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[zorchh]

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[politesociety01]

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[ipseitydelrey]

cherry ☆ s. reid

ship spencer reid x afab!reader

content smut, period sex (kinda?), eating out (f!receiving), while on your period, it’s not that gross i swear, he’s a munch ur honour 🙇

word count 1.7k

summary usually during your period, you get really hot and bothered for no particular reason other than hormones. spencer offers to help out with your problem.

a/n im posting this directly after seeing a show at the moulin rouge, it’s currently 2am; this was inspired by my experience at the eras tour in stockholm

Periods are hell for you. Not just because of the cramps, or the blood, but because you just get so horny.

Now, to others it’s completely normal to masturbate while their periods are happening, either with a fingers or with a toy. Period sex is also a thing you’ve heard of, even from your friends who have often recommended the activity.

But to you, doing anything remotely like that, either by yourself or with anyone else, is a no. Mostly because of the messiness and how troublesome it would be to clean it up. So instead of getting relief by just touching youself, you always decide to wait until your period is finished to start doing sexual activities again. Besides, you only just have to go a few days without stimulation.

But this week is hard. You have the urge to just rip your underwear off and play with your clit until your wrist starts to ache all the time. It’s pure agony for you, and sometimes you find youself clenching your thighs together, or pushing your heel against your clothed pussy to get some sort of relief.

In the middle of your monthly period, one day is especially hard. You’re laying on the couch with a heating pad on your abdomen, your hair hidden in your drawstring hood, and your legs on your boyfriend Spencer’s thighs while he reads a book at 20,000 words per minute. He sometimes glances up at you from his novel whenever you squirm a bit, though you’re not sure if he thinks you’re just in pain from your cramps or if he’s able to read through you.

Besides, you know for a fact that your boyfriend won’t help you get off while you’re on your period. Spencer’s known to have a thing with germs, so there’s no way that he’ll touch your pussy, especially if it’s bleeding.

The next time you shift slightly and whine softly, Spencer closes his book and sets it down on the coffee table. “Are you okay, honey?”

“‘M okay,” you respond, your voice muffled by your pillow being cuddled in your arms. You unintentionally clench your thighs together at his caring voice which unfortunately, Spencer notices.

“You sure?” He gently massages your calf, which only adds fuel to the fire. You hate that he’s a profiler now. “Just cramps?”

“Mmph…” You nods your head a bit as you hide your face in the pillow, trying to hide your soft blush.

“Maybe you’re aroused?” He asks suddenly. One of his hands moves up your leg to squeeze your thigh. Profilers.

Again, you nod your head, defeated since he can so clearly see how horny you are. “Mm-hmm.”

“I see,” he mutters under his breath, but you can hear him. Disproving your previous judgements about him, he shifts his position so that he’s directly facing you, leaving one of your legs to hang off the couch and allowing him to be between your legs.

You pull the pillow down to your chest, wanting to see what he’s trying to achieve. “What’re you doing?” you ask, your eyebrow cocked.

“Can I help you?” Spencer suggests, his hands planted on your upper thighs, close to your core.

“With what?”

“You’re aroused,” he points out again. “And you’re in pain. Studies have shown that orgasms can help subside period cramps.”

Oh, that’s probably why your friends keep recommending period sex. But you feel too tired for full-on penetration right now. Yet again, he could maybe help you in another way. “Are you sure? It’s gonna be messy, and I know you don’t like germs, and I just feel gross.” You argue self-deprecatingly.

“Well I can put a towel down.” He gets up from his position between your legs and goes off to the bathroom. From the couch, you can hear him opening cupboards before he comes back with a black towel in hand. He continues with what he was saying. “And I want to help you. It’s not gross, it’s natural. I want to make you feel good. Here, lift up your hips.”

He puts a hand on your hip to guide you as you lift your bottom half up just enough for him to place a towel down and make sure it’s flat before he guides you back down. The towel is only just there if you say yes though, which he eagerly awaits before he does anything else to you.

You sigh, and figure that this might be worth a shot. You drop the pillow to the ground in front of the couch, quickly followed by the heating pad that was on your stomach. “Okay, fine,” you say as enthusiastically as you can which, with your cramps and your tiredness, isn’t really that enthusiastic.

Still, Spencer mouths a silent “thank you” before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants. You lift your hips up once more to make it easier when he tugs them down and off, leaving you in your underwear. Following the same pattern, he once again pulls your period panties off, and you let your hips settle onto the towel-covered couch.

His hands find their way between your thighs and he spreads them just enough for him to have access to your core, wet from your arousal and your blood. The five seconds he spends just staring at your vulnerable pussy, dripping blood onto the towel, are the most nerve-wracking five seconds of your life. You halfway convince yourself that he’s going to back out and leave you like this, horny and bloody with your pants off.

And yet, he buries his head between your legs and starts by gently kissing your heat, then licking a long stripe from the base of your slit all the way up to your sensitive clit, causing an equally long moan to erupt from the depths of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful, honey,” he says before he dives back in again, drawing circles around your bundle of nerves with his tongue before he traps it between his lips and suckles.

You kick your legs up a bit when he focuses on your clit, the stimulation to your sensitive bud ripping sudden moans from your lips. Your hands find their way to the top of his head and you grasp on to his hair tight.

He looks up at you through his lashes, still working his lips around your clit before he moves his tongue down to your slit, licking a bit before thrusting it into your wet cunt. His thumb replaces where his tongue was before, rubbing small tight circles around the bud.

You can’t believe how good he’s making you feel right now, and you can feel your pleasurable knot in your stomach tightening because of his undeserved-but-needed efforts. You don’t know if he’s doing this for you just to be helpful — considering his complicated personal relationship with germs and the like — or if he just really enjoys eating your pussy this much. With each second that passes by having Spencer lapping at your cunt like a man starved, you start to think that it’s the latter thought.

And he can tell you like it too, with the way you moan and arch your back and even when you start to grind your clit against your nose while his tongue is deep in your pussy. Even if you’re wearing a baggy hoodie and were wearing sweatpants, he still manages to make you feel incredibly sexy. Or “sexy” is maybe not the right word — loved; you feel loved in this moment.

He appears to feel the same as well, with the way he moans in content seeing you like this and feeling your fingers nestled in his hair and tugging lightly. With every small pull, a tiny sound emits from his throat and it feels oh so pleasurable on your pussy.

Sensing your impending orgasm, he takes his tongue, wet by your slick and blood, out of your weeping hole and quickly replaces the muscle with his index finger. He slowly pushes the digit in, feeling your walls pulsate around him as he pushes and pulls it in and out in a steady rhythm. A minute later, he adds a second and starts to curl his fingers against that gooey button inside your cunt once he’s knuckle-deep into your warmth.

It’s so much for you; almost too much. Your jaw hangs open in a silent moan and you almost can’t believe it when you start to grind your hips against his thrusting fingers, fucking yourself with his index and middle as it continuously and without fail hits the spongy button everytime.

Your orgasm hits you almost unexpectedly, a wave of pleasure overflows you as your eyes flutter shut and your back arches just a bit more. Your chest heaves while you gasp for air; this is just what you needed during your period. Seeing you’re damn near overwhelmed, Spencer works you through your orgasm, your arousal forming a creamy circle around his still-working fingers.

“There we go, that’s it, you’re doing so well” are among the small praises he breathes onto your pussy while you slowly but surely come down from the high. At the same speed, his fingers slow down until they become stationery, before he pulls them out with a wet squelch, causing you to whimper softly. When your eyes meet next, he can see how glossy your eyes are with satisfcation pulling at the corners of your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You half-lie with a small laugh trailing behind your words. Though to be fair, you definitely needed it.

He pulls himself up to be eye level with you while you’re still laying there on your back catching your breath. You can already see a mixture of your arousal and your blood dribbling down his chin, though he doesn’t seem to mind all that much. “No, but I wanted to.” He says with a dopey smile, still pussy drunk.

Though the lower half of his face is still covered by your juices, he tries to lean in and kiss you, only to be stopped by your hands on his shoulders and you turn your head to the side with an amused smile. “Ew! I don’t wanna taste my blood!”

Spencer scoffed playfully at your reaction. “I just ate you out and I don’t even get a kiss?”

The way he pleads just makes you melt a little and you decide to give in just a bit by gently kissing his cheek. You can feel his cheeks heat up against your lips. Despite his previous openness, he gets flustered and smiles sheepishly, sighing a little. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” you joke, your mouth still planted on his cheek.

i’ve been plane-hopping around europe for over a month so i haven’t had a lot of access to wifi + i nearly failed one of my courses bc my professor was horrible at giving feedback, hopefully this explains my absence and i hope u enjoyed this !! (i posted this in a flurry btw, lmk if there are any errors whatsoever 🫶)

taglist @queermaxwooo @theoraekenslover join the taglist!

[bellaxgiornata]

Under the Influence

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Drunken Confession

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, light humor, drunk Reader, pining

Summary: Drunk after a girl's night out, you accidentally slip up about your feelings for Matt.

a/n: This fic is literally months overdue, but it was written and I finally was able to edit it and share. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Stumbling into your apartment, you felt far less capable of walking in the heels you’d put on earlier than when you'd first slipped them on and left to grab drinks with your friends. But tonight's girl's night out with everyone had been long overdue with how constantly busy everyone had been, which meant you'd accidentally gone a little overboard with the drinks. In all honesty, you’d drank a bit more than you usually did whenever you went out with Foggy, Marci, Karen, and Matt to Josie’s on your usual Thursday night outs. So now, admittedly, you were a bit drunk.

Slipping out of your heels after you shut your apartment door, you balanced yourself with a hand against the wall. The room around you spun ever so slightly and you tried to blink away the sensation, focusing on removing the uncomfortable shoes from your aching feet one at a time. It had been so long that you’d forgotten just how painful it was to go out drinking and dancing in heels. Shoving your shoes to the side with a foot once they were off, you pushed yourself off of the wall and nearly tripped over your own feet in the process of turning around.

“Far, far too much alcohol,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Barefoot, you sluggishly padded your way over to the kitchen and stopped in front of your fridge, pulling the door open to retrieve a bottle of water from the side door. You twisted off the cap, letting the fridge door fall softly shut as you drew the bottle up to your lips. Beginning to chug the cold liquid down in the hopes that it would help to ease your growing headache, you closed your eyes and internally begged the room to spin less–or at least slower. 

Lowering the bottle from your lips, you wiped the back of your other hand across your damp mouth, feeling your exhaustion from the evening beginning to finally settle into you. But just as your body had begun to relax, a sound from outside your living room window quickly caught your attention and caused your eyes to snap back open. Growing alert, your head darted over your shoulder in a delayed response, the room once more spinning in your vision as you squinted at where you thought you’d heard the noise. Another metal groan from your fire escape met your ears and a brief surge of fear rushed through you. 

“No need to panic,” Matt's familiar and somewhat muffled voice called out from behind the glass. “It’s just me.”

You almost immediately relaxed at the sight of him rising to his full height on the dark fire escape. Expelling a soft sigh of relief, a little smile slipped its way onto your lips next, thrilled that he was here even if you hadn’t been expecting a visit from your masked best friend this evening. 

“Why’re you out there?” you called back. 

“Because I'm…on patrol?” he answered through the glass. 

Your grin grew wider as you turned more fully towards the window in your living room, the red form of him more noticeable with how he was standing on your fire escape just beside your window, the faint light from inside your apartment washing over him. Or rather washing over the two red forms of him, but you assumed the second was due to the alcohol in your system and not the sudden existence of a second Daredevil. 

“You can come in,” you called out again, taking a few unsteady steps towards the window before immediately halting and grabbing onto your kitchen counter to steady yourself. “‘S’always unlocked for you,” you slurred out. “Unless you're–you're waiting for me to play you a theme song to enter to.”

“Theme song?” Matt’s confused voice called back.

“Y’know,” you continued, an amused grin pulling at your lips, “like if–if superheroes had a theme song or…something.”

You caught the sound of his laughter from out on your fire escape, the noise drawing forth a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest. You loved making him laugh. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you’d suggest that would be right now,” he called back.

Teetering unsteadily on your feet, one hand still clutching the kitchen counter to keep yourself upright as your other hand still held onto the cold bottle of water, you giggled at the idea as he raised your window wide enough to climb through. The first song that came to mind was “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna, most likely due to it having been one of the last songs playing before you left the bar tonight, but also because you’d noticed how nice of an ass Matt had from the moment you met him–even if that was not what the song was about. Though the idea of him easily slipping through your window right now as that song played had you biting your bottom lip and fighting down a laugh. But of course Matt's sensitive ears still caught the sound, his head darting up before he smiled in your direction. A pang of sadness punched you in the gut at the sight of his charming smile beneath his cowl.

Why was he only your friend?

“Keeping this unlocked just for me?” he asked, righting himself in your living room before turning and closing the window after himself, shutting the sounds of the city back out of your apartment. “I'm touched but also now greatly concerned about your safety,” he teased as he focused back on you. “You're just on the third floor, don't assume I'm the only one willing to risk climbing up that.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his gloved hand, watching as he gestured at the fire escape behind himself. Before you had a chance to respond, the sound of his voice drew your vision back to the red lenses of his cowl, your hand gripping the counter even tighter in your grasp.

“But a theme song?” he asked in amusement. “Really? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You laughed lightly, the thought of that particular song being the theme song for Matt's alter ego becoming more entertaining by the second. 

“You're so dramatic,” you teased back, your words slurring together a bit as you ignored that little ache in your chest at the continued sight of his handsome smile. “You'd definitely have a theme song playing as you enter places.”

His head cocked curiously to the side at your comment and you couldn’t resist the grin at the sight. You always thought his head tilts were adorable; the way he listened closer to what you were saying often reminded you of a dog. The image of him on all fours hovering over you in bed briefly surfaced in your mind at the thought and you felt your pulse accelerate. Faintly through the haze of alcohol you caught the briefest twitch of his lips before he was speaking again.

“Excuse me, but, dramatic?” he shot back.

His voice quickly pulled you back from the mental image in your mind and you felt your face growing flushed. You hoped he’d blame the alcohol for the shift in your body as you nodded, the movement causing Matt to once more double in your vision. 

“Yeah, I mean you–you're wearing a costume, Matt,” you said as you gestured at him. “That's pretty dramatic.” 

He placed a hand against his chest, your eyes following the movement. You knew how strong and solid that chest was from the few times you'd had an excuse to hug him, but now you were itching to place your hand against it, too. Or to run your hand along the mysterious material of his tight-fitting suit in general.

“This is armor,” he pointed out simply. “It's not a costume.”

His voice once more drew you out of your thoughts, your attention returning to his mouth. The earnestness in his words had you biting your lip and fighting back another giggle. You noticed his smile had grown at the sound, his ears having still caught the noise.

“Matt, it–it has horns,” you countered, biting back a smile.

The corner of his lip twitched at your comment. “Fair point,” he agreed. “But you are drunk.”

“And that–” you said, swinging a finger towards his chest, “–is a poor change of topic.”

His head further canted to the side, his lips straightening along his face. “From the ever so important costume discussion?” he asked.

“No,” you said, setting your half-empty water bottle down and taking a step towards him. You stumbled and threw a hand out, catching yourself on the counter beside yourself with it again. “From why you're here.”

An amused chuckle rumbled out of him and you swore the sound itself vibrated through your entire body. Dammit, you would never cease loving being the cause of his laughter, even if somewhere in your mind you were aware he was laughing at you a little right now.

“Sweetheart,” he began, “we weren't discussing that even remotely. I can’t change the subject from a subject we weren't even on in the first place. I mean I know I smelt the alcohol on you from the sidewalk but…you’re far drunker than I anticipated.”

A heat ignited in your stomach at the term of endearment Matt occasionally threw out at you, your ears hardly hearing much else he’d said. Matt and you had only ever been friends, and in the years you'd known him he'd never called anyone else ‘sweetheart’ before–at least, not from what you'd ever heard. It both confused and excited you every time he called you that, the term slipping out of his mouth almost as if by accident each time.

“I uhm,” you began, pausing as your inebriated brain tried to catch up. “I may have…drank quite a bit tonight.”

Matt expelled a breathy laugh, one hand finally reaching up to remove the cowl from his head. You watched with bated breath as his handsome face revealed itself to you in the dim light of your living room. His other gloved hand reached up, combing through his dark strands of hair. Your heart clenched at the sight of how beautiful he was–as if you needed the reminder right now when you were about to go to sleep alone and drunk.

“I know,” Matt told you.

He took a step towards your coffee table and placed the cowl down on it, the gesture so casual that you wished it happened more often. Licking your lips nervously, you forced your gaze to return to Matt’s face once he began speaking again.

“You mentioned going out tonight, so I figured I’d make sure you got home safe,” he told you. “It wasn’t a busy night so I came up to check on you once I noticed just how much you smelled like alcohol. Wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, surprised at his concern. “You–you didn’t have to…”

He grinned back, shrugging a shoulder. “I know,” he agreed. “I wanted to.” His expression shifted to something softer, his eyes focusing down on your body. “You sound very tired though. Maybe you should get to bed?”

Nodding your head, the room once more spun around you as you tried to push away that part of your brain which was still stuck on the way he’d called you ‘sweetheart.’ There was a nagging thought somewhere in your brain telling you that him showing up like this was something he never did for your other friends. Instead of focusing on that, you took a few steps towards your living room in an attempt to make it to your bedroom, but you swayed so much that your foot caught along a floorboard and began your inevitable drunk descent to the floor. 

Matt immediately darted forward as you'd begun to fall, his gloved hands catching you by the shoulders in a tight grip before you'd gotten too far. Your hands instinctively flew up in response, grabbing onto Matt’s biceps to further steady yourself as your eyes snapped shut, a wave of dizziness rolling through you. Somewhere in your mind, though, you still noted how firm his muscles were beneath your death grip.

“Okay, you’re incredibly drunk, sweetheart,” Matt teased, your ears catching the affection in his voice and the term of endearment again. “Maybe I should help you.”

Swallowing hard, you slowly opened your eyes. His face was right before yours, the concern written on his expression was plain as day even with the hint of amusement. For a moment you lost yourself staring at him though, almost as if you were in a trance examining the laugh lines beside his eyes and the flecks of color inside of them as they focused on your chin. He had the prettiest eyes.

“You alright?” he asked.

Blinking rapidly, you realize you’d just been openly gawking at him. Flushing, you nodded and tried to right yourself, your hands releasing his biceps. “Yeah, sorry,” you muttered.

Matt didn’t completely release his hold on you, though he did instead wrap one of his arms around your shoulders as he began to help guide you through your living room and over towards your bedroom. The walk felt like it was longer than it really was with your mind hyper-focused on the weight of his arm around you, gently leading you across your apartment and into your bedroom. 

When you reached your bed, Matt’s gloved hand darted out and pulled back the bed sheets before you had a chance. Not feeling as if you could easily slip out of the dress you’d worn tonight, and far too shy to ask Matt for help with something like that, you carefully climbed up into your bed still dressed in it. Sliding your legs beneath the sheets, your earlier exhaustion once more washed over you, your eyelids growing heavy as you began to lower your head down to the pillow. Beside the bed, Matt gently tugged the blankets up and over you, a hard to read expression on his face that was a vast difference to the amused one he’d had when he first showed up. Briefly you wondered what was on his mind before the thought vanished.

“You should get some rest,” Matt said softly, tucking you in. “You’re going to be feeling that in the morning, I can promise you that.”

Groaning at the truth in his statement, you rolled onto your side towards him. “I hate that you’re right,” you grumbled.

He chuckled lightly, the sound drawing a faint smile to your lips as you continued to stare up at him. The urge to reach out and touch him grew so strong that you had to force your hand to hold onto the sheets of your bed, fisting the material in your fingers. What you wouldn't give to trace the line of that jaw, to feel the scratch of his stubble along your fingertips.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Get some sleep.”

Eyes growing half-lidded, you emitted a discontented groan at his words. You much preferred the idea of staring at his handsome face with that confusing expression on it instead. Matt’s amused chuckle met your ears in response.

“You’re clearly exhausted, are you really going to fight me on going to sleep?” he asked.

The words tumbled out of your mouth in a tired jumble, your brain too exhausted and inebriated to know what you’d even said even after you’d said it.

“I’d rather look at you.”

Somewhere in your mind, you registered that Matt had stiffened beside your bed. A soft, warm look grew in his eyes as he gazed down at you lying there, but you weren’t fully aware of everything coming out of your mouth at this point, so the words only continued to spill out.

“‘Cause you’re so beautiful,” you continued. “And I like looking at you. I could stare at you all night, really.”

Matt paused for a moment, a crease forming between his brows. Silence momentarily fell over the bedroom as the exhaustion continued to drag you under.

“You…like looking at me?” he hesitantly asked.

Eyelids lowering against your will, you faintly nodded against the pillow. “Mhmm,” you hummed out, sleep gradually beginning to take you. “Always…liked you.”

“You–you have?” Matt questioned in surprise.

Barely awake, you hummed out an affirmative. “Shame we’re just…friends,” you murmured.

You swore you felt something rough brush gently along the side of your cheek, but with your eyes closed you couldn’t tell if you’d imagined it or not. And then just as quickly afterwards, you’d fallen asleep.

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler

[woso-story]

Comfort Person

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The first twinge of pain was manageable—a dull ache that curled low in your abdomen. You turned over in bed, hoping the warmth of the blankets and Alexia’s steady breathing beside you would lull you back to sleep. But the dull ache turned into sharp cramps that made you gasp softly, clutching your stomach as the pain spread.

Alexia shifted beside you but didn’t wake, her features soft and peaceful in the dim light. You hated the thought of waking her, especially when she had a busy schedule, so you bit back a whimper and carefully slipped out of bed.

The hardwood floor was cool against your bare feet as you tiptoed to the bathroom. Once inside, you turned on the light, squinting as the brightness stung your eyes. You splashed some cold water on your face and gripped the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

“This will pass,” you whispered to yourself.

After a few minutes, you switched off the light and made your way to the living room. Your initial plan had been simple: grab some painkillers, heat up the heating pad, and try to get some relief. But the pain worsened so quickly that you barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, curling into yourself in a vain attempt to ease the ache.

Your stomach twisted with sharp, relentless pain, and tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. The cramps were so intense that even the thought of standing up to get the medicine felt impossible.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The house was silent except for the occasional creak of the building settling. You pressed your hand to your stomach and tried to focus on breathing through the pain.

Somewhere in the haze of discomfort, you heard the faint rustle of blankets, followed by soft footsteps. You barely registered it until you saw Alexia standing in the doorway, her face etched with concern.

“Mi amor?” Her voice was low and thick with sleep, but her eyes were sharp, scanning you for signs of injury. “What are you doing out here?”

You turned your face away, embarrassed by the tears streaking your cheeks. “It’s nothing. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Alexia didn’t buy it. She crossed the room in a few quick strides and crouched beside the couch, her hands brushing over your face, your arms, your stomach, as if checking for injuries.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, her tone more insistent.

“Just cramps,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Really bad ones. But I’m fine, Lex. You should go back to bed.”

Her brow furrowed as she sat back on her heels, her gaze softening but losing none of its determination. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

Before you could protest, she was already on her feet and heading to the kitchen. You heard the sound of cabinets opening and closing, followed by the hum of the microwave. A few minutes later, she returned with a glass of water, a packet of painkillers, and the heating pad, now warm and ready.

Alexia knelt beside you again, holding out the water and pills. “Here, take these.”

You hesitated, feeling guilty for disrupting her sleep, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. You took the medicine, swallowing it with a few sips of water, and let her adjust the heating pad against your stomach.

Once you were settled, Alexia climbed onto the couch beside you, pulling you into her arms with practiced ease. She pressed a kiss to your temple, her hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back.

“Better?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

The heat and the medicine were beginning to dull the edge of the pain, but it was her presence—steady, warm, and unwavering—that brought you the most comfort. You nodded against her chest.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shirt.

Alexia tightened her hold on you. “Siempre, mi amor.”

She stayed with you like that, her fingers threading through your hair as she hummed softly under her breath. Slowly, the pain began to fade, replaced by a warm, comforting haze. You drifted off in her arms, her steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

---

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft whispers and the smell of coffee wafting through the air. You opened your eyes to find Alexia perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through her phone while a steaming mug rested on the table beside her.

“Morning,” she said, smiling when she noticed you stirring. “How are you feeling?”

You stretched gingerly, testing your body for lingering cramps. “Better, I think.”

Alexia nodded, her smile widening. “Good. Stay here. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Before you could protest, she was already in the kitchen, moving with practiced efficiency. She returned minutes later with a tray holding toast, fruit, and a fresh mug of tea.

“Breakfast in bed,” she announced, though she grinned as you gestured to the couch. “Well, breakfast on the couch.”

You chuckled softly, touched by her thoughtfulness. She sat beside you as you ate, her hand never straying far from yours.

Later, when you found out she had canceled her plans with her sister, you frowned. “Lex, you didn’t need to do that. I’m fine now.”

“You weren’t fine last night,” she countered gently. “I want to be here for you.”

“Alba’s going to think I’m keeping you hostage,” you joked, though a part of you still felt guilty.

Alexia shook her head, her expression soft but firm. “She understands. You’re more important.”

The rest of the day was a masterclass in Alexia’s care. She made sure you stayed hydrated, brought you a cozy blanket when you got cold, and even ran a warm bath for you when the cramps threatened to return. Whenever you tried to do something for yourself, she intercepted with a playful glare and a teasing, “No, mi amor. Today, you rest.”

By evening, the guilt you’d felt earlier had melted away, replaced by a deep sense of gratitude. Alexia’s unwavering attention made you feel cherished in a way that left you smiling despite the discomfort.

As the sun set, she joined you on the couch, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her lap once more. “Movie night?” she suggested, holding up the remote.

You nodded, settling against her as the opening credits began to roll. Her fingers played with your hair, her other hand resting protectively on your stomach, as if willing the pain to stay away.

“Thank you,” you murmured after a while, tilting your head to look up at her.

“For what?” she asked, her tone light but her gaze serious.

“For being here. For taking care of me. For everything.”

Alexia’s smile was small but warm, her eyes shining with affection. “Of course, mi amor.”

As the night wore on, the two of you drifted into an easy, comfortable silence. You fell asleep in her arms again, your body finally at peace and your heart full of love.

[elizaleclerc]

two hearts, one home ☁️

charles leclerc x reader

summary: charles comfort after fem mc comes home from work with a migraine <\3

author's note: first post ever lol hope u like :,) also taking requests for more little blurbs! just message me

song: sweet creature by harry styles

word count: 1k

As you trudged through the threshold of your apartment, every step felt like a heavy burden on your tired feet. The long day at work had left your body drained and weary. On top of that, a sharp migraine had taken root in your head, making the second half of the day a struggle to get through. You could feel the tension radiating from your temples, as if tiny hammers were pounding away at your skull. Each breath was a chore, and you longed for the comfort of your bed, hoping it would alleviate some of the pain and exhaustion that consumed you.

Migraines were a familiar foe, often forcing you to retreat into the safe cocoon of your bed, shutting out the world and all its distractions. But today was different; there was no luxury of seclusion or quiet solitude. A crucial deadline loomed over your head at work, leaving no room for rest or respite. The persistent tapping of keyboards and boisterous conversations bombarded your senses, threatening to tip you over the edge with every passing second. Each sound felt like a sharp jolt to your throbbing head, aching with intensity. Tension coiled tightly in your mind, ready to snap at any moment.

With each step, the sharp click of your heels reverberates through the empty apartment, the sound echoing off the stark white walls. Yet even this noise is quickly engulfed by the incessant pounding in your head, a steady thump that feels like a constant reminder of your stress and anxiety. Your throat is dry and scratchy, evidence of a day filled with tension and worry. The faint taste of coffee still lingers on your tongue from a rushed morning, adding to the overwhelming sensory overload.

You languidly laid your purse on the counter and flicked your heels off your worn feet. It was a sluggish and melodious movement, as if your body was being pulled along by a slow-moving river and your actions carried the weight of the world.

Charles, clad in comfortable sweats, practically flew towards you with open arms. His embrace was warm and enveloping, his vanilla-scented skin bringing back memories of lazy Sundays spent in bed together. But today, that scent sent a sharp pain shooting behind your eyes. You mustered up all your energy to hug him back, but he immediately noticed something was off. He pulled back, his emerald eyes searching your face for answers.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, like a soothing balm, caressed your ears with its gentle murmur. It was as if he could sense the fragility of your body and mind in that moment, his tone soft and compassionate. His words were like a warm embrace, enveloping you in comfort and understanding.

Your eyes fluttered tiredly, “Migraine.” It was all you could manage to say, each word feeling like a heavy weight on your exhausted shoulders. Every uttered syllable and slight movement caused your already weak body to grow weaker.

Charles’s entire demeanor shifted as he tenderly placed his hands on either side of your face, his touch as gentle as a feather. “Oh mon chéri, I’m so sorry.” You managed a small smile for him before he took your hand and led you to the bathroom. “Let’s get you feeling better,” he said softly, his concern evident in every word and action.

As his fingers delicately traced the lines of your face, Charles used a soft cotton pad to remove each layer of makeup with gentle and precise movements. In between, he would pause to press light kisses against your lips, as if trying to revive you from a deep slumber. The pain in your head remained, but his tender affection brought some relief. Once finished, he slowly ran a brush through your tangled locks, his eyes focused on every move to ensure your comfort. You watched him through the mirror, admiring the love and care he showed towards you in such simple actions.

Each delicate touch was like a precious gift, cherished and savored amidst the throbbing pain in your head. With Charles by your side, it seemed as though all pain in the world faded away. His love was like a fragile, golden thread weaving its way through every moment spent together. As you sat there, exhausted from work and burdened by headaches, he presented you with your favorite silk pajama set and helped you change out of your stiff clothes. His skilled hands moved up to your shoulders, kneading away the tension as you closed your eyes in relief. Soft kisses trailed along your neck as he continued the massage, his warmth and presence alone enough to soothe your entire being. As the minutes passed, you couldn't help but feel better under his loving care and attention.

Your final destination, a luxurious white comforter and perfectly plush memory foam pillows beckoning you. As you settled into the soft embrace of Charles's arm, your mind finally began to let go of all its worries. Lying in bed, with your head still nestled against his chest, you couldn't help but marvel at the peacefulness that had come to you. Charles's heart beat steadily like a metronome, guiding you into a deep state of relaxation. With each rise and fall of his chest, you felt yourself sinking deeper into tranquility. In this moment, wrapped in his warm and protective embrace, the chaos of the world slipped away and all that existed was this safe haven of peace and love.

Your ultimate goal was not to drift off into sleep, but rather to simply ease the strain on your overworked mind by resting your heavy eyelids. Migraines often robbed you of the ability to sleep, making relief seem like a distant dream. Charles grabbed a book from his nightstand, propping it up to read on his lap. As he silently lost himself in the pages, the predictable sound of flipping paper lulled you into a peaceful daze. He would pause to place tender kisses on your temples, while his other hand held you protectively at the waist. Despite the struggles and hardships of migraines, you were grateful for moments like these when Charles's love enveloped you like a warm blanket, soothing both body and mind.

[shadowdaddies]

I am a sucker for angst so can I please request a Ruhn danaan x reader. Where she and ruhn have been together for a while, and she overhears ruhn saying something about her being a bet or a dare. A lot of angst and maybe some fluffy ending

thanks for the request, love💜

Just a Bet

Ruhn x Reader angst to fluff

Smoothing your hair, you stepped out of your car in the driveway as you strode towards Ruhn’s house. You were already regretting the heels you’d donned for your anniversary, feet aching in opposition to the excitement you felt to celebrate one year since Ruhn had asked you out.

Cheeks burning from smiling so hard, you turned the door handle and entered the busy frat house. It wasn’t unusual for many guests to be over, so you paid them no mind as you shouldered your way through the crowd toward the game room where Ruhn usually spent evenings like this.

Juniper caught your eye from across the room, and you waved to her and Fury as you approached the doorway where Ruhn’s voice echoed in a comforting rumble - until you heard Flynn’s voice.

“One year ago, I bet you that you wouldn’t ask her out,” he laughed, the sound of clinking beer bottles and jeers following.

Your heart leapt in your throat when you heard Ruhn’s voice, time standing still as you awaited his response. Your boyfriend scoffed, “I didn’t think I could either.”

Dec chimed in at that point - your kindest friend in the group - his tone teasing as he drawled, “I still can’t believe she took you seriously.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, eyes pricking with tears as the conversation came together in your head. You were nothing more than a bet to Flynn, a joke that Declan couldn’t take serious, and apparently Ruhn felt the same.

Ripping the painful heels off your feet, you sprinted down the stairs and out of the house. Tossing the shoes in your passenger seat, you wiped the tears from your eyes and started the engine before heading back to your apartment.

The dress felt ridiculous, hair a mess and makeup ruined from crying as you stumbled into your home. Why would Ruhn have stayed with you for this long from a stupid bet? Were you nothing more than a joke, for him and his friends’ amusement?

The thought made tears well up once more, this time pouring over your cheeks as you sobbed. Practically ripping the dress from your body, you ignored the buzzing of your phone in favor of your welcoming shower.

Stepping under the steaming hot water, you scrubbed the memory of tonight as best you could from your skin before stepping out. Wrapping a fluffy towel around your body, you sighed with a hint of relief. 

Realizing how dried out you were from your tears, you padded towards the kitchen for some water when you were stopped in your tracks. Bryce lay on your couch, lazily flipping through the tv channels as amber eyes flicked to yours. 

With a dramatic sigh, she set down the remote, turning fully to face you. She took in your disheveled state, expression softening at the redness in your eyes, your puffy cheeks.

Shutting off the TV, Bryce sat up and patted the open space on the sofa next to her.

“I need water,” you whispered through a sniffle, voice raspy from dehydration. 

“I’ll get it for you. Sit,” Bryce directed, her voice gentle as she sprung gracefully from the couch and headed toward the kitchen.

You settled into the cushions, picking a pillow from behind you to hold against your chest. Nodding a silent thanks, you took the water from Bryce and drank it down, the cold liquid cooling your heated cheeks.

“Fury texted me. She and Juniper saw you running out of Ruhn’s house before he came downstairs asking if they’d seen you. He’s been blowing up everyone’s phones, worried about you.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, but you found yourself unable to make eye contact with your friend as you muttered, “Yeah, I’m sure he’s heartbroken.”

Before you could react, the pillow was ripped from your arms, Bryce’s manicured nails practically digging holes into its fabric as her eyes simmered with barely contained rage.

“You may be my friend, but Ruhn is my brother. Explain to me why you think his heartbreak is amusing to you.” Your lower lip wobbled at her harsh words, the dam of your emotions about to break again.

Bryce loosed a breath, gently setting the pillow between you on the sofa as she spoke again, her voice softer this time. ���I don’t know what happened, but he’s hurting too. Talk to me.”

The patterns on the pillow suddenly became much more interesting, your fingers tracing the stitching in the fabric while you found the courage to voice what you had heard at the house. “I was going to meet Ruhn for our anniversary dinner... but I heard them talking. I heard Flynn say that I was a bet. Even Dec-“

Shifting to rest on your elbows, you hid your face in your hands as the memory flashed too vividly through your mind. “Dec said he couldn’t believe I thought Ruhn was serious when he asked me out.”

You looked up to see Bryce’s own eyes lined with tears, her jaw set in anger as she processed everything you said.

“I’m a joke to them, Bryce. I was just a bet that he’s decided to string along for whatever reason. Maybe he does like me now, but...”

You couldn’t find the words, tongue twisted in knots like your stomach as thoughts eddied deeper and darker as you reflected on the past year of your life. 

Bryce’s hand gently reached for your own, holding them softly as she spoke. “I am going to speak with Ruhn and figure out what is going on. If he was such a dumbass to do something like that to you, I’ll kick his ass. But I feel like there has to be something more to it. They’re good males - stupid alphaholes - but they’re good males.”

You nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest at the thought. They had always been kind to you... Surely that couldn’t all be fake?

“Why don’t you get dressed? I’m going to see Ruhn and I’ll pick you up some food,” Bryce promised, pulling you in for a warm hug before turning and heading out the door, phone already in hand as she fired off messages.

You returned to your room, feeling numb from the pendulum of emotions you’d swung on all evening. You vaguely remembered slipping on a t shirt and shorts, returning to the couch to find the channel on Fangs and Bangs before you fell asleep.

You bolted upright at the sound of a soft knock at your door, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes to look at your phone. Not much time had passed, but the bombardment of earlier messages from Ruhn and your friends filled the screen. 

“Are you there? Bryce told me what happened, and it’s not what you think.” A tense beat of silence passed between you. “Please just hear me out. If you’d rather talk to Bryce, she’s downstairs... But I brought food.”

As if on cue, your stomach growled, drawing attention to the hunger gnawing in your gut. Stomping towards the door, you flung it open to grab the food from Ruhn’s hands when his appearance shocked you still.

His violet eyes were rimmed red and swollen like yours, his hair a mess. He was dressed in an all-black suit, the shirt unbuttoned and tie loose. You hated how it tugged on your heartstrings to see him this way, how there was a part of you that could never hate him, even if what Flynn had said was true.

“Fine,” you snapped, snatching the bag of food before returning to the couch without a second glance. “You have one shot to explain.”

Ruhn sighed, the sound slightly drowned out by the soft click of the door closing behind him. You spared him a glance as he took a seat on the couch, careful to keep his distance.

The chipped black paint of his nails blended into his onyx hair as he ran a hand through it, his muscular leg shaking anxiously before he turned to you. Wholly still, Ruhn’s voice emanated with earnest when he finally spoke.

“Bryce told me what you heard, back at my house. I understand how it would sound, but that’s not at all what happened, and I first and foremost need you to know that you are not a joke. You have never been a joke - to Flynn, to Dec, and especially not to me. I was the joke in that room. They were teasing me, because, yes, asking you out was a dare of sorts.”

You felt the rage build in your chest at that, setting down your food on the table as you prepared for what he would say next - or so you thought you were prepared. 

“I remember the first time I saw you, when you came into the White Raven with Bryce. It felt like my world tilted on its axis,” he paused, shaky breath leaving his lips as his eyes went hazy, lost in the memory. 

“You were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, and when you smiled at me I forgot how to breathe. The entire room was staring at you, and you somehow didn’t notice.”

He loosed a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he fought back a smile. “Dec and Marc were teasing me. They saw how I reacted to you, how drawn to you I was. But you were so beautiful and charming, and could have had any male or female you wanted.”

Drawing your legs to your chest, you settled into the couch and fought back the tears in your eyes at his story.

“Flynn’s ‘bet’ was just that I wouldn’t have the guts to ask someone like you out. And I didn’t at first,” Ruhn laughed, toying with his lip ring before those violet eyes flicked up to meet yours. 

“But then Flynn said that if I didn’t ask you out, he would. And that’s when I jumped up from our table so fast I knocked Dec’s beer on me, and made a fool of myself asking you out like that.”

Ruhn looked down at your hands, his own twitching as though barely holding back from reaching for you. So you reached for him. The cold silver of his rings was a familiar comfort, and you felt yourself relax as his fingers twined tightly with your own.

“Dec didn’t think you’d take me seriously because I was a dumbass, asking out the most incredible female I’ve ever met while covered in beer and stumbling through my words.” You laughed then, and Ruhn’s entire presence seemed to brighten in response. 

“I remember. I thought it was cute. You weren’t the snobby fae royalty I would have expected, and I found it very charming,” you teased, a smile spreading across your face as you then relived the memory of the striking yet goofy male first approaching you.

“I am so sorry that I didn’t tell you that. It’s not exactly something that I’m proud of, that I was so nervous to ask you out. Flynn never lets me live it down.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, feeling embarrassed at how you had jumped to conclusions so quickly. “I feel like I ruined our anniversary. I should have stayed and listened to you.”

Ruhn’s eyes glittered like stars, his hands finding your waist to lift you into his lap. Hooking your arms around his neck, you straddled your boyfriend’s hips. Ruhn exhaled sharply through his teeth, causing you to lean back in alarm.

“It’s just a bruise, curtesy of Bryce.” You blushed, biting back laughter over your friend’s protectiveness. “You did not ruin anything. Flynn, on the other hand, got it worse than me,” he chuckled, nodding to his wounded side.

“You have a lot of people in your life who would do anything for you, including Bryce and myself. All I want is to spend the rest of our night together so I can show you just how much I love you,” he murmured, eyed lidded with desire as you settled further into his lap.

“I think I could arrange that,” you purred, leaning down to kiss Ruhn’s full lips before trailing his jaw, down his neck, his exposed chest. 

He picked you up, carrying you bridal style to the bedroom where you spent the night exchanging soft touches and sweet nothings until the sun rose the next morning.

[hetn-3]

How dazai and chuuya take care of you when you get sorted

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Dazai x Reader: Unexpected Tenderness

A dull pain twisted in your abdomen, and you felt exhausted, curled up under your blanket. The world seemed a bit darker and less welcoming during this time of the month. However, the door to your apartment opened softly, revealing a familiar figure.

“Oh my, my poor love is suffering, aren’t they?” came Dazai’s playful voice as he slipped into the room.

You sighed quietly, the fatigue and discomfort making it hard to engage with his usual teasing. He approached the bed, still smiling mischievously, but you could see a gentler glint in his eyes. He knew this wasn’t the time for his typical antics.

“Dazai… I’m not in the mood today,” you mumbled, turning to face him.

Dazai sat gently beside you, his expression softening. “I know, I know,” he said, running a hand tenderly through your hair, his fingers gliding down the strands. “That’s why I’m here.”

You looked at him, surprised. Dazai Osamu, the master of chaos and pranks, was here for you. He pulled out a small paper bag he had brought along. “I made a stop at the store for you. Chocolate, chips, and... oh, look at this, your favorite tea to help with the pain.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little. He knew exactly what you needed. He had taken the time to choose things you liked, which was rare for someone like Dazai, who often seemed lost in his own world.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently pulling you into his arms, guiding you to rest against him. “Let me take care of you today.”

Dazai started to massage your belly lightly, his hands surprisingly skilled, knowing just where to apply soft pressure to ease the cramps. Between his care and his warm presence, you finally felt a bit of relief.

“You know, when someone’s hurting, it’s the perfect time for cuddles,” he added with a wink before planting a light kiss on your forehead. You felt yourself relaxing in his embrace, enjoying this unexpected moment of tenderness.

Chuuya x Reader: Comfort and Protection

The sound of Chuuya’s heels echoed in the apartment as he approached you. You were curled up on the couch, clutching a heating pad to your stomach, fighting terrible cramps. He quickly figured out what was going on the moment he saw you so uncomfortable.

“Hey, you didn’t even tell me,” he said softly, placing his coat on a chair before kneeling down beside you.

“I didn’t want to worry you, it’s just… a bad day,” you replied, wincing from the pain.

Chuuya frowned, clearly displeased that you had hidden your discomfort. He stood up quickly and disappeared into the kitchen without saying a word. A few moments later, you heard the sound of water boiling. He returned with a cup of chamomile tea and some painkillers to help ease your cramps.

“Drink this,” he said gently, but with a certain firmness in his voice, as though it was an order. “It’ll help you relax.”

You took the cup with a soft smile. “Thank you, Chuuya.”

He nodded, but his expression remained serious. He hated seeing you in pain, and he was determined to do everything he could to make you feel better. He sat down beside you and gently pulled you into his arms, adjusting a pillow beneath your head.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” he murmured, his fingers threading through your hair softly.

His warmth and strength instantly made you feel safer. Chuuya was always so protective, especially in moments like this. Holding you close, his arms wrapped around you, he gently pressed you against him, as if wanting to shield you from all discomfort.

“If you need anything, you tell me, got it?” he added, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I want you to feel okay.”

His tone was firm but filled with affection. He pulled an extra blanket over you and turned on the TV to distract you, all while keeping you close, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back.

With Chuuya, you always felt secure and protected. Even during uncomfortable times like this, he was there, looking after you with an almost possessive, yet loving, attention. You closed your eyes, reassured by his presence, and slowly let yourself relax in the warmth of his embrace.

[trustmypoison]

SVT helping a partner with chronic pain/fatigue

Requested? Yes!

Genre: Comfort

A/N: I received two requests, one for chronic pain and one for chronic fatigue. I feel that these kind of go hand in hand, if only because pain can lead to fatigue or vice versa, so I’ve combined these requests to avoid too much repetition between posts. 

A/N #2: I grouped members by specific aspects for this one. That’s not to say that any of them wouldn’t do any or all of the items listed (plus more), but they’re grouped by what I think they're most suited for or would do naturally, regardless of your condition.

Helps you stay active - Seungcheol, Woozi, Seungkwan, Chan

This list kind of started as the gym rat line, but I thought better of it, so hear me out. These guys strike me as ones that really enjoy being physically active, albeit in different ways. When you tell him the doctor recommends regular exercise but you just can't bring yourself to do it, his immediate response is, “I’ll do it with you, baby.” He’ll go to the gym with you and stick with you through whatever workout you’re feeling up to today, even if it’s not quite what his workout would usually look like. He’ll ask you to go to the park to play a sport casually with lots of breaks in between, if only to reframe it as something fun rather than exercise. He might even try to teach you some choreography, not with the goal of you really learning it or being good at it, but to find some stress-free, lower-impact ways to move your body. 

Helps you find ways to get quality sleep - Hoshi, Wonwoo, Vernon

You might think one of these things doesn't belong, but I have yet another ‘hear me out’ (I’m full of them!!!). Wonwoo and Vernon both seem to value sleep and having a regular routine around it. They’ll find ways to help you relax - be it a hot shower before bed, some light reading (Wonwoo’s voice reading to you, hello??), or things like heating pads or special pillows to make sleep something that is more likely to happen for you. Now, I think Hoshi needs those things just as much as you do, if only because he needs the opportunity to recharge. Those little habits make it easier to sleep and get restorative rest. 

Helps you manage symptoms - Joshua, Mingyu, Minghao

When you tell him that your doctor recommends cutting or limiting certain things from your diet, he’s totally on board and will absolutely do it with you. The processed foods stop appearing on the grocery list. The sugary dessert after dinner is replaced by a big bowl of fresh fruit. The caffeinated drinks are replaced by non-caffeinated options or different fun substitutes entirely. He’ll never deny any of those things for you if you’re really craving them, but if eliminating and trying new things might help you then he’ll have your back. He’s also got the heating pads, massages, and pain meds on lock for when a good diet just doesn’t cut it. 

Helps you manage stress - Jeonghan, Jun, DK

He sees the cycle. You get stressed with work, school, family life, whatever. On the heels of that stress is fatigue, quickly followed by pain. He’ll do all the things mentioned above when the fatigue and pain is unavoidable, but he really likes to do things that help manage the stress to begin with. The chores are done so you don't have to dread them all day for when you get home. He’s helping you stay active, if only to work off that stress before it consumes you. He’s packing your lunch so you can get a few extra minutes of sleep or just simply take your time getting ready for the day. It’s the little things that you might not even notice he does all the time, but when you remember you needed to do something and find that it’s already been done, you get a moment to sigh in relief and just rest. 

[zorchh]

Zorch: Redefining Comfort with India’s Leading Shoe Inserts and Cushions

[drabblesandimagines]

Bliss

Leon Kennedy x afab reader When I am on my period, you get period fluff

You wince as your stomach twists, jab the mascara wand into your eye rather than coat your lashes and swear, gripping the bathroom counter with your other hand.

“Great.” You hiss, closing your eye and grabbing a wet wipe, trying to salvage what you’d applied to your bottom lashes as your eye starts to water. The box of so-called express pain relief pills you’d downed greedily 30 minutes ago taunts you from the counter. They had barely touched the surface of the tormenting cramps that had started this afternoon and you wonder if you can sue the pharmaceutical company for such blatant lies.

You try and steady yourself with measured breaths, opening your eye cautiously to inspect it in the mirror. It looks a little red and you groan. You’re bloated, sore, stupidly emotional – irrationally cried at the fact that a spam email had made its way into your actual inbox at lunch - and the last thing you want to be doing right now is getting dolled up in one your classiest and form-fitting little black dresses, don high heels and socialize for the evening, no matter how much you’d been looking forward to it ahead of your visitor.

And not to mention that it’s at the bloody White House.

Leon had returned from Spain two months ago to silent fanfare - wouldn’t be good for US morale to know the President’s daughter had been kidnapped by a cult and infected with a parasite in the first place. Working as an intelligence agent for the DSO meant you’d read of the horrors from the report, comforted Leon when he awoke from nightmares of blackened veins, tentacles bursting forth from skulls, so you’re grateful that the President insisted Leon was given some time off work, though his first day back was looming on the horizon. Last week, on embossed white card with gold accents, sealed by a wax stamp came the invitation in a cursive hand to one Mr Leon S Kennedy and partner to the Presidential dining room.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door in Leon’s familiar rhythm.

“You nearly ready, sweetheart? I think the car will be here soon.”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you call back, “Final touches.” You turn back to the mirror and grab the mascara wand, cautiously covering your top lashes to even things out before frowning at your complexion. Are you breaking out too? A wave of pain rolls through your stomach once more and you grimace. Maybe you should’ve gone with a heat pad after all, but this dress is snug - it’d look bulky and weird on your stomach and the Secret Service guys will be all over it in the security checks.

You zhuzh up your hair one more time, plaster on a smile and unlock the bathroom door, finding Leon leaning up against the wall opposite. He lets out a low whistle as you emerge, hair falling into his blue eyes, and you duck your head in embarrassment at the attention. Honestly, right now you’d prefer him to look anywhere but at you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiles, looking unbelievably handsome in his best suit. He’s forgone the tie as usual – can’t stand them – but still looks appropriately smart. He stands up from the wall, slips a hand around your waist to pull you in for a kiss but you flinch at his touch, causing him to stop and frown. “You okay?”

“Mm, I’m fine.” You try and step out of his grip to head towards the stairs. “We should go keep an eye out for the car.”

His arm remains firmly in place. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m a great liar,” you retort. “Comes with the profession.” Your whole job depended on it, really – gathering intelligence was a lot of charming people into feeling comfortable around you, loosening their tongue into sharing secrets or giving you access to places you’re not meant to be.

“Not to me.” He’s got you there. “What’s the matter?”

You sigh, feeling a headache coming on to add to the list of ailments. “Can we leave it, please?”

“I don’t want to leave it – something’s wrong.” Leon is stubborn, doesn’t like to leave things hanging. He knows how precious life is, doesn’t want to leave anything to be dealt with later in case later never comes.

He stares at you - pout on his lips and those blue puppy dog eyes.

“Period.” You mumble, hoping that would suffice.

“Ah.” He nods.

“What does that mean?” You know it’s the hormones talking, even as you say it, but you’re stubborn too. It’s completely irrational, but his tone’s rubbed you the wrong way.

“It’s a sympathetic ah. Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” you grumble back. “I just want this evening over with.”

He looks confused, then. “I thought you were looking forward to it - you were excited yesterday-”

“I was,” you snap back. “But now the last thing I want to be doing is wearing this stupid tight dress and heels and get in a limo, be felt up by Secret Service agents for five minutes to make sure I’m not sneaking in a bomb between my thighs, and then go and dine with the President of the United States and his daughter, trying to remember what seven different types of silverware are meant for what course and then eating tiny bites and drinking bitter expensive wine, all when I could be at home, in my pyjamas, eating pizza and ice-cream and watching absolute trash on TV, cuddling my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Leon cups your face. “Breathe.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little winded from your rant.

“Good.” He smiles, dropping his hands and pulling his phone out of his trousers pocket. “Now, go get changed.”

You weren’t expecting that. “Sorry?”

“Get changed – go put your pyjamas on.”

“But dinner-”

“I’ll cancel, and then I’ll order us some pizza.”

You stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You can’t cancel on the President.”

“I rescued his daughter, he owes me.” Leon shrugs, as if he was just asking for a raincheck. “Besides, it’s Ashley who wanted this the most. We’ll reschedule.”

“No, I just need to tough it out.”

He raises an eyebrow at your word choice. “You do not.”

“You do it all the time – dragging yourself about the place with bullet and stab wounds.”

“Sweetheart, you have to agree that’s a little different. Us having dinner at the White House is not a life or death situation. I didn’t have a choice but to grit my teeth and get on with it, you very much do.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it tight. “Besides, you put up with enough that’s out of our control by these guys – missed anniversaries, birthdays, dinners - when they send me out on missions. I’m not going to sit and make you go through an uncomfortable evening when you don’t need or want to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, quietly.

“Positive.” He steps forwards, gives you a chaste kiss on the lips in reassurance. “Go and get comfortable – I’ll handle it.”

--

30 minutes later, you’re laying on the couch, head in Leon’s lap as he runs his fingers through your hair, another rubbing your back – dressed in loose pyjama shorts and one of his old sweatshirts, a hot water bottle that he’d made pressed against your stomach and one of those “so bad it’s good” reality relationship shows playing on the widescreen. One that Leon insists he detests, but remembers everyone’s names and asks what happened on previous episodes if he misses one.

“Was Ashley okay?”

“Fine. She’s already texted me three alternate dates.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “I thought they broke up.”

“Uh-uh. He proposed.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “This cannot be real.”

You sigh, content, and nuzzle into his thigh. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

The doorbell rings, announcing the pizza’s arrival. You reluctantly sit up, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach as Leon gets up off the sofa and starts to head towards the door.

“Leon.”

“Mm?” He pauses, turning slightly, removing his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“How come you’re still in your suit?”

“Well,” he resumes walking to the door, “I read how endorphins can help with period pain, and I know how happy a certain someone gets when they get to admire my ass in this particular suit…” The wallet slips from his fingers, bounces on the carpeted floor, and he bends down, slowly. “..so what kinda boyfriend would I be to hide it in sweats when they’re feeling poorly?”

--

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[gladoswantscake]

Just a Scratch - Goro Majima x Reader

Summary: This wasn't the first time he came home in the middle of the night beaten up.

Warnings: Minor spoilers from Kiwami 1

Available on AO3

The outside of Kamurocho's bright neon city lights shined warmly through your bedroom curtains as you slept. Tonight was quiet. Too quiet and lonely. Tonight was one of those nights when you couldn't fall asleep. You roll over to stare at the empty spot on the other side of the bed; desolated and cold. It lacked your lover. Nighttime was when you longed for him the most. You only ever get to see him when he leaves for work and when he comes home at night. Going many hours each day without seeing him makes you yearn for his presence. A good day is when Majima comes home to you.

Of course, being a patriarch has more responsibilities and also requires him to attend to more important matters. He'd be lucky if he was able to come home before dusk. But that was rare.

You roll back over to your side to glance at the clock. Almost midnight. You'd only been in bed for nearly two hours and not a feeling of drowsiness hit you. At least he'll be home anytime now. You make an attempt to try to sleep.

Not even ten minutes in and the sound of three loud knocks erupts you from your sleep. The noise startles you as you sit up quickly, feeling your heart pacing rapidly. The continuous loud knocking begins to strike a nerve in you.

"Alright... Alright..." You shout as you sluggishly get out of bed.

You drag yourself to the front door, rubbing your face as you unlock the deadbolt and the knob. Upon opening the door stood Majima; beaten and bruised up.

What shocked you even more was his new attire: A dirty pink bodycon dress with torn fish net stockings, tousled blond wig, and press-on nails. The makeup was surprisingly well-kept on his face despite how badly wounded the rest of his body was.

You then remembered this morning before he left, he spoke to you about an idea he had in mind to lure Kiryu: If there was one thing that many men loved, it was women.

But you didn't expect Majima to come home dressed as a hostess.

"Sorry if I woke ya up. I lost my key."

You took no time to pulling him into your home. "What the hell happened to you this time?"

Majima follows you from behind, removing and tossing the pink high heels onto the floor at the front door in the process. A sly grin appears on his face. "I uh, got my butt beat again by Kiryu-chan." He follows you into the bathroom.

Ever since Kiryu got out of prison, Majima has been coming up with weird ideas.

Majima sits on the seat of the toilet. He watches as you dig through the cabinet searching for your medical supplies. It felt like a ritual to patch him up every time he came home injured. He never complained once about it. He secretly enjoyed being doctored up by you. Physical touch was a love language of his.

You set out bandages, rubbing alcohol, and pads on the sink then leaving in search for a bath towel in the bedroom.

"I thought Goromi would have been the perfect hostess to make him swoon." He removes the messy blond wig. "Almost had him too!"

"Maybe he's not into buff women." You shout from outside of your bedroom.

As Majima waits for your return, he begins to undress himself. The tight fabric of the dress was making it impossible for his fingertips to reach the zipper. Even trying to pull the dress downward didn't budge. "What a goddamn pain." He grumbles. "Who the hell makes these dresses where ya can't even get out of?!"

You quickly return to him, unzipping the dress for him revealing. Large bruises already forming on his bare back.

"Thank you, doll." He sighs in relief.

"This has to be the most uncomfortable thing I've ever worn." He removes the pink thong before wrapping a towel around his waist. "Do ya think pink looks good on me?" He jokes.

"I think it accentuates your figure." You glance up at him. A faint bruise was starting to appear on his jaw and a few scrapes scattered amongst his face.

"I'm sorry your idea didn't go as planned." You remove his eyepatch before getting started. Your hands cups both sides of his cheeks to examine the damage. You then reach for the gauze wipe then the alcohol. After lightly dousing the wipe, you cautiously dab his face.

"Ah, don't be sorry. I had fun." He winces at the feeling of the alcohol wipe stinging his cheek. "You should'ave seen Kiryu blushin'." He chuckles softly.

"So Goromi, huh?"

Majima laughs to himself. "Oh yeah. Now that you reminded me. I gotta a great story to tell ya."

----------------------

After disposing the used gauze and band aids, you return to him to observe his beaten face. The condition was slight better than it was prior.

"I'm worried for you."

"How so?"

"I'm worried that one of these nights you won't come home."

"Aw Y/N-chan..." His voice trails. His hands roam up your waist. "Don't be havin' those thoughts, besides it feels like I only took a scratch." He gives you a reassuring smile.

"I get that you enjoy fighting, but there's only so many times you can do it before something bad happens to you."

Majima sighs. His hands move to your wrists, taking them in his hands. "Darlin' I've told you many times I can't quit. It ain't no easy job. Hell, I've been a yakuza my whole life and I'm still kicking."

Majima was extremely defensive when it came to you preaching concern about his brawling habits. There was no way he was backing down something that he enjoyed doing. But with what you said was true. All the times he got into conflict, the thought of him ending up dead never crossed his mind. He had gotten an earful from you when he came home from the hospital a couple of weeks ago when one of his subordinate's accidently stabbed him. He could see why an incident like that concerned you for his safety.

"I may have some cuts and bruises, but I'm still here. I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise."

"Promise?"

He pulls you into his lap. "As long as come home to see my Y/N-chan." His lips peck yours, leaving a faint lipstick stain on your lips.

Your hand runs through his messy undercut. "I'll be waiting for you in bed."

"You're not gonna join me?" He whines. "I haven't seen my Y/N-chan all day."

You took your time contemplating the idea.

"At least let me return you the favor." He purrs. "I gotta show how much I appreciate all that you've done for me."

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: electroplay

☆ pairing: Arkham Riddler/Reader

☆ summary: Having graced you with a shock collar, Edward is determined to put it to good use.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Fingers ghosting around the shock collar which Edward has locked around your soft neck, you remain kneeling passively on the floor as he retreats to his padded chair and drops into it with a satisfied smirk.

Dressed in his typical work wear, a stained white vest mostly hidden by a question-mark patterned shirt and dark pants, the fabric which sat over his groin did little to hide the visible tent of his cock as he surveys you with a slightly tilted head.

“Come here.”

Making to stand, as soon as your legs start to straighten a sharp pain in your neck – the sudden intensity of it like a bolt of lightning flashing across your eyes as your muscles spasm – makes you drop to your knees once more.

“Ah, ah, ah, dear. Has that underdeveloped brain of yours forgotten our rules? You come to me on your knees and be thankful for at least that.”

Afraid of setting off the shock collar again, your trembling body moves slowly as you crawl to him on your hands and knees, adrenaline making every movement feel like a true effort on your part. Stopping at his feet, you keep your head low until he drops his hand to your chin, lifting your head to the level of his knee so that he can meet your eyes once more.

“Such a position suits you. Perhaps some jewellery would help to remind you of your station.”

His hand fumbles below your head for a moment, messily groping at your tit as he locates your nipple without looking away from your panicking gaze. A sharp pain lances through your tit as he snaps a small clamp around your peaked nipple and the unexpected sting of it pulls a soft cry from your lips as you squirm in discomfort.

The clamp squeezes your nipple in a vicious pinch and your right hand can’t help but drift towards it to alleviate some of the discomfort. You realise your mistake as the collar and clamp spark up with a quick warning shot – the metal conducting through your nipple feeling almost like a needle as the pain rips through your tit for a moment before disappearing just as quick.

“Open your mouth.”

Obedient and afraid of another zap, you do as told and immediately grunt in discomfort as Edward forces a spider gag within your offered mouth – the cool metal edges of the gag spreading your lips to the point where you can feel how taut the corners of your mouth are, an ache already threatening to settle into the muscles of your jaw.

“For my own protection, dear. It can’t be helped since that primitive brain of yours will no doubt force me to continue your corrections and I would rather not suffer because of your incompetence.”

The ring gag stretching your mouth just a little too wide for it to be comfortable, the very corners of your mouth hurting with every passing moment as you’re forced to keep your mouth open and prevent your teeth doing any damage to your lips or tongue.

On your knees, the positioning of your heel is dangerously close to your cunt and you hold Edward’s eye as you subtle shift your foot so that your heel can provide some much needed relief to your aching clit, the skin immediately coating itself in your arousal.

Edward’s fingers drop to stroke along the edge of the shock collar which holds firm against your neck with enough pressure to keep you aware of its presence and his expression is painfully smug.

“Now,” Edward explains as though talking to an unruly child, “the clamp stays on for as long as it takes you to learn how to swallow me down without any of that pathetic choking you’re so fond of.” His free hand is quick to release his cock, the hardened shaft jutting free of his pants shamelessly as he adjusts his fly to allow you access to the full length.

“And the collar?” You ask timidly, anxiety and arousal making your head feel light and your cunt clench around nothing.

“Stays on until I decide you don’t need it anymore.”

More turned on by that answer than you would admit to, you nod your acceptance as his hands slides around to tug on the back of your neck roughly – pulling you closer to his groin as he settles comfortably into his chair.

Silence hangs in the hair for only a moment before a sharp pain tears across your tit and neck as he delivers another shock through your tensed body; the electricity tearing through your flesh and making you flinch and cry out in surprise.

“Do you need further instruction?” Edward chides, patting his thigh invitingly as his eyes narrow. “Let’s start to train that lovely throat, dear.”

Afraid of another shock, you sink your head down to his groin and accept his cock into your spread mouth with a soft moan – ready to endure another of his makeshift ‘lessons’.

[bits-and-babs]

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

[mapis-putellas]

Grumpy sunshine

Advent day 7 prompt: Jeez, if that’s your bedside manner, I’d rather take my chances on my own.

Pairing: Sick Natasha x reader

"You're a terrible patient," you grumble as you secure the lid to the cough syrup and place it back onto the nightstand with a slightly louder than necessary thud, wiping off the sticky residue it had left behind with a tissue.

"Like seriously," you continue, using the same tissue to wipe the top of her shirt where she'd purposely spat out said medicine because apparently she could kill someone with her bare hands, but taking some cough syrup that would inevitably make her feel better was completely out of the question. "how hard is it to take some damn medicine?"

Natasha, from her placed propped up against the headboard burrowed beneath the covers, sends you a glare. "Quite fucking hard with you shoving it down by throat." She retorts.

It was day five of this now, and it was quite safe to say you were over it. At first. It was fine. Nice, even. You got to stay home from work and practically spend the whole day cuddled up with your favourite person in the world. But then Natasha had become incredibly restless, and whilst it had been kind of expected due to the fact she was normally a very busy woman with a very busy schedule, it had gotten to the point now that she point blank refuses to let you help her in any sort of way.

You tried to be okay with it at first. You really did, but it was like taking care of an overgrown toddler and babysitting was the last thing you wanted to spend your days off doing. You absolutely adored Natasha, but you did not adore the current attitude being thrown your way and you had absolutely no idea how to snap her out of it.

"I'm going to suffocate you with the pillow." You threaten somewhat harmlessly as you rise to your feet, and Natasha scoffs as she sniffles wetly into the palm of her hand. You would offer her a tissue, but she'd only bite your fucking head off. Instead, you grab the box from the nightstand and toss it onto her lap.

"Jeez, it that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own." She mutters sarcastically, and you clench your jaw to refrain muttering something you'd regret as you watch her knock the pillows off of her legs and slide down in the bed so she was more or less laying down.

You needed a breather.

"Great. You do that. I'll be in the living room." Without waiting to hear her response, you turn on your heels and leave the bedroom making sure to close the door behind you. Despite your current frustration with her, Natasha did not like open doors and you weren't about to purposely leave it open just to upset her.

"Food." You say to yourself. It was late now. Around dinner time and if you were hungry you knew Natasha would be too.

With the knowledge that soup would be the easiest on her stomach, you pull out the ingredients to make some homemade chicken soup knowing it was her favourite before heading over to the sink to give your hands a thorough wash.

It wasn't even ten minutes later that you hear the familiar sound of footsteps heading towards the kitchen. You set the knife down just in time for a certain red head to appear in the threshold of the doorway, and you quirk your lips up into a knowing smile as she pauses unsurely with a sheepish grimace on her face.

When she lingers a little longer than you'd like, you take a step away from the chopping board and hold open your arms. You visibly see her shoulders sagging in relief as she trudges towards you, falling into your arms and looping her arms tightly around your waist as your own settle around her shoulders.

"I'm a pain," she murmurs, and you snort in amusement as you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You are," you agree, and she tilts her head up so deadly it could kill. Before she could even attempt committing murder, you reach a hand up to cup her cheek and gently trial the pad of your thumb over the warm skin. "But I love you, more than anything else in this in this entire universe." You admit, and Natasha's eyes become visibly shiny with tears.

Before they could spill, she buries her head into your chest, and you tenderly cup the back of her head and hold her as close as you possibly could. A quiet I love you too was whispered just moments later, and you feel your own eyes become wet.

It wasn't often she says those words, so you cherish them each and every time she finally brings herself to say them.

**

@goldenempyrean @mywitchy-assassin

[abeautylives]

A Friend in Need

a/n: Just another little thought that turned into a whole thing! I wrote this pre-album name drop and pre-song release and I forgot that I needed to publish it. Credit to @samkiszkasfacialhair for certain artistic choices made lmfao, love you bff. Anyways, stream Greta Van Fleet's latest single, Meeting the Master 🫡

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: He just needs some relief. Who are you to deny him?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, the illusion of non-consent (it's 100% consensual), friends with benefits, light manhandling, unprotected penetrative sex, rough sex, degradation, oral (m. receiving)

The fine hairs on your arms raise, the air almost crackling with a subtle electricity that your body senses before you’ve even heard him. It’s always like this, you can feel when he’s entered a room before you turn to see him.

Now that you know he’s there, you can hear his bare feet padding softly toward you and you wonder where he’d snuck in from. The front door hasn’t opened since you’ve been in the sitting room but you suppose you could have just missed each other in passing, he could have arrived and slunk up the stairs in silence as you’d stood in the kitchen filling the watering can you’re now wielding. Just as you stretch to hydrate the pothos bathing in the light streaming in through the window, a pair of warm hands slide over the skin peeking out from below the hem of your t-shirt.

It’s suddenly clear why he hadn’t announced his arrival, why his jubilant voice had not rung through the foyer, calling for you.

Something is wrong.

You know Joshua well, and you have for several years. Fast friends since the day you’d met, he’d recently asked you to look after his house when he was away, to tend his plants and the feral cat that lurks around his backyard. Although he claims he has no attachment to it, he insists on making sure it’s fed.

And so, your duties had been outlined clearly: drop by and fill the cat’s dish on the back porch, grab any mail from the box and leave it on the kitchen counter, water the plants if they need it. He’d insisted on compensating you for your efforts, which you’d declined in hopes of not ending up on his payroll.

Thank god you’d rejected his offer. Being in his employ would make what you think is about to happen rather… improper.

Without turning to face him, you keep your tone light as you settle on your heels and ask if he’s okay. He doesn’t respond with words, just drops his head forward and rests his forehead against the threadbare cotton covering your shoulder. You feel his head move from side to side as he shakes it, no.

“What do you need, Josh, how can I help?” His continued silence makes you nervous, his fingers pressed into the thin skin at your hip bones bring you closer. You know the answer, already accepted the truth of it. The watering can clatters over the hardwood as he knocks it away, you're pulled from the window and your face is pressed into the adjoining wall before you can concern yourself with the water splashed across your ankles.

With his fingers laced into the hair at the base of your neck he keeps you there, cheek pushed into the cool surface as his other hand works to push the elastic waistband of your leggings down past your hips. You open your mouth to speak, to stop him or tell him to keep going, you’re not sure but he snaps your head back and the only sound that escapes you is a pained inhale of breath. Straining to see his face over your shoulder, you find reddened cheeks and knit eyebrows, full lips set into a tight line. The flush is creeping down his neck and across his chest, bare and heaving.

“Josh…”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna talk about it.” He’s mad, or sad, or both and he’s got your leggings hugging your thighs just above your knees, fingers tucked under the plain cotton at your hip, already sliding it down. “I need to fuck something, how fortuitous to find you here even though you knew I was getting back today. Convenient.”

Oh, he’s pissed.

Your panties fall and meet the bunched up fabric at your knees but the hand that’s pushed them there doesn’t leave you, its fingertips skim up the back of your thigh and sink into the soft flesh of your asscheek. Finally glancing up to meet your eyes, his are pleading with you but his mouth expresses his need differently.

“Spread your legs.”

You nod against his hold and try to obey his command, but the elastic wrapped around you only allows your feet to move but so far from each other.

“That’s as far as-“

He throws off your balance and stops your words in their tracks, his own foot coming between yours to kick them farther apart. You can hear minuscule threads snapping, the material stretching until it breaks and satisfied with that, he leans in and runs the tip of his nose up the side of your neck. He takes his time, breathes in the scent of you and loosens his grip on your hair. This is going to be the solitary moment of tenderness, you can feel that in his touch and you brace yourself for his next words.

“I need you.” It hits your skin and travels down your spine. As your head nods your consent, your body offers it as well, your back arching just slightly and ass pushing against his hips. “I’m not gonna be nice. I need to fuck you… is that okay?”

His voice is quiet, deep and it gives off the impression that whatever tempest had been brewing inside him had stilled, but you know this is simply the calm before the storm. You face it headfirst.

“Yeah, Josh. It’s okay… take what you need. I'm here.”

So lightly that you barely feel it, he ghosts his lips over the skin just below your earlobe before he nods his head.

A tense hand slides down the back of your neck and holds on tight. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.” The other is between your legs before you can respond, and pleased with what he discovers there, he growls his gratification into your ear. “Your pussy is practically dripping for me, begging me to use her.”

His fingers are slipping through your obvious arousal with no intention to pleasure you, only to take from you. You hum at the feeling anyway, just to lose it when he pulls away to undo the fastenings of his pants. Your body relaxes without the pressure of his hold around your neck as his pants sink down around his ankles, he’s definitely not pleased when he notices and you’re pushed against the surface again once his cock is freed.

“I said don’t move.” There’s a barely contained anger rolling off of him like a haze, a fog clouding his normally sunny demeanor. He shoves his hand between your thighs again, fingers indelicately sliding through to collect some of the slick moisture leaking from you. A timid whine sounds from deep in your throat, it’s a little embarrassing that he’s affected you like this, that your body is so willing to accept a punishment for something that has nothing to do with you. Your cunt mourns the loss when his touch leaves you again, but his knuckles are brushing against the swell of your ass as he rubs your arousal over himself.

Unable to see him fully, all you can do is sense his next moves but your muscles jump when he runs the tip of his dick down the cleft of your ass before he slips it where his fingers had been. His skin is like velvet and fire, and you only get to appreciate it for a moment before he’s pushed inside you to the hilt.

“Fuck fuckfuckfuck Josh-“

In an instant he’s everywhere, fingertips digging into you and the other hand smoothing up the front of your body, under your shirt until those fingers are sunk into the pillowy softness of your naked breast. His breaths are heavy against your ear, the heat from his chest blanketing you as his hips work themselves into your ass.

He’s bruising you from the inside out, you can feel it with every thrust and you let him, taking his retribution silently until a deep stroke buckles your knees and rips a cry past your lips.

The chuckle that huffs out and over your cheek is sinister and hot. “Did that hurt, angel?” Rather than soften his blows, he puts his full weight into them. The mewling whimpers escaping you sound pitiful, even to you, even as you’re clenching down around him. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

You’re left empty when you offer no response, spun to face him and pushed back against the wall by a palm splayed across the middle of your chest.

“I asked you a question.”

He looks sinful like this, curls already sticking to his forehead, perfectly straight teeth bared in what you’d almost consider a snarl. He expects an answer but you let your eyes travel over the sharp angles and soft curves of him, let your gaze drop until it lands below his navel. You’ve never seen him in this state of undress, fully nude aside from the khakis and briefs resting around his ankles. The last time you’d let him find relief between your legs, neither of you had removed an article of clothing. It had been hurried and hushed, and afterward you’d smoothed out your skirt and left the dressing room.

You’d told yourself that last time was the last time. But he needs you.

A sharp sting brings you back to focus, his hand is still against your cheek when your eyes snap to his.

“What the f-“

“I asked you a question. Did I hurt you?”

He had, but it’s already a distant memory that recalls as pleasure rather than pain. “Yes…”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes…”

He sounds disgusted by your admission. “You did, I felt you squeezing me, whining for it like a whore.”

Oh god. Heat spreads across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, burning the spot where he slapped you.

“Take your fucking clothes off, I’m not done with you.” He kicks his own away and turns his back to you, casually moving toward the couch and relaxing into it, an arm outstretched over the back. You watch each other as you free your feet and pull your shirt over your head, as he takes his cock into his fist and strokes it slowly. He looks almost regal as he wields his command over you with his eyes alone.

“Interesting that you were waiting here for me, tits out. Indecent, really. Come here.” It’s not lost in the moment that he’s never seen you this way either, his eyes are zeroed in on your chest as you move across the room. “I want your mouth, you gonna let me have it?” He’s surprised when you sink to your knees but he wipes it from his expression immediately and tangles his fingers into your hair. “You really are my whore, aren’t you?”

You bat your eyelashes as you replace his hand with your own around his cock, swollen and still slick from you. Your lips meet the tip, a chaste kiss pressed into his flushed skin. “Whatever you need, Josh.” He groans as your tongue darts out to wet your lips, sighs in relief as he slips past them and growls when you take him to the back of your throat. His grip against your scalp tightens and you let a moan ripple around him, ready to pull out all the stops and give him your best but before you make your first move, he jerks you off of him.

A string of saliva keeps you connected before it breaks and dribbles down your chin.

“I’m not in the mood for some pretty princess blowjob, don’t bother.” With wide eyes, you nod in understanding and open your mouth, tongue laid out for him. He forces you down around him and holds you there, nose pressed into the soft hair at the base until your lungs are burning. When he pulls you back slowly, you drag your tongue along the silken length and release him with a pop, suck in a ragged breath before you take him in again. Wrenching you over his lap with the fist locked in your hair, his hips are thrusting up from the couch, you bring your hands to rest on his thighs and feel them bunch under your touch.

With your lips wrapped around his cock, cheeks hollowed and tears pricking the corners of your eyes, it strikes you that the way your fingertips are pressed into the muscle of his legs feels like the most intimate way you’ve ever touched him. You also realize that between your own legs you’re throbbing with neglect.

Lost in the way he’s fucking your mouth, grunting through clenched teeth and eyes clamped shut, he doesn’t notice when you slide a hand off of his and slip it between your own thighs. Two fingers tucked inside, you pump them at the same rhythm that he’s working himself over with inside your mouth before swirling them over your clit. A quiet but high pitched whine, interrupted in your throat by his thrusts, draws attention to what you’ve done.

“Absolutely not.” You’re pulled up and away from his lap until you're face to face, noses touching and heaving breaths mixing. He looks incensed but you can’t help but wonder what it’s like to kiss his lips. “If you cum, and I truly don’t care if you don’t, it’s going to be with my cock inside that greedy pussy of yours.”

Just as quickly as he’d had you against the wall, he’s got you bent over with your face pushed into the back of the couch. You’re braced for him to slam into you, but he takes a moment to commit his view to memory. Your back is arched and legs spread across the cushions, knees sunk into the fabric, he can see everything. Gripped tight in his fist, he rubs himself through you, takes in the way you open for him, soft pink skin spread around him.

“Pretty…” He says it so quietly, when you think back to this you’ll be sure you imagined it.

He pushes into you slowly, just for the visual. As soon as he’s bottomed out he rears back and slams his hips against you, over and over, hands wrapped around the small of your waist. His voice, gravelly and laced around the edges with hunger, rises over the sound of your bodies colliding.

“I want it, need to feel it. Touch yourself. Fuck-“

More eager to give him what he needs than to take it for yourself, you do as he’s commanded. Your fingers slide over your clit sloppily, your entire body jerking forward with each of his thrusts as he fucks into you at a brutal pace. You feel a hand slide up your spine and find its home back in your hair, he yanks your head back.

“You’d do anything I wanted. You’d let me fuck your ass right now, wouldn’t you?” There’s venom in his tone again and it shoots straight to your core.

“Yes, anything, anything!”

He just needed to hear it. “Filthy, fucking filthy.”

Your orgasm takes hold, a hot rush of shame and pleasure gripping you and pulling you under. His name tumbles forth, absorbed into the cushions and through the frenetic buzz in your brain you hear him call out to you.

With an animalistic groan, he releases it all. Whatever had happened that brought him home frustrated and needing, he lets it go as he spills inside you. He doesn’t stop, fucking it all into you until he’s empty, completely spent.

When he collapses, he pulls you with him and into his chest as he falls to his side onto the couch. You can feel the change in him, the heaviness he was carrying when he’d entered the room is gone, and any resistance to his fondness for you fails as his lips come to rest on your shoulder. When you’ve both caught your breath, he slips from your body and shoots you a shy grin as he helps you sit up.

You try not to watch as he stands to stretch and walks across the room to retrieve your discarded clothes and his pants, but his ass is bubbly and cute and you figure you deserve to enjoy the view. When he bends to scoop up his pants he catches your gaze over his shoulder.

“Like what you see?”

You do, and that’s probably fine. “Ehh, it’s alright. Jake’s ass is better.”

Your t-shirt flies through the air and lands across your face, you’re laughing as you pull it away and start tugging it over your head.

“Jake's ass is bigger. Not better.” He’s stepped into his khakis and his affectionate giggles trail off as he tucks himself into them and slides the zipper up. Eyebrows knit together again, he appears to be in serious contemplation as he picks up your balled up leggings and underwear. You’re still naked from the waist down as he comes to sit at your side.

“Hey.. you know I didn’t mean that, right?” His eyes are trained on your face, swimming with worry as he carefully ensures that they don’t wander lower.

“Give me those. Didn’t mean what?” He hands over your clothes and you pluck your panties free, bending to slip them up your legs and lifting your hips to pull them higher, unconcerned when his eyes dart to the junction of your thighs before it’s hidden from view.

“When I called you… ya know.” His head drops forward and he huffs a sigh of disbelief.

“A whore?” He meets your eyes and cringes before running a hand over his face then dropping it to place it softly over your own, resting in your lap.

“I don’t think you’re- I mean, I would never think that of you. I’m lucky to have you.”

“Josh.” You tug your hand free of his to cup his sweet face in your palms, smoothing your thumbs over the corners of his mouth until a lopsided smile pulls his dimple to the surface. “I know that. Do you wanna… talk about whatever happened today?”

“No. No, I feel better. You’re too good to me, I don’t pay you enough.” The rest of his perfect smile stretches across his lips, the first real one you’ve seen since he snuck into the house.

“You don’t pay me at all, and it’s going to stay that way.” You pat his cheek as you stand from the couch and he doesn’t stop himself from watching your bare skin disappear as you step into your leggings and pull them up. “You do owe me a new pair of these, though. They’re all stretched out.”

His grin is smug, self-satisfied. “Consider it done. Do you wanna stay and hang out? We can order food, I’m fucking starving.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna go… clean up.” His cum is leaking from you slowly, you try not to mention it.

“Oh, oh my god yeah of course.” A pink tint of embarrassment creeps over his face, making you chuckle. He calls out as you leave the room, “Hey, what do you want, I’ll order it!”

“Whatever you want, Joshua! Whatever you want.”

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here @gretavanbitches @twistedmelodies @wildflowerxx-x @dannythedog @blissfulbellss @averagemisfit03 @dharmasdivine @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lucimoo @toxbexannouncedx @dig0930 @maddie-van-fleet @friska101-cg @welllauragvf @gretasimp @objectsinspvce @writingcold @gretavangroupie @sweetybre @gretasgoose @gvfjess

Hi beauties, I was not keeping track of Taglist requests that were specific to Imperfect Moments so if you didn’t want to be included here I’M SO SORRY. Please just let me know and I’ll do better in the future 😘