can’t turn off the part of me that still wants to know everything about you. There’s a whole in my heart, and I keep trying to find people to fill it, but I can never be in love with someone who loves me back. You know?

   I’m sorry, Eddie. Maybe someday, I’ll get to say it to your face.

   Sorry,

   Steve

He closes the notebook on the damning words and shoves it into his nightstand so he doesn’t have to look at it. Sleep doesn’t come—the house is too quiet. He grabs the phone off his dresser and calls the only other person he knows whose parents trust them enough to have a phone in their bedroom.

“H’lo?” Robin mutters sleepily after finally picking up the phone six rings later.

She sounds tired��Steve’s sorry he woke her. “I wrote another letter,” he says.

That seems to perk her up instantly, as she hisses down the line, “Steven James Harrington.”

“Not my name, Robin Steven Bobbington,” he replies, talking right over her shrieked “well, that’s not mine!” to continue, “I’m not going to send it.”

“You better not,” she replies, and Steve can hear some rustling on her end, like she’s settling back down into her bed. He wishes, suddenly, that he was in there with her, clutching her hand as they fall asleep side by side. Instead, he lays down on his own bed and concentrates on the noises coming down the line.

“Is it stupid that I miss him?” he asks.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Robin!”

She laughs, a quiet sleepy chuckle that warms him straight through. “I’m just saying! He’s been treating you like shit, Stevie.”

Steve sighs, burrowing down under his comforter and taking the phone with him. “He was different in the letters,” he whispers, like someone in his empty house might hear him otherwise. “Sweeter, you know?”

Robin sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There’s enough sorries to go around for all of them, apparently. They’re quiet for a while, Robin’s breathing keeping him company in his big, lonely bed with his big, lonely thoughts.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

He’s been saying it a lot lately, throwing the words around like they’ll connect this time and get him something real. And they had, with Chrissy, with Robin, hell, even with Jeff. Just, not with Eddie. Maybe someday, he’ll learn to be okay with that.

“Love you, too, Dingus,” Robin replies, like it’s easy.

He falls asleep that night to the sound of Robin’s quiet snoring.

***

Eddie thinks about it—obsessively, compulsively. He dreams about it, jerks off about it, fucking cries about it. He reads the letters, again, and again, and again, wishing desperately that he still had that first one. At school, he checks his locker obsessively, compulsively, hoping there’s another note in his locker—there never is.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Gareth asks, an elbow into Eddie’s side.

“Ow, ribs!” Eddie cries, curling away from him and into Doug at their usual lunch table.

“Sorry!” Gareth replies, leaning away from him and raising his hands up like that’ll somehow prove he’s harmless.

Jeff snorts around his sandwich, “gotta be careful, Gare-bear. He’s precious cargo now.”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes as the rest of Hellfire laugh around him.

“No, but seriously, dude,” Gareth asks, this time without the thrown elbow. “What’s up with you?”

Eddie looks across the cafeteria at Steve and Chrissy’s usual spots, still empty the way they have been for weeks. He worries, sometimes, that they’re not eating, and it’s his fault.

Hopefully, they’re just packing lunches from home and eating somewhere else (he’s been too afraid to check).

“Can’t tell you buddy,” Eddie replies, still looking at the empty spot like that’ll somehow make the duo appear. “I promised.”

Gareth, clearly having followed his line of sight, leans closer and asks in an unsubtle whisper, “but it’s about you know what?”

Doug sits on, oblivious, but Jeff snorts again and asks, “okay, you didn’t tell me jack shit, but you told the freshman?”

“Sophomore, jackass!” Gareth cries, before seeming to realize the implications of Jeff’s sentence. “You told Jeff?”

“I knew before you did,” Jeff says smugly, and Eddie’s starting to get pissed off about that again.

“How!”

“Jeff, dearest?” Eddie grits out. “Do you want me to punch you in the face?”

That shuts the table up catastrophically. But in the end, Jeff sighs and says, “I’m coming over after school,” and the rest of lunch is spent fielding Gareth’s indignant questions.

True to his word, Jeff climbs into Eddie’s passenger seat at the end of the day. Eddie doesn’t take them to the trailer, he just drives around, taking back roads round and round, restlessness making his fingers twitch in the gear shift.

Jeff’s the one who breaks the silence, in the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, making Eddie flinch at the sudden noise. “Steve just seemed so scared, and Chrissy was crying so—”

“He was scared?” Eddie interrupts, stuck on the thought. He’d known that, before, but now that Eddie’s afraid, too, it hits like a punch to the chest.

“Of course he was,” Eddie replies to his own question. Suddenly unable to focus, Eddie pulls over to the side of the road. “I’m scared, too.”

Jeff sucks in a breath; Eddie doesn’t look away from his own knees.

“Yeah?”

Eddie bites his lip, knowing that Jeff will be able to read between the lines. “Yeah.” His eyes are watering, and Eddie swipes at them, embarrassed. “And I know we’re supposed to be talking about us, but I just—”

“No, hey,” Jeff replies. Eddie hears the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling, and the rustle of him shifting in his seat, and suddenly, Jeff’s hand is clasping Eddie’s shoulder, shaking him around just a little. “You’re my best friend—we’re fine, dude.”

Eddie swipes at his eyes again, “I think I want to ask him out, but what if I’m wrong?” Eddie asks, tracking Jeff’s expression out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, voice deadpan. “You find out he likes you and suddenly he’s not just a jock anymore?”

Eddie looks down at his own knees, bracing for a hit he knows will never come. But, Eddie’s always been good at hurting himself, so he thinks about that yellow nail polish again, the enraptured look in Steve’s eyes during every D&D session, the way he’d glued himself to Robin Buckley, band nerd supreme’s side in recent weeks. The way he’d look at Eddie like he wasn’t the king of the freaks, like he was worth something.

“He was never just a jock,” Eddie murmurs. “I just never let myself think about it.”

Jeff mmmhmms him and Eddie knows him well enough to hear the doubt beneath the agreement.

“I was afraid, okay?” Eddie laments, scrunching his eyes closed tight until that makes his bruised eye ache too much. “You wouldn’t get it.”

At that, Jeff scoffs, and before Eddie can start up another tirade, he replies, “right, the black guy dating a white girl in Po-dunk, Indiana has no idea how scary it can be to make a move on the person you like.”

Okay, fair.

“You know what could happen if the wrong person finds out?” Jeff continues. “I’ll be lucky if they let me get out of town alive.”

“Okay, okay! I get it, sorry!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up in defeat. And Jeff, being the asshole he is, just laughs at his discomfort. “How’s that going anyway?”

“With Chrissy?” Jeff asks, continuing when Eddie nods. “She’s great, man. I really, really like her.”

He’s smiling all goofy and in love. Eddie waits for the jealousy to hit; it never comes. Even as he’d flirted with her, there’d always been a disconnect for him between the letters and the girl. He knows why, now.

“I’m happy for you.”

Jeff aims that same goofy smile at him and punches his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

Eddie wants to feel that way about someone. He wants to think of them and smile like he just can’t help himself. And with Steve Harrington of all people, maybe he can.

“If I ask Steve out, do you think he’ll still say yes?”

“Oh, for sure,” Jeff replies without hesitation before he turns to Eddie and eyes him up and down. “But are you sure you want to?”

Eddie bites back the defensive retort rising on his tongue, and grits out, “what do you mean?”

Jeff sighs and leans back in his chair. Eddie waits, three seconds from snapping as he stews in Jeff’s silence, hands clenched so hard against the steering wheel that it feels like one of his nails might pop clean off. 

“Jeff–”

“No one’s ever liked you before!” Jeff cries, and it hits Eddie like a punch to the sternum. “And maybe it’s not fair of me to ask but, are you sure you even really like him?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his mind a record skipping against a bent needle. “What do you–”

“Eddie, man,” Jeff sighs, swiveling his head to finally look Eddie directly in the eyes. “Do you like Steve Harrington, or do you just like that he likes you?”

He drops the wheel, hands almost numb as he shakes them out, no longer able to meet Jeff’s eye. 

How would anyone ever know that for sure? How can he know the origin of a feeling when it’s been there, simmering in the background of his brain, just waiting for him to wake up? How can he separate the feeling for a person and the person’s feeling for them?

That’s like asking him to unbraid his hair, let it fall back together, and still be able to tell which strands made up each component of the braid–it can’t be done.

But, “Gareth said I was obsessed with him,” Eddie replies, barely above a whisper. “Like, before I knew he wrote the letters?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, but it’s just like Steve said–it sounds different when he doesn’t think it’s funny. “And, he was right, you know? I was flirting with Chrissy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”

Eddie runs a shaking hand through his hair and buries his face into his hands with a shudder. “He’s just–he’s Steve Harrington, right? Everyone knows everything about him, but then he just changes the script!” Eddie’s smiling now, manic, animated. “And I wanted to know everything.”

Eddie drops his hands to look over at Jeff, meeting his eyes once more. Jeff looks patient, ready, hopeful in a way he hadn’t before, so Eddie keeps talking.

“Like, Chrissy was flirting with you and he didn’t even seem to care, and the yellow nail polish, and he came to Hellfire, Jeff. Steve Harrington came and watched us play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I know,” Jeff replies, grinning now, pearly whites all on full display. 

“And when he came to band practice, he was just like, watching me, and I sort of wanted to die, but in a good way, you know?”

Jeff decidedly does not look like he knows, but he’s still grinning across at Eddie like he’s proud of him. Eddie’s kind of proud, too, that he’s managing to say all of this aloud. It feels somehow new and a long time coming at the same time. 

“Okay, you can ask him out,” Jeff says, turning forward in his seat and buckling his seatbelt once more. 

Eddie laughs. “Oh, because I needed your blessing?”

“Yeah,” Jeff replies, grinning as he turns back to Eddie, looking him up and down like he’s a slab of meat Jeff’s checking for its quality. “Maybe wait until you’re healed up, though. You look like one of those cardboard box kittens that I keep seeing on the news.”

“Shut up!” Eddie squawks, but he’s smiling, helplessly, hopefully.

Eddie Munson with a chance at love, who would’ve thought?

PART 18

[moonstruckme]

Ooh ok, so here are some ideas for vampire!James in case you feel inspired to write any of them! Maybe something where he comes home after going out to feed thinking reader is asleep and he's feeling guilty and reader comforts and reassures him? Or another idea is just reader finding out that James is a vampire now, or maybe just her being there for him through the turning process. Sorry if none of these tickle your fancy!

Thank you for requesting lovely!!

cw: mention of blood, nausea

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

James walks through your door with heavy steps. He’s glad that he can do it—the first time he tried to come home after turning, you’d both wondered at how his feet wouldn’t cross the threshold until you figured it out and invited him in. It had been embarrassing. Now, James all but stumbles into the kitchen, hopefully not leaving any drippings of blood in his wake. 

He always feels drunk and sluggish after a feeding. Nauseous, too, though he’s not sure if that’s from the bilious too-full feeling or simply his own disgust with himself and what he’s done. Sirius theorizes that if James fed more often instead of waiting until he’s wasting away every time, he might not feel the effects so keenly, but James doesn’t like to talk about it. He still can’t find it in himself to talk about his condition the way his friends do, like it’s normal. 

The water coming out of the tap could be cold or boiling, James wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. All he can think about is getting it all over him, cleansing himself. He’d imagine it as washing away his sins, if such a thing were possible for creatures like him. Still, he wants to be clean to slip into bed beside you. You deserve at least that. 

It’s probably his distraction that keeps him from hearing you come down the hall. (James is not a very good vampire, he thinks. Shoddy predatory instincts.) But when you touch his shoulder, coming up beside him, he doesn’t startle. 

“Sweetheart.” James has the urge to cover his mouth from your view. These days he’s pretty good at feeding neatly, but tonight had been messier. There’s blood down to his chin. “What are you doing up?”

You give him a little smile, opening a drawer next to the sink for a cloth. “I could ask you the same thing.” 

“No, you couldn’t. I’m a creature of the night now, remember?”

Oddly, this has been one of the most difficult parts of the transition for James. There’s the whole living-off-blood thing, of course, and the new ability to hear a fly in the neighbor’s kitchen, but James was always an early-to-rise, early-to-bed sort of bloke. His old schedule was dictated by the sun. Now, all his instincts are in opposition to it. 

He stays still as you adjust the temperature of the tap, wetting the cloth and then lifting it to James’ face. You smell like toothpaste, and underneath that the garlicky pasta you had for dinner. (James isn’t actually deterred by garlic, though he can’t eat it just like he can’t eat any regular foods anymore. Maybe that’s where the folklore came from. Only something truly cursed would stop eating garlic.) He can feel the veins pulsing in your wrist like a substitute for the heartbeat he no longer has, but he’s full enough now not to worry about craving you. 

Of course, he craves you in various ways, all of the time. Just not in that specific way at the moment. 

“You should be in bed,” James murmurs. He touches his thumb to the shadow underneath your left eye. “I can clean myself up.” 

“I wish you’d just use the bathroom,” you reply just as softly, dragging the cloth over the line of his jaw. “But anyway, I don’t mind helping.” 

You don’t mind much of anything, James has found. You don’t mind watching your boyfriend turn into a vampire, don’t mind letting him feed on you, don’t mind cleaning an animal’s blood off his chin at two in the morning. You’ve adjusted to James’ new lifestyle better than he has. He’s beginning to think there’s nothing about him you won’t accept. You’re a sweetheart to your core, your center soft and sticky sweet like a cinnamon roll’s. (James should know, he’d practically tasted it himself.)

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says. 

You wave a hand. “You didn’t. I was up, I just came when I heard the tap come on.” 

So you’d been waiting up for him. James’ heart at once warms with fondness and heavies with guilt. 

You give him a searching look. “Does it still make you feel sick, after?” 

“Yeah,” James admits. 

Your lips pull down. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it, lovely.” 

“Mm, try and stop me,” you counter teasingly. “Do you think you could handle a sprite?” 

James isn’t sure. Solid foods only ever make him sick, but drinks have been hit-or-miss. 

“I could try,” he says, mostly for you. 

“Only if you want to.” You set the cloth down on the edge of the sink, kissing him softly on the lips. James doesn’t know how you can do it. To open your mouth to one that’s just done something horrid, and to do it so simply. 

“I love you,” you murmur. 

James’ unbeating heart gives a powerful squeeze. “I love you, too.” 

You press a kiss just below his lips, and another to his chin. If you’re trying to prove a point, it’s working. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep if we go to bed?” you ask softly. 

“Mm, definitely. Like the dead.” 

A startled giggle spurts out of you. You smile up at him, your eyes sparkling in the dark. James thinks that maybe he could get used to the whole vampire thing, so long as he can keep you looking at him like this.

[megthemewlingquim]

love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. “Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

[g4rvez-r3id]

A Chat About Books

S5! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer catches you reading a rather disturbing book on the jet and a discussion about books and reading ensues.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of a case, discussions about a disturbing book called ‘Playground’, talks about gore (not explicit, just mentions of it in the book), mentions of murder & children dying, mentions of the Foyet arc and 5x09 “100”, reader has a fear of flying, reader is lowkey embarrassed about what she’s reading? spencer is also *lowkey* a simp? reader loves reading (heh), reader & spencer have crushes on each other but the other doesn’t know (i think that’s it, but please let me know if there’s anything i’m missing 🙏)

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i’m in the middle of reading “Playground” by Aron Beauregard and oh my god???? 😧 anyways, i wanted to write a little blurb because i get embarrassed about the amount of books i buy and read and ik spencer would never judge 😌 i love ✨projecting ✨ but i’m thinking of writing a part two with smut🤭 let me know hehehe

The case was a quick one. Sometimes, they usually weren’t and the team would probably be holed up in some random state for about a week. The longest you stayed was two.

You’d been on the team for a couple of years now and still, sometimes you never got used to flying high up in the air. You were usually terrified to fly, but over the course of you being on the team, you eventually got used to it.

And then you remembered the one thing your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, always suggested. Reading while flying. And it actually helped for flying on the way home. Usually flying to the case often consisted of debriefing and going over the M.O. and victimology. Flying home was always the better opportunity to get to reading your novels.

And you loved reading, so it gave you more of a reason to catch up on it. You often stuck to romance, but occasionally drifted into the horror genre, like you were now.

After the case in Minnesota — regarding your unsub killing prostitutes and then graduating to lower risk victims that reminded him of his wife who left him for his best friend — you were curled up in your seat on the jet, it’d been a while since you indulged in your reading without having your head full of thoughts. Since what happened with George Foyet taunting Hotch and his ex-wife and child going into witness protection and it ending with Haley being killed in the process, your head had been filled with so many thoughts and worries and stress for Hotch and his family that you could’ve even bury your face in a book until everything calmed down.

Spencer had noticed that you’d started reading again as he passed through the aisle on his cane and seated himself right next to you. He didn’t know what book you were reading but you’d been so focused on it, you didn’t even see that Morgan tripped over nothing in the aisle and tried to play it off like he didn’t. Usually, you’d laugh and tease Morgan like a brother since that’d always been your friendship with him but you didn’t even remove your focus from the book. Spencer thought it must’ve been that good of a book that you didn’t draw your attention to anything else.

He leaned over, trying to get a look at what you were reading but the book was nestled in your lap. “Whatcha reading?” Spencer finally asked and suddenly, your attention was finally drawn from the book. You almost flinched because you didn’t realize he was sitting next to you.

You quickly try and hide the cover since it’s a pretty gruesome sight so you turn it towards you in your lap. “Oh, it’s a— it’s a horror novel.” You tell. “You, uh, you wouldn’t like it.” You quickly add before he can ask what it was about.

“Why do you think so?” Spencer asks as he leans his cane over in the aisle.

You knew Spencer wasn’t one to judge, it’s what made liking him so easy. And yes, you’d admit it, you harbored a crush on the genius. And honestly, why wouldn’t you? He was amazing, sweet and insanely hot. He was everything you wanted in a man. You knew he probably didn’t feel the same way and that was okay. But finding out what type of horror novels you were into was probably a dealbreaker. Not just in a hypothetical relationship but in a friendship.

You see, the book you were reading was called Playground by Aron Beauregard. It was about an old woman who lured three families for their children to try out a playground structure for money. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the playground structure is basically a death trap for the children and their parents are forced to watch as their children try and survive the playground structure of death. It was your first time reading it and well, one time was definitely going to be enough.

And part of you worried about telling Spencer the exact kind of book you were reading and you worried that maybe he’d think you were some type of monster for reading a book such as the one you were holding now.

“It’s—It’s pretty gruesome.” You said and pretty gruesome was putting it lightly.

“So is what we see on a daily basis.” Spencer retorts and you nod with a small shrug, “Fair point.” You sit to face him and you begin to explain the book to him.

“It’s a different type of horror. Splatterpunk, if you will. Do you know what that is?” You ask and he nods, “A, uh, literary genre characterized by graphically described scenes of gory nature. In most cases, the gore described is extreme.” Spencer explains, literally giving you the definition he’d most likely read on paper on in a dictionary.

“Right,” You nod. “Well, the plot follows a woman by the name of Geraldine Borden. She was working on building revolutionary playground equipment for years. And she decides to invite three low-income families to the estate. All the parents have to do is have their children test out the playground equipment but — there’s a twist. The playground structure is actually full of death traps and the children are pretty much in danger the entire book and unfortunately, the parents are forced to watch as the children try to escape. Spoiler alert: I’m pretty sure none of them make it.” That was just a guess, it was your first time reading it after all.

“I thought you only read romance books.” Spencer stated and you shrugged, “I change it up a bit once in a while. I found this book online on some blog. A lot of people were talking about specific pages and parts in the book and well, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Why do you read splatterpunk?” Spencer decides to ask you and you look down at the book and then back at him as you admit — “Is it bad if I say it helps with my profiling?” Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at you curiously — “Really?”

“Yeah, in some of the books I read in this genre, the main character is usually a serial killer. Or killing is involved in the most extreme of ways. It helps you really get into the mind of a killer and see why they do what they do. If it makes sense without sounding totally crazy.” You explain, hoping to God that you don’t sound insane for using extreme books such as the one you’re reading now to get a deeper understanding about your job.

“I don’t think it sounds crazy,” Spencer interjected with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s just a different perspective on things.” You stare into his eyes with a smile and surely enough, you can just get lose into those hazel pupils of his. How a man can be as beautiful as him should be a damn crime.

You turn back to the cover of your book and set it down, the cover facing upwards and seemingly feeling a little secure in what you’re reading without feeling embarrassed. “Yeah, well, this is my first time reading this book and well, probably will be my only time.”

“I’m assuming that the next time we’re in this position, you’ll be reading romance.” Spencer tells, considering that every time you’re on the jet, you’re reading a new romance book. The last time you were on the jet, you were reading a book called Praise and the author was Sara Cate. Spencer had gathered it was an erotic book, solely based on the fact that your face had flushed a couple of times while reading it and commenting that you needed to put a pause on reading until you got back home. He’d wished to know what exactly you were going to do once you got home that night.

“Oh, for sure. Those usually cheer me up from stuff like this.” You gesture to the book in front of you. “I’ve got to stop buying books, though.” You sigh sadly.

“When I was younger, my mother had always commented that I bought too many books. Said I should use the money for something a tad more useful. I can’t tell you how many Stephen King books I bought when I finally got a job. Every paycheck, it was a new book. I guess I need to outgrow the habit, sometime.” You look down, growing embarrassed again that you just spewed all of that to Spencer.

“I don’t think you can never have enough books,” Spencer tells. “No matter if it’s silly little romance books or anything of the horror genre, reading is a part of life. We shouldn’t shame other people for what we like.” He explains and you find yourself smiling again at him. “You’re right.”

Before you can go back to reading your book, you yawn behind your hand and Spencer leans over, “You should get some rest before we land.” He suggests, considering the fact that the entire time you were both in Minnesota, you barely slept. You drank coffee the entire time you were there, not wanting to bat an eye and have the unsub strike again. The most you slept was two to three hours at most. Both of your young minds working together would be the death of you one day.

You shake your head, “Oh, no. I’ll be fine.” Spencer looks at you carefully, “I know you’ll be fine, but you should get some rest. A short nap can often improve memory, improve job performance, lift your mood, make you more alert, and ease stress. They can also be good for your heart, too.”

You nod, your eyelids seemingly growing heavy after Spencer had talked to you about naps. “If you insist, pretty boy.” Stubborn as you were, the only person that could get you break was Spencer. He knew you were independent and always assured everyone you were fine. But Spencer always saw through it. You weren’t sure how he did, but he did, every single time.

So, you put your book down on the table and curled up in your seat as your head fell towards the armrest. Spencer had been in arm’s reach of the couch and grabbed the throw blanket that was perched there and quickly tossed it over your body. You looked down at you with a small smile on his face.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he always liked you. Like liked you more than a colleague. He liked you-liked you. There was something about you that lit up a room, something that he often noticed. And the fact that you’d had so much knowledge of books and the way you seemed to enjoy explaining a plot to him reminded him of himself a lot. You were so passionate about reading and books and he loved that little fact about you. He loved you. He loved your smile, your personality, your body.

And he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell you that. And he hoped that maybe one day, he’d stop being a chicken for once and actually tell you how he feels about you.