#Not exactly made for modesty

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[ladymercysletters]

Synopsis: Reader has just been given the all clear by the maesters to be with her husband again. There is however the issue that her husband has taken to leaving their chambers before she wakes in the morning, and only coming to bed well after sleep has taken her. Fed up with only ever seeing her husband briefly at dinner, where he is still deep in conversation with one of his bannermen or pouring over papers, y/n takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count: 3,656

Rating: 18 + NSFW (no minors!!)

A/N: I seem to have written a 1980's Mills and Boon. Though I do like the idea of Cregan as Heathcliff!

_____________________________

“Well My Lady” said the maester, putting his instruments carefully back into his bag, “I would say you are fully healed.” He congratulated, looking up at you as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“So I can? We can?” you asked eagerly and unabashed. You had been without your husband for so long and these last few weeks of healing from your latest childbirth had been torture.

“uh, yes. My Lady.” Said the maester bashfully, head immediately dipping down to hide the reddening of his face. You thanked the maester once more before he left, calling in your maids to run you a bath and dress you. Now that it was safe for you to enjoy your husband once more, that is exactly what you intended to do. For almost two moons now you had been parted from Cregan, or at least that is what it felt like. Since you had given birth, though you still shared a bed, you found that he would be already gone by the time you awoke – and in the evening when you would stay up late into the night reading to keep yourself awake for when he did return, he would still manage to only return to bed once you had been taken by sleep. The only reason you knew he did still sleep beside you, was because you could smell him on your sheets and would sometimes still feel his warmth in the space beside you.

You sat in the milky bath as your maids paraded various dresses in front of you. Mabel held up a pale violet crushed velvet dress; it was loose and skimmed over your curves, allowing your skin to breath whilst still catching the candlelight. You had almost decided on that when Florence pulled out one of your old favourites, it was a dress you had brought with you when you first moved to Winterfell after marrying Cregan, a deep blue layered dress with a creamy silk underskirt. You had had it made especially as you had heard of how cold the North was; golden bronze fur lined the low neckline before raising higher at the back. Your eyes lit up as you remembered when you first wore it. That was the dress to seduce your husband.

Mabel and Florence dried and dressed you, plaiting strands of your hair to curl around the crown of your head like a maiden and lacing the front of the dress as tight as it would go. Unfortunately, given your many children, the front would not do up as tightly as it once did. Mabel had suggested a modesty layer for your chest, surely to keep out the cold in such a warm dress. Florence just elbowed her and gave her a look as though she was missing the point.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

Cregan yawned as he sat at his table, eyes drifting as he tried to stay awake. He had awoken early as he had every day since the birth of his latest child, dressing quietly and leaving before you woke. Every morning he’d stay and watch you a little: his wife, tucked up in the thick, soft furs of their bed, before tearing himself away. The maesters had come to him shortly after the birth. They had expressed deep concern over the struggle of this birth how weak you were. Given that you had fallen pregnant with this one only three moons after the birth of your second child your body had not been given a lot of time to recover, which they felt contributed to the long labour and your subsequent bed rest.

The sight of you weak in bed; skin drained of much blood and not even able to hold your babe as you had your others. Cregan had berated himself no end at your state, blaming himself and his recklessness that you almost died. So, he did the only thing he could do: he distanced himself from you, leaving your chambers before you awoke and returning only when he is sure you must have fallen asleep.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

The first place you looked for your husband, you knew you’d find him, was the great hall. He was surrounded by his men at the high table, no doubt meeting to discuss what more they have left to de before winter comes. You glide into the room as the Lady of Winterfell ought to; nodding to the guards as they opened the doors before taking a slow turn about the room. One of your ladies in waiting came with you, arm in arm you walked slowly about the room, breathing deeply to allow your bust to spill a little over the soft fur neckline of your gown. Some of the ladies of court were scattered about the room: some sitting by the large open fire grate with their embroidery. Greeting them all you sat with them, moving your hair subtly over one shoulder to make the best of your exposed neckline.

Your eyes flickered over to the top of the room, where you see Cregan’s already on you. His brow is down as he looks up through his lashes; eyes raking over your body and nostrils flaring at the sight. Giving him a small smile you hold eye contact as you trail a light hand down your neck, watching as he huffs a breath and turns back towards Lord Burley. Slightly frustrated at his dismissal you stood again, this time walking towards Cregan and his seat. He watched appreciatively though subtly. He could see that dress you had on was one you had worn when you were first made man and wife, the bust was tighter than it had once been and Cregan steadied his breathing once more as he thought of your breasts, full of milk for his babes and practically pouring out of your dress.

“Husband” you greeted lowly as not to disturb him. You picked up the jug to fill his cup. Ever the stoic Northman he paid little mind to you as you greeted him, so you went a step further: leaning over him jut a bit too much you steadied yourself on his thick thigh as you leaned into him to pour his drink. Your warm scent filled his nostrils and his eyes fluttered closed, only opening to see the soft pure skin of your chest so close to his face that all he would have to do would be to lean a little closer to taste you.

Pulling back with a sigh you placed the jug down and drew your hand slowly up his thigh, just grazing his inside seem that wasn’t covered by leather, before retiring from the room. If he wanted to pretend he didn’t see you then you would do what you did best: be a nuisance to him.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

You took some time before finding him again, taking tea with your ladies in one of the viewing towers whilst you plotted your next move.

The training yard was where you found him that afternoon. The winter had faded into a slightly less harsh winter, so you and your ladies were safe from having to wrap yourselves up too much as you sat on the viewing platforms. Cregan and his men had clearly been in battle for some time; even with the milder weather you could still see the steam rising from their bodies. You watched as Cregan swung his sword over his head, shoulders rolling as he brought it down onto the shield of the man cowering beneath him. You bit your lip as you watched his muscles move under his shirt. Thick fingers gripped the hilt of his family sword when several men approached at him at once. There was no denying your husband was a warrior: his broad back twisted as he fought from all sides, body turning with ease in his leathers and sweat dripping from his brow as grunts filled the arena. Moving over to where he had left a cloth you took a seat nearer the edge of the grounds.

Giving him your best sultry look you breathed deeply, making the most of your heaving bosom as he stopped for a break, his chest heaving as he strode towards you.

“Wife.” He growled, almost annoyed at seeing you again. You shot him a wry smile as you stood and took a step towards him. Picking the cloth from his hand you stepped up to him and swiped it over his brow, watching as his eyes closed. You leaned forward just a bit too close to be innocent as you trailed the cloth over the back of his neck for him. A low groan rumbled from Cregans throat as you massaged the back of his neck. “It is good to see you out and about my dearest.” He murmured, head tilted back at your touch to watch you down the bridge of his nose.

“Husband. The maester visited this morning.” You let your words drift. He knew what that meant.

“My darling” Cregan growled, cupping your waist “Are you sure?” you nodded, grinning widely at his unhidden enthusiasm. The breath he released almost contained steam itself as he looked you up and down. Your lips quivered to kiss him, but you restrained yourself; simply smiling once more as you left him to his training, his knights calling him back to practice.

--x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x--

You didn’t see each other again until your evening meal. Dinner was quiet. You ate with a few of his bannermen and their families: yourself and Cregan sitting at the head of the table. Though the grip of his hands around your waist had indicated his need for you earlier, you were disappointed to find your conversation at dinner lacking. Instead, he has been distracted by the lord to his left causing you to sit in a haff by his side. Bored, and ready to tease him some more you placed your hand on his thigh, just low enough to not garner any notice.

Your hand rested over the thick material of his trousers before pressing firmer into the flesh of his leg, slowly making your way up his thigh - the only reason you knew he noticed your hand was the subtle twitch in his leg when you pressed closer to the centre of them. Your gentle hand brushed at the thick length buried deep beneath his layers when his quickly slipped below the tabletop to stop you.

His head turned sharply to you, eyes glaring a warning. You had never been a brat before and he certainly wasn’t going to allow it now, in front of everyone. Your hand flexed under his grip as his attention was drawn from you again. Your fingers moved subtly to stroke him – his length thickening in his breeches as your fingertips managed to surround the head. His thighs snapped shut at the stimulation, breathing deeply to avoid making a sound.

Dinner could not end soon enough, Cregan thought as your hand finally retracted from him. His prayers weren’t answered though as, just as the meat was taken away, small plates of sweet treats were brought out whilst drinks were further poured.

Dates shipped up from Dorne were your favourites; split open and filled with honey and chopped nuts they were one of the few sweet things you had craved through your pregnancy. You sat sweetly and eyed him as you ate; slowly biting into the fruit and licking the sweet nectar dripping from it from your lips. Cregan only looked up when he heard a faint ‘oops’ fall from your mouth, only to see you swiping honey from your cleavage, failing miserably as the sticky mess just spread further.

Cregan’s eyes glued to where your finger swiped - watching with thickening breath as your pink tongue wrapped around your finger and sucked. His thick fingers flexed on his thighs as he fought his urge to pull you into his lap and bury his face in your full cleavage to assist you. The shine of the honey distracted him when Lord Tully approached his table to congratulate your new arrival. It was only at the sound of his title leaving your lips that Cregan snapped out of the spell you cast over him and looked up, flushed.

When the last of the trays was finally taken away the Lord of Winterfell announced that the day had been long and everyone should rest, ready for a longer day tomorrow. He only hoped that his subjects did not notice the rigidness of his voice, or the clenching in his jaw as he leaned over the table.

No sooner had you entered your rooms than he was upon you.

“You think you can torment me like that wife?” he growled into your ear, pressing you against your dressing table. “You tease me. All day. In front of my men. And you don’t think I will do something about it?” he pawed at your dress, ripping open your bodice and pulling at the strings holding the rest of your gown together. You were left in just your stays and shift: back pressed against Cregan’s chest as he held you in front of your mirror. His hand held your neck and turned your face to him so he could kiss you, swiping his lips from yours up to your ear. “Watch yourself” he whispered.

The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat trailed down your body, over your thin undergarments where his hand bunched up the light fabric moving up your inner thigh - eyes watching you quiver in his embrace. Two thick fingers slid to part your slick folds, his thumb stroking gently over your exposed clit. He continued the slow movements, holding you in place as the pressure barely increased. Only when he could feel you dripping over his fingers did he slip the first one inside you, soon followed by the second when he heard broken moans pour from your throat.

“There’s a good girl” He growled into your ear. Despite the teasing and constant, unrelenting, movements over your little swollen bud the first thick breech of his fingers turned your legs to jelly. Having been without any touch of your husband for so long the rough texture of his palms on your heated flesh and the firm consistent push of his fingers led you to scream into the air – begging your husband for release.

“Please.” You gasped. “Husband!” you begged for gods knows what. Cregan’s lopsided smirk into your fragrant hair was enough to tip you over. The promise in the dark blown pupils of his eyes forcing your first high in months.

Your body went limp against his front, his strong arms coming around your body to lay you on the furs spread out in front of the fire. The thick pelts moulded into the curves of your naked skin and if the buzz from your first high hadn’t made you dizzy enough, seeing the broad frame of your husband staring down at you as he stripped himself of his clothes made you feel as if you would pass out.

Cregan lowered himself down to you, pulling your frame the small way up to his to kiss you properly: the rough stubble that had grown on his face grounded your mind, bringing you back into the moment to feel his body over yours. His kisses were as firm as his fingers pressing into your back, lips trailing down your neck to mark you, inhaling your scent whilst small - deep blooms appear over the swell of your breast. Cregan continued to worship his wife - over your stays and moving the remainder of your clothes out of the way as he did so. His kisses never ceased, beard rubbing deliciously over your newly expose skin when he settled his body between your thighs.

“Now. Wife.” Cregan’s breath puffed out against your sensitive flesh. “The maesters said you were healed?” you whimpered a yes. “Fully?”

“Yes husband” your high tensed voices spoke out.

“Well then…” Though you knew it was coming the high gasping moan that left your lips still did so in surprise. Cregan’s broad tongue swiped through your folds, bathing his tongue in your wetness. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he drank you in for the first time in almost half a year. Hands still gripping both your sides they slid down to brace your shaking legs over his shoulders.

He ate you like a man tasting food for the first time, curved tongue pushing as far as it could go before his lips moved to focus on your still sensitive clit. He sucked gently as his tongue continued to play – mimicking the actions of his fingers earlier. The consistent stimulation was driving you insane; legs shaking in Cregan’s strong hands you sought stability by running your fingers through his long dark hair, gripping a handful at the base making him groan into you.

He re-doubled his efforts when he heard your heavy breath and mewls; nose pressing into your pubic bone and tongue lapping generously over you. Your thighs shook and tensed – your high rolling over you in waves. The rush of your flavour on Cregan’s tongue had him groaning into you, lapping you clean in big strokes as your breath softened and you went limp in him arms once more.

“Don’t think you can rest yet my love.” He growled, pressing soft butterfly kisses up your thigh and hipbone as he rose above you. “You think after all the torment you put me through today, you’re only going to come twice?”

Cregan rolled you over and pulled you back up against his front. Your head lolled on his muscled shoulder as you caught your breath, looking up at him through your lashes to see the strong jaw of your husband. His large warm hands smoothed over your rumpled smallclothes; soothing your heartbeat as you relaxed back into him, only to feel his fingers flex into the small openings of your stays and rip them in two from your body.

Discarding the remains of your clothes, Cregan spread your legs further over the haunch of his thighs – pulling you back to settle your slick folds over his cock. Rutting his hips lightly he pushed his hard length through your folds, slicking it in your juices and brushing against your swollen bud before moving just slightly to impale you on his full length.

The shock of the sudden intrusion pushed a shrill puff of air from your lips; the stretch of his girth so welcome. Holding your hips down against him as he pushed up into you, his thrusts strong and firm as his hold. His hips snapped up into you at a steady, fast pace – your hands grasping out to steady yourself as your breath never fully steadied.

Falling forward you finally gained enough strength to start pushing back on him, desperate to get him deeper into you if that was at all possible. Cregan’s broad back folded over you, caging you in as he went to town; hand coming down in front of you to find your bud as he felt you spasm and clench around him. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he flipped you over, propping your legs over his shoulder and pushing back into you in one smooth movement.

His thick length was always a stretch in any position, but the friction brought about by your legs flung over his shoulders was something else entirely. The sparks shooting up your spine with each thrust made you keen and grope at the soft furs beneath you. Cregan watched like a wolf above you. Mouth hung open slightly as he panted, his gaze dragged down your body; from your hair splayed out over the grey black fur beneath you, over your soft breasts bouncing with his thrusts, down to where you connected. He stared at where you connected, groaning as he watched his length plunge in and out of you, your lower abdomen bulging slightly with each movement.

He leaned forward then, face to face with you in a position that just allowed him to brush that spongey spot inside you. Sliding his hands from your thighs, up your arms, he gripped your wrists in one hand and held them above your head, pressing you further into the furs as your legs hooked over his thick hips. The both of you clung to one another as he rutted into you, your hips angling to ride him from below as you both hurtled towards your ends.

Your high came first, Cregan peppering kisses down your next and biting into the juncture of your shoulder whilst you clenched and fluttered around him. He came crashing after you; groaning into your ear and holding his hips steadfastly into yours as he pumped ribbon after ribbon of cum into you, balls drawing up as they drained.

Whilst you came down from your high you felt the weight of your husband slowly drop onto you as he melted into the touch of your fingers rolling up and down his spine. After a moments reprieve Cregan pulled himself away, settling down at your side and pulling the throw at the end of your bed off and over the both of you. You both relaxed into each other, watching the glow of the fire whilst you felt your husband’s presence next to you for the first time in months.

“Never leave me for that long again.” You mumbled, bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing a reverent kiss to them.

“Never” he murmured. Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head in response.

[leclerity]

the middle of the night

Charles Leclerc x Girlfriend!Reader count: 1.2k words summary: Charles shows up to your apartment in the middle of the night, drunk, and wanting one thing and one thing only. a/n: i bet you couldn't say no to drunk charles wanting to have sex... (18+)

You hear something thud in your room. You pick up the broom from the hallway and creep to your bedroom, slowly peeking through the door—

Only to find your boyfriend halfway through your window, dragging his left leg over the windowsill.

The light comes on with a flick. “Is there a reason you’re crawling through my window?”

Charles shields his eyes, finally flopping to the floor, then fumbles about with the window until it’s closed. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“What was your plan, exactly?”

“Well.” He stands with his hands on his waist, beaming at you. “I’d take my clothes off, get into bed with you, and be there when you wake up.”

“And you thought that wouldn’t disturb me.”

“It wouldn’t. Because you love me.”

His grin widens and you drop your pretence – yes, your boyfriend is a little dumb when he’s drunk, but at least he’s the kind to try to get into your bed when drunk and not someone else’s.

“Charles, it’s”—you check your phone—“the middle of the night.”

He nods. “Bedtime, then.”

Before you respond, he starts taking off his clothes, starting with the white polo he wore to the night out with the boys. He unbuttons it quickly, then looks at you—pauses—grins—and starts unbuttoning it slowly, keeping eye contact.

“You’re adorable,” you say, shaking your head. “Not happening, though.”

Charles pouts. “Why?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And in love,” he says, singing the “love”. He closes the distance between you and pulls you in by your waste, tickling your neck with kisses. “You’re the only thing I want tonight, baby.”

“Charles.”

“Mhm?”

The kisses continue, so you put your hands on his cheek, making him face you. You give him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll get you some water.”

He kisses you back. “I need you, not water.”

“Charles—”

“I can tell,” he says. “I know you want me, too.”

And you do—god, you do—because he keeps kissing you, brushing that sweet spot on your neck as his kisses threaten to trail lower, and because his hands are dropping lower, too, gripping you just right, and—

“Charles.”

He takes a step back immediately, noting the lack of playfulness in your voice. “Okay.”

You kiss him on the cheek. “Get in bed. I’ll join you in a minute.”

He nods and you can tell he’s disappointed, but he’d never go against your wishes. There’s a line between being playful, debating, maybe even considering his proposal – and the no that means a flat-out no, no considerations included. He never pushes when you don’t want him to.

And, unfortunately, that just makes him want you more.

You fill up two glasses of water and take some aspirin from the medicine cabinet, some chocolates, too. Either of you could get peckish later, or in the morning, and you’d rather account for that in advance.

In your bedroom, as you approach it—gently, just in case—Charles is sprawled on top of the covers, with only boxers to hide his modesty. You chuckle and he startles, then beckons you to come over.

“I just want to cuddle,” he says. “I promise.”

You give him the glass and he downs it, then puts it on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The light’s still on but it’s a warm, gentle yellow, and you think about leaving it on for just a little longer.

“Y/N. Mon amour. Come here.”

You kiss him as you join him on top of the covers. His arms close around you as if that’s all they were made to do and you feel tension drift from your body. He smells like his most recent aftershave, and you inhale it as if it were a drug – even sweaty after a night out, he still smells like a god.

Charles kisses the top of your head.

“Charles,” you say.

“Mhm?”

“You tired?”

“Not very.” He kisses you again, snuggles you closer. “Why?”

“I’m think I’m too awake to fall back asleep.”

His palm is flat on your side and his thumb moves side to side, and you hear him sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I can’t believe you thought that getting in through the window wouldn’t wake me.”

He kisses you again. “You’re a heavy sleeper, bebe.”

“Not today. Not when you’re out,” you remind him.

“But I’m here now, and you’re still not sleepy.”

You hesitate for a moment—you can still hear the life outside your window, and the world is still wide awake, it seems—but then you push yourself up, kissing the corner of Charles’s jaw.

“I can think of a way you could make up for it,” you whisper.

His hands are on your waist in an instant and he’s kissing you, no, devouring you, and you feel taste the alcohol on his lips and start to feel a little drunk, yourself, as his kisses outline your jaw and stick to your neck, a little too long, long enough that you’ll have little bruises tomorrow, and—

He hits the spot and you moan his name.

“Mon amour.” His hand’s on your mouth and face above yours, pupils dilated and eyes wild. “We don’t want to be too loud, do we?”

“No,” you mutter through his hand.

“You want to go to sleep after this, right?”

“Yes.”

He kisses the corner of your jaw like you did to him earlier and he’s nibbling at your earlobe. “Then relax and enjoy.”

His hands cup the bottom of your shorts, getting a handful off your ass. He squeezes it, just enough to draw out a moan, and his lips are on yours again, reminding you to keep quiet, you don’t want the neighbours hearing, now, do you? You don’t want them to know how hard I fuck you when I haven’t seen you all day, when I’ve spent the last five hours thinking about coming here and taking you, all of you, mon amour.

You’re not sure if he’s saying this or if you’re imagining it, but you’re not even thinking about being quiet anymore because his head’s between your thighs now, telling you how good you taste, and his fingers are pressing down on your lower belly and the neighbours will know how hard he fucks you, they already do.

After a while, he stops asking you to hold back, but he smacks your ass until it’s red and you’re writhing in pleasure because you’re been a bad girl, and he’s filling you up so well that you wonder how in hell you thought you’d be able to go without this tonight.

By the time he’s done, you’re exhausted and so is he, and you fall asleep quicker than you thought it possible, with his hand still tangled in your hair.

[apomaro-mellow]

steddie falls into porn cliches on accident

Steve was in the middle of washing the conditioner out of his hair, loving the silky smooth feeling and watching the water turn from cloudy to clear as it was all rinsed out. He was ready to start washing his body in earnest now, when he heard the doorbell ring.

For a second, he was ready to just ignore it, thinking it might be a delivery or someone trying to solicit. They could leave whatever they had on the doorstep or keep moving. Then the bell rang a second time and Steve remembered that he was in fact supposed to answer it.

Robin had hired a plumber to fix their sink. She told him they'd be coming between 8 am to noon. Steve had gotten in the shower exactly at eight, thinking surely he had enough time in that window. What kind of plumber showed up this promptly!?

Steve turned the shower off and grabbed the first robe off the hook. It wasn't his, he knew that. But in his defense, Robin wasn't home and he liked to air dry when he could. She could get mad at him later for snagging hers. He tied it hastily, rushing to the door before the plumber left.

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

Eddie waited for the door to be answered, checking his watch while he did. Today was his only appointment, so he thought he was doing well by showing up on the early end of the window. He was ready to spout the rehearsed script when the door opened. Good morning, Munson and Son Plumbing. You got a problem with your drain pipe? Well I'm here to fix it. Fun fact, I'm a guitarist, so I'm pretty good with my hands. Anyone you know looking for lessons?

His uncle didn't always like him plugging his side gig, but putting up posters around neighborhoods wasn't quite as successful as actual face time. Then the door fully opened and he got an entire eyeful. A dripping wet god of a man, his modesty just barely preserved in a bath robe. It did nothing to hide his thick, hairy thighs or impressive chest.

"Hi I'm here to handle your pipe!", Eddie blurted out. "I'm mean I'm good with my hands! P...plumbing! I'm the plumber, I'm here for your plumbing."

"Oh, y-yeah, we've been expecting you", Steve tried to close the top of his robe more and that made Eddie self conscious about staring.

Steve introduced himself and Eddie did the same as he was let into the house, somehow not putting his foot in his mouth as he did. Steve took him to the problem sink and Eddie got to work while Steve excused himself.

He went into his room, looking for something presentable only to find it was mostly his stuff for the club. Definitely not appropriate for a plumber visit. Then he remembered why. He had started a load of laundry last night. And when he woke up this morning, putting it in the dryer so it'd be ready once he was done with his shower.

He went to the laundry room to do just that, emptying the contents of the dryer into his hamper, bending over to do so. Once he was done, he'd be able to put together an outfit that didn't make him look like a desperate housewife.

Eddie had just finished tangling with the pipe. It didn't take as long as he had expected but his shirt was drenched now. He listened out for Steve, hoping he was nearby so that he didn't have to call for him, only to hear something...odd.

He followed the sound until he came to an open door and realized what the sounds were - little grunts of effort. Eddie bit his lip, letting logic and reason work themselves out. Steve knew he had someone in the house and the door was wide open so he couldn't be-

Eddie walked through the door and there was Steve, bent over, top half in the dryer, bottom half sticking out. His robe had began to hitch up, revealing just the bottom of that perfect ass.

"Holy shit", Eddie squeaked out.

"Hey? Plumber guy? I know this is awkward but would you mind helping me out? My robe got caught on something and I can't-I can't free myself."

"Um, okay? So should I just...should I just?", Eddie got behind Steve, hands fumbling. Should he adjust the robe or would that be rude?

"Just grab me and pull", Steve said, wriggling around more and stopping when he heard a rip.

"Yeah, okay, yeah I'll just", Eddie grabbed Steve's hips and pulled, to no avail.

"Gonna have to do it a bit harder than that", Steve said. "Here I'll, I'll try and push too."

Eddie swallowed as he pulled again, Steve's hips coming flush with his own and eliciting a gasp from the other man.

"A...again."

Eddie pulled again, harder this time. He had kind of been working with a half chub. The kind Steve had to feel right between his cheeks every time Eddie pulled on him.

Steve gasped with each time their hips came together and it was getting hard to pretend his asshole didn't flutter with each movement.

"Fuck, just fuck me already", Steve whined.

Eddie wasted no time in dropping his pants and rubbing his cock against Steve's ass, precum dripping and Steve still wet from the shower. The tip slipped in with ease and then the rest of him and Steve's hips wouldn't stay still and then he was fucking him oh shit he was fucking him he was fucking a client while on the clock.

Steve's voice sounded goddamn ethereal, echoing inside the tub of the dryer. He was giving as good as he got, pushing back with each thrust and Eddie got to watch his dotted cheeks jiggle with each impact.

Eddie pushed the robe up more, licking his lips as he was rewarded with the sluttiest back arch that he'd ever seen. He wasn't going to last and this Steve guy wasn't either. Eddie came first, one hand on Steve's hip and the other bracing itself on the dryer so that he didn't fall over. Steve's cock spilled into the floor, a mess to be dealt with later.

"Fuck...you really are good at handling pipes", Steve laughed through his panting.

When Eddie left that day, he didn't get Steve's number. But a week later their company got a call about a clogged toilet and specifically requested that Eddie come over, that they only trusted his expertise. This time, Eddie wouldn't let it slip through his fingers. And this time when Steve greeted him in a half open robe, it was on purpose.

[mxltifxnd0m]

heat wave ࿔ s. winchester

summary: heat waves suck in the bunker

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader

word count: 1.7K

warnings: no use of y/n, not beta'd, fluff, complaining about heat, nudity, suggestive content, one or two dirty jokes

a/n: i made a post about complaining about this heat wave that is happening in my area and decided to write about it. this was intended to be a blurb but it spiraled out of my control LMAO

(also i haven't posted this frequently in like... ever LOL. so please say thank you to sam winchester for being my muse)

please reblog and lmk your thoughts and opinions!! i wanna hear what you guys thought about the fic!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You hated the heat. Nope. Scratch that you loathed the heat. Despite growing up in hotter climates, you never grew to like the heat. You can tolerate it, but you've always preferred the colder months, where you can layer all you want and get warm and cozy.  

But with summer, there was so much you could wear until you were almost naked.  

The bunker could only do much to keep out the heat during the summer and keep the heat in when winter rolled around. An unexpected heat wave hit Lebanon, and since the bunker didn't have any AC or windows, it was practically hell on earth in the bunker.

Sam and Dean were out on a hunt, and you were stuck in the bunker due to having a nasty run-in with a witch that left you concussed and bruised ribs. They said the hunt was a quick salt and burn a state over, so they would be back in a few days. But in the few days they were gone, the heat became almost unbearable.

You spent the past few days stripped down to a bra and the shortest PJ shorts you had. You would have strolled around the bunker naked, but you were a little paranoid that Sam and Dean would come home early, and you didn't want to give Dean a free show. The amount of water that you had drunk could be considered criminal, but you managed to sweat most of it.

You even went out and bought multiple box fans for the library, war room, kitchen, and your bedroom (To hell with your boyfriend and Dean's bedroom. They could buy a fan for themselves.) because you could barely stand the stifling heat that managed to worm its way into the bunker.

The heat had gotten to the point where you were sprawled out on your back, starfish styled on the cool tiles of the shower room. This was your only saving grace in this place (and taking cold showers right before you went to sleep). When the tiles below you would get warm and sticky, you would just shuffle (drag) your body slightly to another patch of cold tiles.

You were so focused on cooling down your hot body that you didn't hear Sam calling for you when he couldn't find you in your room. He and Dean eventually found you on the shower floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean's voice echoed off of the shower room walls.

"Finding reprieve from this god-awful heat." You sat up on your elbows to see Sam and Dean standing in the doorway, uncaring of your state of undress. Being a hunter and getting injured in inconvenient places had left you topless in front of the boys plenty of times and vice versa, so it left no room for modesty.

"This bunker doesn't have any AC or windows, and this heat wave has been terrible. You guys need to fix that." You said before sliding back down and moving to a patch of cool tile.

Sam's chuckling made you smile despite the heat. "Considering this bunker was built in the 30s, they didn't exactly have to worry about heat waves or AC."

Your smile dropped as you scowled at Sam's words. "I hate global warming. Also, how are the two of you not sweating your balls off yet?" You had noticed that they were wearing their flannels.

"We just got back and spent the past 10 minutes trying to find you. Safe to say we haven't spent much time in the bunker to feel the heat."

"Well, you're about to Deanie-boy, be prepared to strip." You went to take a sip of water from the bottle you had brought with you, only to find that it was empty.

"You would love to see that wouldn't you."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." You said before getting up from the floor with a slight groan.

"Besides, I'd prefer to see a strip tease from a different Winchester." You winked at Sam as you walked in between the boys, giving his ass a quick tap as you left the shower room and headed toward the kitchen to refill your water bottle.  

About two and a half hours later, the heat had gotten to the boys, and they were stripped down to their boxers, trying to survive. Dean ended up stealing one of the fans you bought and stashed it in his room, but even then, the fans were just blowing around the warm air that was in the bunker.

When it came time to eat dinner, you guys quickly got dressed because none of you wanted to spend another second in the hot bunker. The cool night air was like a healing balm over the heat wave as you guys found a diner that also had outside seating. After you guys were done eating, Dean drove the three of you around for a while with the windows down in the Impala, not wanting to go back to the stifling hot bunker.

You guys got back home at eleven o'clock, and the temperature in the bunker got significantly better, but it was still uncomfortably warm. You all headed to different bathrooms to shower off the stickiness that the three of you were already feeling.

You took your time in the cold water, not wanting to leave it just yet, but you eventually left the shower once your skin acclimated to the water and started to feel warm to you. You wrapped yourself in a towel and made your way to your room.

Once you made it to your room, you turned on your fan, cranked it to the highest setting, and dropped your towel. You didn't bother with any clothes or getting under the covers because you would throw them off of yourself the second you started to sweat. You crawled on top of your covers and rested your back against your headboard. You wanted to read a bit before you went to bed, so you grabbed your Kindle off of your nightstand and began to read.

About fifteen minutes later, you got a knock on your door. "Babe?" Sam's voice was muffled by the thick door.

"You can come in." You tell him, not looking away from your Kindle.

You heard the door open, and that's when you looked up at Sam entering your room. You caught his surprised expression as he took in your nude form and quickly shut the door. You saw lust flashing through his hazel eyes as his gaze traveled up and down your body.

Sam cleared his throat as he kept his eyes trained on yours. Ever the gentleman. You thought as you smirked at his reaction.

"Did you need something?" You asked, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend as you placed the Kindle in your lap. Your eyes also wandered up and down Sam's bare torso as he was only in his boxers. His anti-possession tattoo stood out against his tan chest and was littered with scars that had faded with time.

You saw Sam swallow thickly as his eyes flickered from your chest to your eyes. "I was wondering why you weren't in our room?"

It was technically Sam's room before you moved into it. After a couple of months of dating, you found yourself sleeping in his room more often than your own when you initially moved into the bunker.

"As much as I love you, Sammy, I cannot sleep with you during this heat wave."

Sam frowned slightly as he made his way to your bed and sat on the edge of it. "Why not?"

You scoffed. "Because you're practically a human furnace, and as nice as it is sleeping with you during the winter, I just know I'll be soaked just sharing a bed with you."

A dirty smirk wormed its way onto Sam's face as his warm palm landed on your ankle and slowly trailed up your leg. "I'm glad I have that effect on you, but I already knew that."

You narrowed your eyes at him as you wriggled your leg away from Sam's grasp. "Ha, ha, you're so funny." You deadpan. "But I'm being serious. You radiate heat, which isn't fun when we're trying to survive a heat wave."

Sam started to pout at you. "But babe-"

"Nope. Not hearing it." You cut him off and shook your head at him as you moved your Kindle to your nightstand. "You're sleeping in your bed alone until this heat wave is over."

"Now, go back to your room." You gestured to your door.

A small huff left Sam as he got up from your bed. "Fine, but at least give me a goodnight kiss."

You rolled your eyes slightly. "Get over here, you big baby." Sam moved to the side you were lying on and bent down to kiss you.

You intended the kiss to be chaste, but Sam (being the little shit he is) had other ideas. He grabbed both of your cheeks with his hands and pulled you into a passionate kiss.  

It was unexpected, but you melted into the kiss as your hands instinctively went to his chest. He tasted like mint and something that you could only describe as Sam. Sam swiped at the seam of your lips, and that is what broke you from your Sam-induced haze.

You pushed him away from you and glared at him lightly. Sam just had a cheeky grin on his face.

"Nice try, now go to bed."

Sam still had a grin on his face as he bent down again and kissed your forehead.

"Goodnight, baby," He murmured softly against your forehead before pulling away.

"Goodnight, Sammy," You said with a soft smile as he left your room.

You turned to your nightstand and turned off the lamp that illuminated your room. Your room was engulfed in darkness as you shuffled further down your bed until your head hit the pillows. You fell asleep as your fan blew cool air towards your bed.

Little did you know, Sam ended up sneaking into your room once you were asleep and woke up in the morning soaked in sweat and having a moose of a boyfriend wrapped around your sweat-slicked body.

It's safe to say that you gave Sam a very rude awakening that morning.  

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Can you please do the office meeting fucking "hyunjin x m'reader" please?? I'm begging you! :D

Boss's Request

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!Boss!Hyunjin x Bttm!Assisant!Male Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Hyunjin decides to spice up the meeting after being pent up and teased by you all day.

More: Masterlist

A/n: Requests are open

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

The fashion world was abuzz with anticipation as the new Hwang Hyunjin line was about to be unveiled. M/n, the boss's "personal" assistant, was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, making sure every last detail was perfect. Hyunjin himself was pacing the floor, his usually immaculate suit rumpled and his hair mussed. Something was clearly bothering him, but no one could quite put their finger on it. Everyone else was too focused on the new designs and the potential impact they could have on the industry.

Meanwhile, M/n caught a glimpse of Hyunjin stealing glances in his direction every now and then. It was almost as if the boss was… admiring him. M/n couldn't help but feel a blush creep up his neck. He'd been with Hyunjin for long enough to know that look, and it usually meant trouble.

As the final touches were being put on the collection, Hyunjin called M/n over to his office. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Hyunjin leaned against his desk, his eyes raking over M/n's body. "You've been busy lately," he purred. "I've barely seen you. I've missed…" He trailed off, biting his bottom lip. "I've missed my stress reliever."

M/n felt his heart skip a beat. He knew exactly what Hyunjin meant. Their relationship had been secret for months, but it was no secret that whenever M/n was around, Hyunjin seemed to forget about everything else. He was always so focused on M/n, and it drove him wild.

As the two went to the meeting and sat down, M/n could feel Hyunjin's eyes on him, even when he was speaking with the other designers. It was a mix of desire and possessiveness that made M/n's blood race. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help but feel turned on by the attention.

The meeting went on, with M/n doing his best to keep his mind on the task at hand. But every time Hyunjin shifted in his seat or let out a soft groan, M/n's focus would slip. It was obvious that Hyunjin was struggling to contain himself, and M/n couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he gave in to those urges.

Finally, midway through the presentation, M/n felt Hyunjin's hand snake its way up his inner thigh. He glanced over in surprise, only to find Hyunjin's dark eyes locked on him. The boss's expression was a mix of desire and possession that made M/n's heart race. Without another word, Hyunjin leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I can't take it anymore. Bend over the table."

Embarrassment washed over M/n as he complied, lowering his body and resting his elbows on the smooth surface. He felt Hyunjin's fingers trace the line of his boxers and pants before they were roughly yanked down, exposing him. The cool air from the air conditioner hit his sensitive skin, making him shiver.

But any hint of modesty was quickly forgotten as Hyunjin's hard length pressed against his entrance. There was no gentleness in the thrust, only a primal need that took control of the boss. M/n let out a gasp as Hyunjin pushed deeper, filling him completely.

Their moans filled the conference room full with employees, drowning out the sounds of the other designers as they presented their work. M/n could feel Hyunjin's hips slapping against his ass, driving himself deeper inside him with each thrust. He arched his back, unable to contain his own pleasure as his boss took control of him.

The other employees shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trying to pretend like they weren't watching the intimate scene unfolding before them. But Hyunjin didn't seem to care; he continued to fuck M/n, his gaze never leaving the other people in the room. He let out a husky laugh as he pulled out, only to thrust back in harder. "See, M/n? They're all looking away. They're afraid of what I'll do to them if they say anything about this. And you? You're mine. You have no reason to be embarrassed."

M/n gasped as Hyunjin's words sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't deny the thrill he felt, knowing that they were putting on a show for everyone. It was a power play, and Hyunjin was in control. He arched his back, meeting Hyunjin's thrusts with equal fervor. The boss's cock felt impossibly big inside him, stretching him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"That's it, baby," he whispered in M/n's ear. "Make them jealous. Make them wish it was them up there, taking my cock." With each thrust, Hyunjin's hips slapped against M/n's ass, driving him deeper inside. The boss's hands gripped M/n's hips tightly, holding him in place as he took him roughly.

M/n could feel his orgasm building, the pleasure overwhelming him as he felt so completely owned by his boss. He moaned Hyunjin's name, the sound filling the room as he lost control. His muscles tensed, and he arched his back, meeting Hyunjin's thrusts with a ferocity that left them both gasping for breath.

As he came, M/n felt Hyunjin's own release, felt the hot liquid spill over his entrance as the boss found his own release inside him. Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, the rhythm of their movements mirroring the power struggle that had brought them to this moment.

When at last they came down from their shared high, Hyunjin pulled out and tucked himself back into his pants. He straightened his tie, adjusting his suit jacket before turning back to face the others in the room. His expression was cool and confident, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

M/n, on the other hand, felt a mixture of emotions as he tried to regain his composure. His heart raced, his body still trembling from the intense release. He looked around, feeling the weight of the other designers' gazes on him, knowing that they had all witnessed what had just happened. But he also felt a newfound sense of power, of being a part of something bigger than himself.

Hyunjin leaned back against the table, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His eyes met M/n's, and there was a smug satisfaction in them that M/n couldn't quite place. "Well," he said, his voice still husky from their exertions, "I think that's enough for today. You all have your assignments. Get back to your desks and make me proud."

As the other designers began to file out of the room, murmuring amongst themselves, M/n lingered behind, still feeling the aftershocks of their encounter. Hyunjin placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. "Come on, M/n," he whispered in his ear, "let's go back to my office and discuss your performance today."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Sex Scenes

It takes skill to write an immersive & emotional sex scene. Consider the following tips.

Is the sex scene even necessary?

Ask yourself this question.

GENRE

Sex scenes may depend on genre. Example:

If you're writing a romance novel, sex scenes are almost always mandatory. But if you're writing in another genre, like mystery or speculative fiction, you may not need to add sex at all.

Sex sells in Hollywood, but literature is more nuanced than film.

You don't need to include sex in your novel just to grab your reader's attention.

NATURAL FLOW

Characterization, pacing, and plotting should do the heavy lifting.

In fact, adding gratuitous sex to your novel may actually slow the pace, cheapen the story, destroy your characterization, and insult the reader.

Before adding sex to a story, always figure out if the move is something that your characters would actually make, or if it’s something that you’re forcing.

MOVING FORWARD

A follow-up question to ask is if this sex scene moves the story forward.

Sometimes, you can simply imply that sex happened without retelling the entire scene: It’s not always necessary to share every intimate detail with your readers, especially if it drags the pacing to a halt.

Don't get stuck in modesty mode

When you write sex scenes, it’s gonna get raw.

There are arms, legs, emotions, sweat, and nipples.

If that made you squirm, you’re not ready.

Come back after you’ve eaten some nachos, downed a beer, and thrown modesty out of the way.

This is the one time when you can’t think about who’s going to read your book.

Usually, editors recommend that you always visualize your reader when telling your story. However, no one wants to think about their mom (i.e. your average reader) when they’re documenting lurid sex.

Instead of thinking about your reader, think about the characters and what you’re seeing. Your job is to write down what you see the characters do.

If it’s clear to you, it will be clear to your reader.

Remember that you’re on this step because you believe this sex scene is integral to your story’s plot. So, if it makes sense for the characters, don’t allow your sense of embarrassment to weaken the story.

Use a lot of detail

Here is your daily dose of “show, don’t tell.”

Instead of saying that the characters had sex, describe exactly what’s going on. Look at each moment as a still photograph and describe what you see.

And don’t forget about the emotional exchange between your characters:

Record every bead of sweat.

Make mention of every moan.

How one may adjust their position for the other.

Describe the feeling behind every glance.

The pressure of each kiss.

The movement of light and shadow on their skin.

Employ restraint

After writing the sex scene, you may realize that there’s no need to include every single detail. This goes back to pacing.

If you spend a few pages, or even a chapter, detailing the entire sexual escapade, your storytelling can suffer.

The hot and heavy sex scene can become a grind to read.

Plus, slowing your pace may make it difficult to speed back up again.

Another reason to truncate your sex scene could be your audience.

If you’re writing for young adults (ages 12-18) or new adults (ages 18-30), the topic of sex scenes can get a little awkward.

Yes, some teenagers have sex, but does your average teenager need to read a full-on sex scene for it to have the intended impact? No.

Sometimes, restraint is necessary and even preferred in order to tell the best story to your reader.

See from your characters' eyes

Do not to visualize your mom while writing. Here’s a tip: Jump into one of the character’s heads and see it from their perspective.

Even if you’re writing your story from third-person omniscient, it’s essential that you stick with one perspective in the sex scene.

This cuts down on confusion (for your reader), helps with characterization, and provides for a more captivating reading experience.

The reader needs to be a part of the scene, not some awkward observer in the corner of the room (that’s your job).

Here’s how you do it: Assign an imaginary camera to one character so that the reader can see exactly what this character sees.

Writing a sex scene requires that you move in very closely to your characters. You’ve got to be all up in their space to tell it with breathless emotion.

If you switch characters, you’ll lose intimacy, so stick to one.

Make it tense

Tension is an important part of sex, and so it is with writing sex scenes.

In an effort to make them integral to your plot, your sex scenes should be tight with tension, but how do you do that?

Figure out what’s at stake for your characters. The reader needs to know what’s at risk for the characters before, during, and after sex (broken heart, broken promises, etc.).

Show the conflict within the character’s mind (perhaps one character is torn between wanting to have sex and wanting to leave).

Create conflict with another character (perhaps one of the characters is engaged to someone else).

Figure out what happens after the moment of glory

They had sex. Now what?

Don't end your chapter with a sex scene unless the next chapter starts with the repercussions of sex.

Otherwise, if you don’t tie the sex scene into the rest of the story, you’ll miss an important character development opportunity.

The reader needs to know what happens in the story immediately after the characters have sex as a result of them having sex:

Do they fall asleep together in love?

Do they wake up in the morning together in disgust?

Does one character leave?

How does the other, now-abandoned character feel?

Sex is a huge deal.

It should prompt the characters to make new choices that they may not have otherwise made.

If sex doesn’t change your characters, it doesn’t belong in your story.

Write it all at once

When writing a sex scene, don’t break your narrative to get a taco—Wait, why are you eating?

Sex demands your full attention (at least, good sex does).

And, just like with sex, you don’t want to break in the middle to do something else. After all, you wouldn’t stop in the middle of the act to eat a taco, would you? Don’t do it when writing a sex scene.

The ebb and flow, push and pull, rise and fall of sex are best written as one, flowing narrative. If you stop, it’s hard to capture that same moment.

After writing the scene, take a break. Then re-read.

Does it make you feel tingly? Then you’re doing something right.

When it’s time to edit/rewrite, only do so when you have the time to relive the scene from beginning to end.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Word List: For Sex Scenes

[astrogre]

Aphrodite(1388) Beauty Indicators

What counts as Aphrodite(1388) beauty indicators:

Aphrodite in 1st house (YOU are appealing, this asteroid is simply who you are as this house represents you as a whole, physically and personal identity)

Aphrodite in 10th house (this is how you publicly appear to others at large, so if you have an asteroid here it kind of shows those themes come to mind in general when people think of you and what your reputation is associated with, imagine yourself as a concept, you perceived as a brand)

Aphrodite Conjunct Venus (your beauty and the way you style express yourself, you express your love and sense of beauty in similar ways, Venus also shows where we are most beautiful therefore the things that make you most beautiful are like Aphrodites)

VERY Strong indicators:

Aphrodite Conjunct ASC (it further amplifies because you become the physical embodiment of Aphrodite, no longer just a hint but may even be mistaken for her your form of expression and how you come across to all and most importantly yourself is just like Aphrodite)

Aphrodite Conjunct MC (same as 10H however it’s even more prominent, your Aphrodite characteristics may manifest or be needed for the job you do as well)

Aphrodite conjunct is at 0-2 orbs. Closer the orb more exactly like your appearance. 0 orb means Aphrodite is YOU to a T. Your physical appearance/public image/expression of oneself, if described with an adjective would be the asteroid itself.

2 or more of any of the previous Aphrodite indicators this asteroid is far too prominent in your chart to be an adjective to describe your beauty, it’s more like an epithet.

What kind of beauty you have:

- You embody the ideal beauty standards

- You shapeshift to appeal to the senses and pleasures of individuals who look at you

- People may struggle to define you by your appearance because you come across so differently to each person

- The allure (the buzz and positive talk of you) stands out more than what you put out to reality especially for Aphrodite asteroid in 10H/conjunct to MC

- You’re beauty is so rare that it’s unbelievable, people that hear of you described by others who know you may think you’re a myth or not real like a catfish or someone pretending to be real. Eg someone looking at your instagram may think you’re not real or if a guy is explaining you to his friends you sound too good to be true especially from the male gaze. That is until they meet you and realise you live up to their expectations and then the rumours of you further amplify as even MORE talk of you. If you start dating around jumping from man to man, people will gush over you

- You may pretend to be modest, demure and coincidentally sexually attractive yet your sexual attractiveness is purposefully intentional

this is based on aphrodites Greek and Latin scholars who wrote about the famous statue at Knidos on which it is based, says that Aphrodite’s facial expression and gesture show ‘false modesty’. She purposefully displays false modesty to look like her nudity and sexual allure is unintentional and just happens to be on her

- You show your beauty through your clothing perfumes and hair accessories. Aphrodite wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewellery covering her body

- As time goes on you are more sexualised, no joke if you guys made a sex tape in your elder years you’d be like a trending milf dilf, especially with Capricorn, Saturn and 10H Aphrodite

Aphrodites depictions were always fully clothed until as centuries progressed the men that idolised her wanted to make her wear less and less, become sexier and sexier, they project their lustful thoughts on her and Aphrodite viewed it as compliments

- No matter what people may say about you, they cannot shake or change the fact that you are beautiful, they may also bring that up when talking about you behind your back if in 12H conjunct ascendant

- You have feminine curves which are shown best through draped clothing, you look best in clothes that drape to your skin and hug your curves

- No matter what you wear people will always see you nude or want to, they may sexualise you and you may subconsciously enjoy it because you feel desired and it feels good to know you’re making others feel pleasure just from looking at you

- You look best naked, your breast and hips may be most prominent and something men recognise you for and what garners admiration from women too. Women may look up to you as the standard and what they wished the looked like

Source: the idealization of womanhood in all her femininity; the Aphrodite sculpture, Praxiteles was mainly responsible for establishing the type-sensuous in its soft curves and voluptuousness.” (Morford 180). As told by Morford, the exaggeration of body parts, breasts mostly, became Aphrodite’s spotting mark in art

- You could have long hair, or your hair can be styled in a different way to other women, very distinct, it can be different from what others expect, your hair may be “immodest” like it looks like it’s uncovered, not domestic, you may put a lot accessories on it or do something specifically that makes it stand out and look better, it’s kind of “unintentionally” erotic.

- You look best in bodies of water, playing with your hair in water, when you’re showering, wringing your hair dry, you may get a lot of stares when you go to the beach just relaxing, or if you’re swimming. It’s something people could watch for a long time

- You love to accessorise excessively

- Men change the way they see you physically from your body to your face and hair, all just to fit their imagined ideal beauty standards. For an example: say a man may prefer brunettes, if you’re blonde, that man will imagine you with brown dark hair and romanticise it, from that point onward he can no longer see you as blonde no matter how blonde you are because the fantasy of an idolised you is so overwhelming

- Men fantasise about you a lot, women too. You invoke fear/admiration into women because of your appearance

- You represent the most ideal physical traits, you can be compared as the standard for others and people may put you on a pedestal so high that makes others want to be where you are but knowing they simply cannot as it’s not in their nature. Because competing against you would destroy them and they do not compare

- You may make people feel ashamed of themselves because you’re so uplifted and idealised by many

- You can adapt to the taste of the target/person you’re trying to seduce

- Your clothes and the way you style yourself enhance your features and make you look like someone who is wealthy and important of high status/nobility

- You are one of the most physically desired people to others

- Your physical appearance isn’t the only thing that makes you so beautiful, it’s the fact that everyone finds you desireable no matter who is looking.

Honestly when I think of Aphrodite I think of someone who is overly sexualised by men. Like they collectively came together and said THIS is what we like. She is the image of sex and desire because they put her there. And she likes it, which is probably why she is labelled as the god of sex, pleasure, love and beauty, it’s because she accepts all kinds of admiration from anyone. No matter how degrading or intensely it manifests. Do you too also accept love no matter how sexually degrading or intense it is? Do you have a tendency to expect to be glorified?

Source:

Link to the historical study of Aphrodites physical appearance

Homer, for example, said that the goddess could be recognized by her shining eyes and “desirable breasts.” Other writers gave her the epithet “Smile-Loving,” indicating that she often had a happy expression. More often, writers described Aphrodite’s beauty through her clothing. She wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewelry covering her body. most of what we know about Aphrodite’s looks must be drawn from the art of the period.

gain, the representations leave much room for interpretation. The one aspect they have in common is that, fittingly, Aphrodite was shown as beautiful.

This usually meant that she had feminine curves, which were often accentuated by closely-draped clothing. When she was dressed it was often only partially, but the goddess was just as often shown in the nude.

She usually had long hair that was left at least partially down, in contrast to the more demure, covered hair of matronly and domestic goddesses. A favorite subject of classical artists was the emergence of Aphrodite from the sea, in which she was sometimes shown wringing the water out of her long hair.

Sculptors had more freedom than painters to imagine the goddess in different poses and situations. Often these poses emphasized her feminine shape and attractiveness to the male gaze. As the goddess of beauty, she represented the most desirable female form possible.

She often changed her appearances to suit her purposes.

This shape-shifting also allowed artists to portray her in a way that reflected the physical idea of their own time and place. Aphrodite could have dark hair in one place and be blonde in another.

Thus, our modern interpretation of Aphrodite has been filtered through the ideals of female beauty from not only Greece and Rome, but long after as well. Medieval artists gave her a high forehead and Renaissance painters showed her with flowing blonde hair because those were the ideals of their times. The written descriptions of Aphrodite were open-ended enough to allow artists to show her in a way they thought was beautiful for centuries. While later artists were influenced by the paintings and sculptures of Rome and Greece, they had the license to show the goddess of beauty in a way that made sense within their own cultures.

Most often, Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry were described in greater detail than her body or facial features. The richness of her garments and adornments both enhanced her features and signalled her nobility.

The lack of written detail meant that artists were able to portray Aphrodite in a way they felt was beautiful. While these typically followed certain conventions, these conventions could vary between regions and time periods. Aphrodite/Venus was therefore shown with certain marks of beauty that had persisted from the ancient world, but also with the features and clothing considered ideal in the artists’ own times. She could be recognized not by a specific feature, but by her desirabilithy.

[thewrstinme]

“Immortalised in stone.”

word count: 5668

summary: what’s intended to be a cosy night in, cuddling up with noah, watching movies and drinking your favourite tea, turns into copious amounts of praise and worship - where you’re not allowed to do anything except feel and understand the immense adoration this man has for you.

tags: oral (female receiving), tooth rotting fluff, noah worships you n your body, religious/greek god references ig, fingering, pure love n adoration, noah is the sweetest bf ever confirmed, sweet words & lots of praise 18+ mdni

notes: not proofread, first real fluffy kinda smut i’ve written so constructive criticism is super appreciated! thanks for the support on the last two fics, love u all <3

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a soft golden light through the windows of their cosy living room. You’re curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, your long hair spilling across your shoulder as you absentmindedly scroll through your phone. Noah is in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself as he prepares both of your favourite tea, the familiar clink of mugs and the soft hiss of the kettle filling the air.

You glance up from your phone just as Noah walks over, holding two steaming cups. He hands one to you, and you smile, setting your phone aside.

"Thanks, love," you murmur, your eyes warm as they meet his brown ones.

Noah sits down beside you, his arm naturally draping over your shoulders, pulling you close. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the sound of his heartbeat soothing in a way you could never get tired of.

"Long day?" he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah," you sigh, but it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that weighed on you. Being with Noah, like this, always made you feel lighter. "But this… this makes it all better."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Glad to help."

You shift slightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and sinking further into his embrace. It wasn’t grand gestures or elaborate plans that made their time together special. It was moments like this—quiet, simple, and full of warmth—that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

In the soft light of the sunset, Noah's fingers trace idly along your arm, his touch leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. You close your eyes, savouring the feeling of being wrapped in his arms.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are today?" he asks, his voice low and soft, a murmur against your hair.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Maybe once or twice," you tease.

Noah chuckled, his chest reverberating with the sound. "It’s worth mentioning again, then."

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments. Noah's fingers continued their lazy path up and down your arm, each touch a subtle declaration of love. He knew you better than anyone else, and somehow, the way he touched you always seemed to say more than words ever could.

You open your eyes and look up, meeting Noah's gaze. There was a softness there, a tenderness that was reserved just for you. "You’re not so bad yourself, you know," you murmur, your lips curling into a playful smile.

A low, amused chuckle vibrates through him. "Oh, stop it, you’ll make me blush," he replies, feigning modesty.

His eyes never leave yours, a mixture of warmth, affection, and the hint of a spark of desire. He shifts, his arm tightening around you, pulling you closer. Noah leans in, and his lips brush against your temple, peppering a trail of light kisses from there to your cheek, each one a promise of his devotion.

The atmosphere in the room changed, becoming charged with an undercurrent of yearning. The quiet had turned intimate, the air between them thick with the unspoken. You feel your heart rate quicken as his fingers continued to draw lazy, soothing circles on your skin.

"I’ve missed you," Noah whispers, his words barely more than a breath. His lips ghost along the sensitive skin just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"We’ve been together all day," you point out, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. The effect he had on you was immediate - your mind and body both respond to his touch in a way that was almost Pavlovian.

18+ under the cut, MDNI!

Noah murmurs something vaguely apologetic, his lips finding that sensitive spot on your neck, the one that always made you dizzy. His hand moves from your arm, slipping under the loose fabric of your shirt to find the skin of your waist.

"I know, I know," he murmurs against your skin, his fingers tracing patterns on your waist. "But I can't seem to get enough of you. Is that a crime?”

There was a hint of a smirk in his voice as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face, memorising every feature. He takes you in like he was seeing you for the first time, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, moving up, tracing the curve of your breast through the thin material of your shirt.

"You’re insatiable," you laugh, your voice hitching slightly in response to his touch. You shift against him, trying to regain some control over your own body.

You can see the desire smouldering in his eyes, a look you were intimately familiar with. It was a look that spoke of unbridled passion and a need that was almost primal. Yet, despite the heat that was building between them, his touch was still tender, still reverent. The dichotomy of his actions made your head spin.

"Can you blame me?" he asks, his voice low and gruff. His hand continues its journey up your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Noah pushes the fabric up slowly, baring more of your flesh to his touch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his eyes roving over your exposed body unabashedly. His hand splayed across your stomach, his touch both possessive and reverent. "Like you’ve been made just for me."

Your breathing quickens under his touch, your body responding to his words and caresses in a way you couldn’t control. The way he looked at you, like you were the most beautiful, most precious thing in the world, still made your heart skip a beat, even after all these years.

You reach up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head closer. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin, sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

"Maybe I was," you whisper, your voice hoarse with need.

The words hung in the air for a moment, the intensity of their meaning sinking in. Noah looks at you, his gaze darkened with a mixture of awe and want. Then he smirks, his expression playful.

"You’re probably right," he concedes. He pulls you closer, his hand still under your shirt, fingertips dancing along your spine. "You’ve always been my perfect fit, haven’t you?"

He leans in, his lips trailing down the column of your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there before moving to your jawline, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilting back instinctively to give him better access.

His hand continues to explore, leaving a trail of heat in its wake until it reached the underside of your breast. He pauses, his thumb tracing the edge of your bra, the touch delicate but deliberate.

Each caress, each kiss, each gentle touch sent a shiver down your spine, making you arch into him. You wanted him closer, you needed him closer. His touch was both a comfort and a delicious torment, igniting a fire within you that only he could quench.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening in his hair, your body pressing against his. Your hips move slightly, instinctively seeking friction, the thin fabric of your shirt doing little to conceal the growing heat between them.

Noah's arm encircles your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. Without breaking stride, he carries you towards the bedroom, his steps determined, yet surprisingly smooth.

You cling to him, a soft laugh escaping your lips as he navigates the short distance with relative ease. Once you both enter your shared room, the door closing behind you both with a soft click, he sets you gently down on the edge of the bed.

He stands before you, his eyes roaming over your body, taking you in with an almost possessive gaze. Then he kneels before you, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your shirt higher, and higher, revealing more skin.

His touch was still gentle, though there’s an underlying hunger beneath it. The room was silent except for the sounds of their breaths mingling, growing more ragged with each passing moment.

Noah leans forward, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along the inner part of your thigh.

He stops just short of where you wanted him most, his hot breath against your skin making you shiver. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "I could spend the rest of my life just looking at you."

His hands continue their exploration, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns over your stomach, your hips, and up to the valley between your breasts. It was an almost reverent touch, like he was worshipping at the altar of your body.

He moves closer, his mouth finding the sensitive hollow of your throat, his tongue tracing a path up to your ear. His teeth graze your earlobe, his breath warm on your skin. He then whispers your name, your name sounding both like a prayer and a plea on his lips.

His fingers, still under your shirt, move again, finding the clasp of your bra. With a click, the garment comes undone, the fabric loosening around your chest. Noah pulls away slightly, his eyes darkened with want as they meet yours.

"Lift your arms for me, love," he says, his voice taking on a tone of command that sends a spike of heat straight to your core.

You obey, your arms lifting slowly until he could pull the fabric of your shirt over your head, discarding it alongside your bra somewhere behind him. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, his gaze roaming over your exposed skin, his chest heaving with each breath.

"You're so perfect," he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort it took to keep himself in check. His hands move, cupping your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones.

Noah leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was a kiss of worship, a declaration of his love. His tongue seeks out yours, dancing and exploring in a way that was both familiar and new.

His hands leave your face, roaming down to your hips, then your thighs, his touch both gentle and possessive at the same time. He wanted you, here and now, but he also wants to make this moment last, to savour every second, every touch.

He breaks the kiss, his lips moving down, trailing to your jawline, then your neck, planting a series of soft kisses along your skin. His fingers continue their journey, finding the waistband of your pants, his touch light as he traces the line of them, before slowly, slowly, inching them downward.

He takes his time, the way he always does. It's not about haste or urgency, but rather about the journey. He wants to know every inch of you, to touch and taste every part of you.

His mouth finds your collarbone, his teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh there. His hands continue their work, slowly guiding your pants over your hips, down your legs, and past your ankles until they're removed entirely.

He looks at you, his eyes full of desire and something else, something deeper. You see the years of love and passion, the understanding of each other that comes from many years spent together.

Noah's eyes never leave yours as he kneels before you once again. His hands trail up your thighs, his touch reverent and tender. He looks at your body the way an artist might look at a work of art, appreciating every line, every curve, every inch of skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "So perfect."

His fingertips trace the outline of your hip bone, his touch both delicate and firm as he commits every contour to memory.

He continues his exploration, his hands moving higher, caressing the curve of your waist, the soft skin of your stomach, the softness of your breasts. Everywhere he touches, he worships, his eyes never wavering from your face.

"Everything about you is just... perfect," he says again. "Perfect for me."

His lips follow his hands, planting kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your chest. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a trail of fire in its wake, his need for you growing with each touch, each kiss.

Noah's lips trace a path up your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. He stops just below your ribcage, his eyes drinking you in, his expression a mixture of awe and desire.

"You know in Greek mythology, they'd write stories about people who were so beautiful, they were said to be sculpted by the gods themselves," he whispers, his voice low, his hand tracing a pattern on your hip.

"I would've thought they were talking about you."

His eyes rove over your form, taking in every inch of you. The way the light casts shadows across your body, highlighting every curve, every contour, it reminds him of the sculptures he saw in museums in his youth.

"You're like a Greek goddess," he whispers, his voice thick with reverence. "Aphrodite come to life, carved from ivory and gold."

His hand traces the line of your hip, his fingers trailing down to your thigh.

"You could have your pick of any god, any mortal man, yet you choose to be mine," he murmurs, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on yours.

His hand, still on your thigh, gives a gentle squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh just slightly. He loves these times, when he gets to see you like this, when he gets to worship you the way he'd always wanted to but was afraid to ask for.

"You're an angel, sent from the heavens just for me," he whispers, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You're like the embodiment of everything perfect, everything beautiful," he continues, his words a soft murmur against your skin. His hand continues its journey, trailing up your inner thigh, the touch both reverent and possessive.

"I can't believe you're mine. I don't think I'll ever get over how lucky I am."

His heart slams against his ribs, his breath catching, his throat tightening with emotion. It's always like this with you, he thinks. Every time, like the first time.

"Shh," he shushes you as you go to speak, his finger against your lips. "I know what you’re going to say, my beautiful girl."

His lips find your stomach again, his hands roaming, caressing every inch of your skin. He is gentle, so gentle, his fingers tracing patterns only he can understand.

"Right now, I just want to worship you. Just let me."

He knows every curve, every freckle, every mark. He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and yet every time, it feels new, different, like he's discovering something wonderful for the first time.

His body moves over yours, covering you with his weight in a way that both feels protective and dominating. His hands are everywhere at once, his lips trailing a path down your neck, over your collarbone, down your sternum, like he's mapping out a familiar but no less sacred territory.

"I love you," he whispers against your skin, his voice low, his breath hot. "I love every inch of you, every inch is perfect. Mine."

Noah looks at you with an almost reverent expression, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, like he's seeing you for the first time. He knows every inch of your body, every freckle, every curve, yet every time he sees you like this, naked and open, he's struck anew.

"You're a goddess," he whispers, his voice thick with adoration. "And I'm just a mortal, worshipping at the altar of your perfection."

You try to interrupt, to thank him, or to tell him how you too feel, but he silences you with a gentle finger against your lips. His expression is serious, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity.

"No," he says firmly. "Tonight, you don't have to worry about anything. Just let me make you feel good, love. Just let me do this."

Reluctantly, you nod, your body relaxing against the bed sheets, the trust in your eyes palpable. You trust him, completely and utterly.

He smiles at this, a small, almost satisfied smirk, his hands returning to your body, caressing and worshipping you, every touch a silent promise of pleasure to come.

His lips find your skin again, his kisses slow, deliberate, his tongue tracing a path over your body. Every touch is soft, almost reverent, his hands and lips moving in unison, as if they had been designed to explore only you.

"Just lay back," he murmurs against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "Just let me take care of you tonight."

His hands move down, caressing your thighs, his fingertips tracing feather-light patterns on your skin. His mouth follows, his tongue darting out to taste the salty sweetness of your skin. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a trail of fire, his passion for you burning hot and intense, with a reverence that borders on religious.

"You're the only worship I need," he whispers against your hip, his lips trailing slowly towards the most intimate part of you. "The only shrine I'll visit, the only prayer I'll ever say."

He looks up then, his eyes locking with yours, as if seeking permission. He wants to taste you, to make you feel more than you ever have before, wants to show adoration in the only way he knows how.

You nod, a silent permission given, and he smiles, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves lower, his hands gripping your thighs, gently moving them apart.

"All the artists in the world," he mutters, his voice thick with desire, "and they never managed to carve something as perfect as you."

Your breath catches in your throat at the look in his eyes. He smiles, a slow, satisfied smile, his hands tightening their hold on you ever so slightly.

"You should have been immortalised in stone," he murmurs, his lips trailing over your stomach. "A masterpiece that generations will look upon and strive to reproduce, but fail every time."

"I'd have built a temple in your honour," he whispers, his lips just above your hip. "I'd have worshipped you every day, every night. Made you a queen."

His hands trail up your legs, the caress of his fingertips leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh, his touch both soothing and arousing. He’s almost there, the moment he’s wanted since he first saw you today.

"I would've painted you in every colour," he murmurs, his breath hot on your skin. "Written sonnets to your beauty, crafted ballads that would echo through the ages. I would've-"

He's interrupted by his own desire, his words turning to guttural moans as he finally, finally tastes you, his mouth finding the most intimate part of you.

Your back arches involuntarily at the feeling of his tongue against your clit, a soft gasp escaping your lips. He grins against your skin, his eyes glancing up to meet yours.

"You're the only prayer I'd ever pray to, love," he murmurs, his words almost a prayer in and of themselves. "The only deity I'd ever kneel for."

He continues to pay proper homage, his tongue moving against you, his fingers caressing your thighs, holding you in place as he devotes himself wholly to pleasing you. He's not thinking about anything else but you, making your pleasure his only priority, his only desire.

"You're more than a goddess," he mumbles, his voice thick with want. "You're a religion, and I'm your most devout follower," he whispers, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Willing to spend an eternity on my knees, if it means I get to worship you like this."

You desperately whine his name, your back arching under his touch, your body responding to every caress, every movement of his tongue. He smiles, the sound of his name from your lips like music to his ears, his eyes drinking in every little reaction he can pull from you.

He's intoxicated, drunk on the taste of you, the feeling of you under his hands, his mouth, everything about you. He's in a state of bliss, and he knows he could stay like this for hours if you'd let him.

He moves against you, his tongue tracing patterns, his lips never leaving your skin. He can't get enough, he'll never get enough. He wants to worship every inch of you, pay homage to your beauty, your strength, your heart. You're everything to him, and he wants to show you that, to show you how deeply he adores you.

"I'd sell my soul to have you like this," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "I'd do anything for this."

His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place, as he continues to worship you with his tongue. You can feel his devotion in every movement, in every moan that escapes his lips, in the way his body seems to fit perfectly against yours.

He's completely lost in you, drowning in the sensations he's creating, the feeling of you under him, the sound of your sighs and moans echoing in his ears. He wants to stay like this forever, to spend an eternity making you feel like this, like you're the only thing that matters.

He moves his mouth against you, his tongue tracing stripes up and down your sensitive flesh, his fingers moving in unison to gently pump in and out of you, adding to the sensations you're feeling. His touch is both soothing and intense, sending shivers up your spine, making you gasp and moan.

He loves this, the way you respond to him, the way you sound, the way you taste. It's all addictive, and he's helpless to resist the pull he feels.

His touch is everywhere, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, his devotion evident in every move he makes. He knows your body, knows everything that makes you react, and he exploits every weakness, every pleasure point, to bring you to the peak of ecstasy.

He's lost in the moment, lost in you, his eyes glued to your face, watching every expression, every gasp, every arch of your back. He doesn't want to miss a single thing, wants to memorise every minute detail of this moment.

“You’re perfect," he mutters against your skin, like a prayer, a benediction. "Perfect, perfect, perfect,” he hums each word in between a gentle peck that lands on the centre of your clit, making you squirm and grip his hair a little tighter.

He knows he's babbling, that his words may not make sense, but he can't help it. You do this to him, make him lose control, make him forget anything beyond you and him and this moment.

He’s not thinking about anything but you, about your pleasure, about making you feel even a fraction of the adoration he feels for you. It’s all that matters, everything else is just background noise to him. He feels the way your body starts to react, the way your breathing quickens, the little whimpers that escape your lips. He grins against your skin, a feeling of satisfaction and pride washing over him. He's doing this to you, bringing you to this blissful state, and it's making him feel alive.

You whine his name, the sound a plea, a desperate yearning. You beg him to continue, not wanting this feeling to end, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"Please," you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets, your body arching under his touch. "Please, Noah, I need you, don't stop, please."

His eyes lock with yours, a smirk on his lips, his ego inflated by your words. Knowing that you're begging for him, begging for release, it's a feeling like no other. He could stay like this forever, bringing you to the edge and back again, over and over, just to hear you say his name, to watch your body react to his touch.

"Anything for you, love," he murmurs against your skin, his voice low, "anything."

He doubles down, his mouth and fingers working in tandem, his movements becoming more insistent, more intense. His fingers are relentless, two of them sliding in and out of you with a gentle yet powerful pace, and his mouth and tongue work effortlessly to stimulate your clit. He's determined to bring you over the edge, to give you the release you’re begging for. He can feel himself getting carried away, lost in the moment, in his devotion to you.

"You taste like sin," he mutters against your skin, his breaths ragged, his heart racing. "Like every bad habit I've ever had. I'm addicted, love, obsessed.”

His words are rough, his voice low and raw, the sound of your gasps and whimpers only driving him further, his need growing with every second that passes.

He continues to babble, his words a mixture of blasphemies and prayers, his mind fuzzy with pleasure.

"You're a sin," he groans, "a temptation I couldn't resist. But you're also an angel, a masterpiece, a deity incarnate, you’re everything I'm not but everything I need.”

He moves against you, his pace relentless, his breath warm on your skin. "You're perfect, love, and I'm addicted to you."

"I'd burn the world down for you," he whispers, his words a fervent confession, a promise he'd die to keep. "I'd sacrifice everything, just to make you feel like this, to hear you say my name, feel you under my hands."

He's in a trance, drunk on his own desire, on the feel of you, the taste of you, the sound of you. It's all consuming, a whirlwind that he can't escape, wouldn't want to even if he could.

You arch your back, feeling like you're about to lose your mind, your body writhing under his touch, your gasps and moans filling the room. You're a trembling, pleading mess, completely at the mercy of his hands, his mouth, his words that send shivers down your spine.

"Please, Noah, please," you gasp, your voice cracking, "I need you, I need you so bad it hurts."

"I know, love," he murmurs against your clit, his voice ragged, his body thrumming with the desire to satisfy your need, to give you everything you're begging for. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you."

His hands hold you in place, his mouth and fingers never leaving you, his pace relentless, his goal singular. He wants to make you come undone, to see you fall apart because of him, because of the pleasure he's bringing you.

He's lost in the moment, completely surrendered to the need to make you feel good, to give you the pleasure you're craving, to show you how much he worships you. It's like nothing else matters, everything and everyone fading into the background, until there's nothing but the two of you in this moment.

Your body arches and trembles, your eyes squeezing shut as the waves of pleasure overtake you. You gasp, his name a plea on your lips, the sound loud and desperate. You're completely undone, quivering and gasping, your body responding to the pleasure he's given you.

"Noah," you gasp, as if saying his name is the only thing that’ll ground you from the waves of pleasure you’re experiencing.

"That's it, angel," he whispers against your skin, his eyes locked on your face as you reach climax. "Let go for me, gimme that pretty sound."

He's watching you, his gaze intense, drinking in every reaction, every gasp, every twitch of your body as you ride out the pleasure he's given you. It's a moment of pure intimacy, a sight that only he gets to see, and he's worshipping it like it's the first time he’s ever tasted you.

He slowly slows down, his movements gentle now, his mouth peppering your clit with soft kisses, his hands caressing you gently, like you're fragile and easily broken. He's in awe, his eyes soft and dazed, humbled by the effect he's had on you, by the sounds you made because he wanted it, *needed* it.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his lips ghosting over your skin, tracing a path from your jawline down to your collarbone. "More than I deserve."

He's reverent, almost reverential, as if he's witnessing a miracle, a moment too perfect to be real.

He continues to whisper praise against your skin, his words a constant litany of adoration and worship.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice soft and reverential. "A goddess incarnate, a deity walking among mortals."

His hands move over your body, tracing every contour, every curve, as if he's trying to commit your body to memory.

He gently pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, his eyes still filled with awe and adoration.

"You were perfect," he whispers, his lips moving over your skin, trailing a path from your temple down to your chest. "So beautiful, so good, so perfect for me. I'm so proud of you, love."

His hands caress every inch of you while his mouth showers you with praise and worship, his touch tender and loving, his words filled with affection and appreciation.

He takes his time, mapping your body with his hands and lips, his touches gentle, his words reassuring. He wants you to feel safe, valued, treasured. He wants you to know that you're everything to him, that he worships you, adores you, lives for you.

You snuggle your naked body against his still fully clothed one, feeling the cool fabric against your sensitive skin. You nestle into the crook of his arm, your head resting on his chest, sighing contentedly as you feel his heartbeat beneath your ear.

Your hands draw idle patterns on his chest, tracing the muscles that lie beneath the fabric, your movements comfortable, familiar. You feel safe, cocooned in his embrace, your body heavy and satisfied. You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes soft and languid.

"I love you," you murmur, your voice slightly hoarse from the sounds you just made, your words a soft admission, a declaration of your feelings.

"I love you more," he replies, his arm around you tightening subtly, pulling you closer, as if he can't bear even an inch of space between you. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment, inhaling the scent of your hair.

He continues to hold you, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your shoulder, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear. He knows you're tired, physically and emotionally spent, and he's happy to just hold you, to feel you against him, the warmth and weight of you a comfort he's glad to have.

Noah gently guides you onto the bed, a soft and content smile on his face, before disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a warm, damp towel in his hand, the action practiced and familiar.

"You were perfect, love," he murmurs as he begins to wipe down your body, his movements gentle but efficient. His lips follow the path of the towel, planting soft kisses on your skin, reverential and appreciative.

"So good for me, so beautiful," he continues, his voice a low, soothing murmur, his praise constant and sincere. "I couldn't ask for more, love. You're everything."

He takes his time, his touch soft and loving, his movements slow and gentle. His eyes are glued to your face, watching your reactions, making sure you're comfortable and relaxed.

Once he's finished, he leaves the towel near the bed and crawls over you, his body hovering above yours. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin tenderly.

"You alright, princess?" he asks, his brown eyes searching yours, his expression full of concern and care. You nod sleepily, a soft smile on your lips, your eyes heavy with fatigue. You tuck yourself into his side, curling up against him, your body seeking out his warmth and comfort.

Your head rests on his chest, your ear pressed against his heart, the steady thump-thump lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, his voice barely above a murmur. "I’m here."

Noah’s voice was like a gentle melody, his soft words wrapping around you as his arms held you securely. His warmth seeped into you, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek was the most comforting sound in the world. You felt safe, cherished, completely at ease in his presence.

“I love you,” you mumble sleepily, your voice muffled against his chest. His fingers, still drawing soft circles on your skin, paused for a moment before resuming their tender path.

“I love you more, princess,” he murmured back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re everything to me.”

The weight of his words filled you with a deep sense of belonging. Noah always had a way of making you feel like you were his entire world, like nothing mattered more than being here with you, right in this moment. His touch was gentle, his presence steady, and you knew that no matter what, he would always be there to hold you like this.

As your eyelids grew heavier, you curled further into his side, his warmth surrounding you like a cocoon. His fingers continued their slow, soothing movements, lulling you into a peaceful haze.

“Goodnight, my sweet girl,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

taglist: @aubrey-melinoe @cainified @krrule1 @ihrtlonghairedboys @somewhere-diamond

@thisbicc @lovesick-evangelist @fadingintothegrey @anything-more-than-human

[mechdyke-after-hours]

INSIDE THE SHIP OF FLESH

second part to Inside The Tower of Gold!!

⚠️ WARNINGS!! ⚠️

transformers one spoilers, NON-CON, tentacle sex, ovipositon + egg laying, sounding, semi-public sex

y'all... I have NO idea how this fic turned out like this. I wasn't even expecting to write this chapter, let alone make it this... explicit. enjoy!

Going to the surface wasn't exactly a pleasant experience on a regular day, let alone after Sentinel's... experience last night. The more he thought about it while getting ready, the more conflicted he got. He still ached all over and the ozonic scent of leftover transfluids practically wafted off his frame. He buffed out as many scratches and paint transfers that he could in around 10 kliks, which admittedly... wasn't a lot.

Sentinel had respect for the Quintessons, of course he did. They helped him get everything he wanted and then some, all in return for a bit of energon. But they weren't exactly friendly, to say the least. They were very demanding creatures. Always wanting more. But he always just grit his denta and smiled, something he was very practiced at doing by now.

His announcement was slightly more rushed than usual. He still looked a bit of a mess, despite his best efforts. Scuffs and scratches littered his usually perfect plating, and his smile was slightly more forced. His powerful voice boomed over the Iacon display screens as he explained how he was once again "going to the surface and risking his life to find the matrix, for the greater good of the cybertronian race!" with a wide, toothy smile. He could hear the cheers from the broadcast room, mechs and femmes alike screaming his name. He puffed his chassis out slightly, grinning as the broadcast ended. He turned to Airachnid, and gave her a nod as they finished the final preparations.

As he stood in front of the Quintessons he couldn't help but feel that something was off. Sure, he had brought a little less energon than usual, but the way their red glowing eyes stared him down was wrong. He kept his cool, even when the high commander moved closer, hot breath washing over his frame. Slimy organic tentacles grabbed at him, bringing him up to its face. The Quintesson sniffed him, its eyes glowing just a little brighter as it lifted Sentinel up, eyeing his shoddily welded-on modesty panelling.

"I'll be bringing extra next time, I promise." Sentinel smiled as much as he could, trying to ignore the damp breath of the Quintesson high commander as it wafted over his face plate, the stench of something astringent filling his olfactory sensors. He was so focused on the smell, he didn't feel the slimy appendages inching tighter around his limbs.

It happened so quickly. His already once injured modesty panel was being pried off. Without thinking, he retracted it. The Quintesson sniffed again, the traces of leftover transfluids having leaked out and stained Sentinel's valve. He shot a glance towards Airachnid and the other guards, who were simply looking the other way, keeping an optic out for any other threats and ignoring the scene in front of them. Traitors.

The Quintessons tentacles tightened around his wrists and ankles, stretching him out until he was completely spread eagle, barely able to move. His wings twitched uselessly as he tried to get away, but the sight of glowing red eyes and bared teeth quickly put a stop to his attempts. He hung uselessly in the air as horrifyingly organic appendages probed and explored his frame, leaving sticky trails on his already marred plating. Grin and bear it. Grin and bear it.

The first slide of the appendage along the plush golden folds of his valve wasn't as unpleasant as he was expecting. He vented heavily as it toyed with his node for a moment, before sliding inside. The taper made it an easy fit at first, especially after the rough treatment his valve had already faced just hours before. But it kept sliding, and each segment kept getting thicker and thicker. It wasn't long before his callipers felt stretched to their limit, the small blunt tip pressing against the entrance to his gestation chamber.

As Sentinel's intake opened to protest, another one of the high commander's tentacled limbs pressed against his glossa. The taste and texture was vile, unlike anything he'd ever put in his mouth. It pushed forwards, filling his intake quickly, and slowly sliding down his throat. He gagged, but it didn't stop. He didn't realise he was crying, sobbing even, until he tasted the salty tang of coolant on his glossa. The tentacle went impossibly deep, down his throat to the point he could feel it in his tanks. The one in his valve pressed harder against his gestation chamber, and he felt a sudden pop. The delicate silicone ring gave way, allowing the Quintesson to slide even deeper.

To his horror, a third tentacle started prodding at his frame. He was no stranger to aft play, but with his body already so stuffed full he couldn't even begin to imagine it fitting into his port. But that didn't stop the Quintesson from trying. The natural lubrication of the appendage helped it slide in with ease, the tapered end once again proving useful. He cried out loudly, oral lubricants spilling out of his intake around the intrusion and onto his chassis. His port stretched painlessly, and for that he was thankful.

The high commander set a brutal, punishing pace. Sentinel tugged at his restraints again, his optics squinting closed as tears continued to spill down his cheeks. An overload was forced out of him, static energy arching and bouncing off his plating as transfluids shot out of his spike and splattered onto the ground beneath him, staining the floor pink. The Quintesson didn't slow, further bullying Sentinel's overstimulated and stretched valve.

A fourth, much thinner tentacle slid around his leg and up his thigh. It wrapped around the base of his spike, providing even more unwanted stimulation. Sentinel felt a strange pressure at the tip of his spike, his optics shooting open just in time to see the smallest appendage slide into his transfluid lines. The stimulation was confusing, the area so sensitive that it almost hurt. He let out a series of mumbled, confused moans as his spike was stretched, the thin tentacle thrusting slowly and releasing even more slimy fluids to aid the stretch. He bit down on the appendage stretching his intake slightly, his venting heavy and uneven, his frame overheating to the point his tears sizzled against his cheek plating.

The tentacle in his valve started flexing, becoming slightly thicker suddenly. Sentinel panicked and choked as a round object pushed itself into his valve, pushing against the entrance to his gestation chamber. He was suddenly thankful for the earlier stretching as the slightly gelatinous orb slid into him. He'd heard tales of how Quintessons reproduced, but he wasn't expecting to ever experience it firsthand. A second egg pressed against him, sliding in with surprising ease. The thin tentacle filling his transfluid line stopped him from overloading, leaving him frustratingly right on the edge. He sobbed, but no tears fell.

After a long moment, the barrage of squishy eggs finally slowed to a stop. His abdominal plating bulged out obscenely, creaking under the strain of his stretched out protomesh. The ovipositor tentacle twitched before releasing a sticky thick slime, filling him up even more. It retracted slowly, leaving his valve empty and stretched wide. A gush of fluids followed it, splattering onto the floor between his legs with a disturbing squelch. Next slid out the one in his spike slit, followed by the one in his port. The one from his intake was the last to retract, making his insides churn and lurch as he struggled not to purge his tanks.

The Quintesson high commander didn't let Sentinel go; however, if anything the appendages restraining him only got tighter. He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his glossa heavy in his mouth. His voice box let out a burst of static uselessly. His optics flickered offlined for a moment, before he felt a rush of pressure in his core.

The slime started to leak from his gestation chamber, providing a tingling numbing sensation not unlike the circuit booster patches from the night before, but located entirely in his valve. The pressure started soon after, the eggs having swelled slightly in the short time they had to germinate inside of his chambers. The Quintesson spread his legs slightly more and let out a chittering noise. Even more slime gushed out of Sentinel's abused valve, the blue and gold folds gaping open obscenely. His node blinked in time with his ventilations, his frame feeling slow and relaxed despite his current situation. He vaguely understood that he needed to start pushing, and he did just that. His valve stretched wide around the firm yet jelly-like eggs as they fell onto the floor below into a wet pile. His optics offlined again as he crashed into another overload, aiding the birth of the last few Quintesson eggs.

The high commander signalled to the other Quintessons who quickly rushed over, picking up the eggs and carrying them inside the grotesque looking ship. Sentinel was dazed, his helm spinning and throbbing in pain. He was dumped rather unceremoniously onto the sticky floor beneath, his plating suffering another few dents from the landing alone. His limbs twitched rather uselessly as he wiped drool and slime off his face with the back of a servo. The Quintesson left rather quickly after that, leaving him and the rest of his party alone in the techno-organic wasteland.

The last thing he saw before he finally passed out was Airachnid staring at him with unblinking optics, almost definitely recording and saving everything into her seemingly infinite memory banks. Whether to use it as blackmail against him or the Quintessons, he wasn't sure. But he'd have to ask for a copy later as... proof.

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fic)

Chapter 10

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. Mature Language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

...................................................................................

Jude was coming back from the international break today. England had qualified for the Euros, with matches to spare. And he had been the shining star of both the games. Scoring a goal and winning a penalty.

Ananya was so proud of him. But ten days apart felt like forever this time. They spoke everyday, sometimes twice a day, and exchanged messages throughout. It just wasn’t enough though, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with him.

Jude came straight to her apartment from the airport, lifted her by her waist & swung her around like a madman. Legs bumping into the furniture of the living room. She giggled away merrily, while trying to keep them from tumbling over.

‘Easy there, tiger.’

His eyes glinted with mischief.

‘Ooh do I finally get a nickname?’

‘Maybe. You like it?’

He nodded eagerly, & she kissed his nose.

‘Okay then. Dinner is ready, tiger.’

‘Are you on the menu? Coz I’d rather have you.’

‘Maybe for dessert.’

She winked as she untangled herself from his hold. While he stared after her, replaying what she had said & the way she said it. Something had been different about her lately & he was loving every bit of it.

‘Oh my god you are backkk.’

Roma emerged from her room and Jude pulled her into a bearhug too.

‘Gosh you rocked in both the games.’

‘I know right?’

He shrugged smugly and both the girls rolled their eyes at him.

‘So the modesty is only for the cameras, is it?’

Roma quipped, and Ananya chuckled from where she was setting the table.

‘Now don’t gang up on me, you two. It’s my day. Heck its my week.’

‘When is it not?’

The girls said together, looked at each other & burst out laughing. Jude pouted for a second, but joined in the banter later, sitting next to Ananya on the table. His palm never left her thigh throughout dinner.

She had cooked his favourite pasta. Exactly how he liked it. The way his mom made it. 

He leaned over & kissed her cheek, earning a sweet smile. Jude loved it when she remembered the little things & spoiled him like that.

Conversation flowed easily between the three of them, as always. Jude spoke about the new tiny Italian town he discovered where they had their camp, and the girls made plan to visit there. Roma joked about the posters the Italian fangirls carried in the match, saying ‘Marry me Jude’ or ‘Be my boyfriend’. The cameraman had some fun with it, popping it on the screen a few times. Some of the players on the field had noticed it too, & it had become quite a joke in the post match pressers as well.

Jude smiled sheepishly, while looking at Ananya from the corner of his eye.

‘Yeah, some of them came to our hotel too.’

‘Excuse me?’

Ananya’s head whipped in his direction, while Roma wondered if she had opened a pandora’s box.

‘Honest, they did. Just wanted some photos & merch. Then we hung out for a bit.’

‘Define we.’

‘Me & them. And some other lads.’

‘This is not funny.’

‘Wanna see some photos?’

Ananya just stared at him, and he lost the will to carry on the charade.

‘Jeez I left, dove. I just clicked some pics and left. Though I think the girls weren’t too happy about that; lads told me later, honest.’

The smugness & cockiness was on full show. Coupled with a dashing smile.

‘Such a heartbreaker, aren’t you?’

‘Like you aren’t one.’

Roma mutterred from her seat, sipping her third glass of wine, only realising the slip up when she felt the full force of Ananya’s glare.

Jude looked between the two, trying to decipher their code language. Failing miserably.

‘What’s going on, girls?’

‘Just had too many of these, should stop now.’

‘Yes. Yes you should.’

Ananya said pointedly. Roma took her leave soon after. She was supposed to go to a house party though something about the moment felt odd. But Jude was too happy tonight, so he let it go.

He grabbed her waist from behind as Ananya was clearing the table.

‘How about my dessert now?’

His mouth started trailing down her neck & shoulder as he pushed her towards the bedroom.

‘There is choco-fudge brownie in the fridge, your fav.’

She really had gone all out for him today. His lips curved into a smile against the crook of her neck.

‘Can I eat it off you?’

Before she could even process his words, he sat on the edge of the bed & pulled her into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs.

His hot mouth was on hers in a flash, & she forgot her last lucid thought, losing herself in his frenzy.

His hungry, sloppy kisses left a wet trail all over her face, neck & exposed cleavage.

‘Oh I missed you. All of you.’

His hands moved under her butt, kneading them with force, making her yelp into his mouth.

‘Did you miss me? Miss this?’

She threw her head back as he bit along her jaw. Everything about their intimacy hit deeper today. Like their bodies knew they were at a pivotal juncture.

‘Yes. So much, Jude.’

It was true. She had missed his touch like hell, feeling empty & starved without it.

Her breathless response spurred him no end. His large, warm hand slid up her fitted top, cupping one of her breasts. 

This was unchartered territory between them. Her eyes flew open instantly, & met his dark, hooded ones. He held her gaze, squeezed harder, making her mewl & tremble in his arms.

‘I thought about these babies every night. Touched myself thinking about doing this.’

His fingers circled the centre of her clothed boob, finding the nipple & rolling it with intent. In no mood to stop. The continued assault made her fall forward, clutching his shoulders.

Tonight was supposed to be the night where she told him she was ready for more. Ready to be fully his. The longing she felt while he was away made her see it even more clearly. 

She had planned this to the T - his fav meal & dessert, his fav fitted top on her, his fav lip-colour on her, leaving her hair open the way he liked, keeping the apartment to themselves tonight. She had spent hours in the salon too, wanting to look pretty for him. She knew he noticed & appreciated these things, & cleaned up well himself for date-nights. 

But she was fast losing control of the situation. He was taking over, with his hot & frenzied moves, dragging her along. Did he read her mind or her mood? Or was he in a mood of his own? She couldn’t tell. But his touch felt firmer tonight, his gaze more intense, filled with purpose. The spark between them more charged.

Her body was responding to him fully, but her conscience kept messing with her head. She had to tell him. Now. Before anything happened. He had the right to know. 

But does it even matter? It’s inconsequential. Why bring it up now?

She tried to debate with her conscience but it was a losing battle. It won’t be inconsequential to him. And if the roles were reversed, she would most definitely want to know this. The start of something special between them could not be done with a heavy conscience.

‘Ju-de.’

Her voice was barely a whisper. He was too occupied with her curves to register that. She spoke louder.

‘Jude…wait.’

He looked up, his hands still continuing his ministrations.

‘Whyyy?’

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Now?’

His pleading puppy eyes tried to sway her, but she knew it was the right thing to do. 

Ananya gave him a few moments to compose himself. His hands came down to loosely wrap around her waist, and hers cupped his cheeks. Still in his lap, straddling him.

Jude searched her face, a sudden unsettling dread buildingin the pit of his stomach. He could tell something was coming, something unpleasant. 

She decided to let it out quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

‘Remember our office party last Friday, the one where we all dressed up in ethnic wear?’

‘Yes.’

He already didn’t like the direction where it was going.

Ananya looked down, unable to meet his eyes for this, feeling a weird sense of guilt.

‘That night, Arjun proposed to me. I didn’t see it coming but you were right about this. About him. I-I thought you should know.’

Jude was still as a rock. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. She looked up to his face. It had gone cold. No expression. His eyes were shut - as if wanting to process this in some privacy.

Slowly, his arms dropped from around her, gripping the edge of the bed. Leaving her feeling empty.

She desperately wanted to pepper kisses all over his face, to make him look at her, to show him how none of it meant anything, but she wasn’t sure if any intimate touch would be welcome right now.

So she just stroked his face slowly with her fingers, waiting for him to open his eyes. He did open them, but looked behind her, almost through her.

‘How did it happen?’

His voice was cold, distant. Unfamiliar.

‘I..I don’t understand your question.’

‘When he PROPOSED to you, what did he do? What did he say?’

Her face contorted in discomfort, unable to understand why he wanted these images in his head.

‘We were dancing together and..’

‘You were dancing with him?’

His voice & tone were even but she knew his emotions were anything but that.

‘No. We were all dancing individually, but in a group. 5-6 of us. He was next to me, said he wanted to talk to me, we stepped aside and then he….then he….’

She looked at him pleadingly, to stop this torture, but he wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy right now. Defeated, she continued. 

‘He said I was looking beautiful in that sari & that he….has had feelings for me…for a while. And if I’d like to go on a drive with him.’

‘A drive? Sure, that’s all he wanted that night.’

Jude scoffed mockingly. Unable to shake the image of that leech checking her out, wanting to whisk her away to put his hands on her. 

Facing Jude seemed like such a difficult task suddenly for Ananya. Maybe coz his eyes were screaming bloody murder. And her own conscience kept making her feel like she had wronged him somehow. But she hadn’t. How was this her fault?

‘What did you say?’

Her whole body jerked at his question. He really needed to ask?

‘I-I obviously said no, Jude. Told him I’m not in the right headspace for a relationship, just wanna focus on my work.’

His accusing glare again bore a hole through her, as if this was the wrong response too. As if he expected her to say something else. But they had discussed this before. He knew this is what she was telling people.

She could tell how hard he was trying to keep a lid on his agitation, for her sake. How hard his hands were gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles going white. A volcano simmering inside him, ready to erupt any moment. 

Wanting to comfort him, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing the side of his face. His hands didn’t move from the bed. 

‘Why was I not told immediately?’

‘You were away, baby.’

‘We spoke twice everyday. This was 7 days ago. Why didn’t you tell me that night itself?

‘You were playing Italy next day.’

‘So?’

‘So how could I tell you something that would mess with your mind? When I knew how important that match was and how hard you were training for it? How could I be the reason to meddle with that? I know football comes first for you.’

‘Oh don’t you throw that in my face. Don’t use that against me. Football coming first doesn’t mean I should be kept in the dark about other important things.’

‘Kept in the dark? I am telling you the first time we are meeting in person after that. How is that keeping you in the dark?’

He wasn’t the only one agitated now. Her guilt had made way for a fair bit of irritation. Everything seemed to be blowing up in her face, despite her best efforts to make the right call for everyone. 

‘Would you have told me if Roma hadn’t blurted it out?’

Jude had finally put two & two together on the heartbreaker comment. He understood that exchange now, and why Roma left so quickly after that.

‘Do you seriously believe I would have kept this from you?’

Her voice was small now, filled with hurt.

‘I don’t know. I never thought you of all people would ever hide something like this from me for so long, but you did. So now I don’t know anymore.’

He said honestly. Matter of factly. She was supposed to be different. Jude didn’t think there was an iota of deception in her. So how could she talk to him the whole week & pretend everything was ok? 

It hit her like a truck. Because she could see it was coming from his heart. And she knew he didn’t use any filters in his closed circles. 

She clutched his shirt tightly, trying to shake him. It didn’t make a dent. 

‘Jude, please, look at me. It meant nothing. It means nothing. It’s done. I genuinely thought it was the best thing to do, I couldn’t bear it impacting your performance. That’s the only reason I delayed telling you. There is nothing more to it. Please, try to look at it from my POV.’

Jude laughed a dry little laugh, which sounded almost cruel to her.

‘Your POV? Ok, let’s do that. How would you have reacted if the situation was reversed? If I had kept something like that from you.’

She was stumped. Unable to come up with a response that could further her case.

‘You would have been out of that door by now. I would have gotten zero benefit of the doubt. Guilty on sight.’

She looked down at her hands. Coz he was right. She would take taken this badly. 

‘Because you are you - above any reproach. And I am me, the quintessential slut. Right?’

Ananya shook her head in pain, covering his mouth with her palm.

‘Don’t say that, baby. Please, I can’t.’

She reached out to caress his cheeks but he flinched. The rejection felt worse than a slap in the face.

‘I should leave.’

Jude muttered in a cold voice, almost to himself, as he lifted her out of his lap, placing her on the bed.

She felt numb. Shocked at the turn of events. Broken with the hurt in his voice. 

Coming to life only when he tried to get up.

She clutched his elbow with both hands, placing her head on his shoulder. 

‘Stay. Please. Don’t leave me like this.’

Jude sighed audibly, looking at her trembling form. Fighting every bone in his body that was yearning to hold her. Comfort her.

‘It’s for the best, Ananya.’

She clutched him tighter. Her own name never sounded so foul, so bitter to her. She had gotten so used to his terms of endearment. 

‘I’ll do something, or say something I’ll regret. It’s best I leave right now.’

How did things come to this? What was this game god was playing with her? How did she hurt this precious man so much that he couldn’t bear being in her company? Couldn’t bear looking at her face without flinching? Why did it have to happen now, when she was ready to give her all to him? 

No, she couldn’t let him go like this. She wouldn’t. 

‘Say what you have to say. Don’t bottle it in. It’d be worse.’

‘You won’t be able to handle it, Ananya.’

The cold & mocking tone was back. There was only one way to get it all out of him now. Confrontation.

‘Don’t patronise me. I am a big girl.’

His head whipped in her direction. 

‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me.’

She could see her provocation had had the desired effect. Jude jerked his arm away from her hold and paced around the room.

‘Oh you are quite something, aren’t you? You refuse to listen to reason. You refuse to admit you are wrong. And I am patronising? Jesus fucking Christ what a joke.’

His tone was cutting through her but she needed to get this out of him. Else they would fall into a bottomless pit of misunderstanding.

‘That fucker - I told you from day one. I told you he wanted you. But no, you didn’t listen. Coz you think you are smarter than me. Well in many things you are. But it some things I know better. Especially when it comes to men. I am one of those men. I know what guys want when they look at girls a certain way. But you were too stubborn to admit it. You made it a matter of your independence, like I was trying to dictate your life, to control you, by asking you to stay away from  that leech. You took his calls in the middle of the night, let him bring coffee for you, calling it all harmless, when I told you repeatedly it wasn’t. YOU LET HIM THINK HE HAD A SHOT, ANANYA. When you knew, you knew I hated his guts.’

He lifted her by her upper arms, making her stand in front of him.

‘He didn’t just want to take you on a drive, he wanted to fuck your brains out. To rip that sari off of you. When it should have been me. Only me. To get to picture you like that. To get to do that to you. Just me.’

He pulled her closer for a rough kiss, pouring his frustration into her mouth. When she started moving her lips to his tune, he broke the kiss abruptly.

‘Makes me wonder if you want him as your side-squeeze.’

‘W-hat?’

She choked out, still reeling from his kiss.

‘Makes sense, doesn’t it? Why you always defend him. Why you took this week to maybe think about his proposal, before telling me. What is he, a safety net? If things don’t work out between us? Is that why you have been keeping me away, not letting me have you?’

She stared at him in disbelief. Debating whether or not to really slap him - anything to get him out of this madness spree he was on.

‘You are out of YOUR FUCKING MIND if you think like that.’

‘Oh really..’

‘SHUT UP. You idiot. Fine I fucked up by not telling you sooner. But if you, even for a moment, believe that I want anyone else but you, then you are an even bigger dimwit than I thought. And then you say you can tell these things. Can you not see how I look at you? How you make me feel? The effect you have on me, CAN YOU NOT SEE ANY OF IT?’

Jude was quiet now, this rant had been unexpected. She found herself unable to stop. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

‘I spent days trying to make today perfect. Your fav meal, your fav music, and all of this.’

She pointed to herself, head to toe. All the effort she had made to doll up for him.

‘And this.’

She grabbed a paper bag from her dresser and shoved it in his arms. He looked inside, finding an RM jersey. HIS jersey. HIS name. HIS number. Something he had always wanted to see on her. Something she had said he needed to earn.

‘Any distance between us was not coz of Arjun. Or my ex. It was me. It was us. Like I always told you. And tonight….I wanted to wear this for you. Just this.’

She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to. He got what she meant. 

But Jude was unhinged tonight, letting out every thought unfiltered.

‘Pity sex? Guilty sex? That’s what I get? After waiting for ages, that’s what I get?’

’Sometimes I forget how immature you are.’

Jude grabbed her arms, locking them behind her back, caging her in his hold. Towering over her, leaning down to stare into her eyes.

‘And you are the queen of maturity, right? While I am a juvenile?’

‘When it comes to matters of emotional complexity, of adult relationships, YES.’

‘Who has more experience between us?’

‘SEX is not relationship experience.’

‘Dealing with women is experience.’

‘Dealing? Or stringing them along? Or toying with them? Or sleeping with them once & never calling them back? Or using them just for sex? I AM GLAD I don’t have that experience.’

‘Didn’t know you were making a documentary on my sex life. Is that all you do in your free time?’

‘I don’t get much free time. Given I have to deal with a child like you.’

‘And you’re so proper aren’t you? With all your rules, and do’s and don’ts for anyone to be with you.’

Ananya squirmed in his grip, wanting to break free, to smack his pretty face that was spewing garbage non-stop. Rules. He had the gall to talk about rules. 

‘Let me go.’

Jude tightened his grip further. Sure to leave bruises.

‘Make me.’

‘If you hated the rules so much, who asked you to chase me, huh? I didn’t force you to wait. To give up all the amazing sex you were getting. Didn’t force you into this celibacy. I told you it would take time, I told you on Day 1. Then what fucking rules are you moaning about, huh? Don’t tell me you didn’t indulge in these 45 days. That you didn’t look elsewhere. That you weren’t tempted. Don’t fucking tell me that.’

“I WAS TEMPTED. But I didn’t act on it. Fuck I even stopped the Insta likes. AND I wouldn’t have been tempted at all if I HAD YOU.’

‘Sex. It’s just all about sex with you.’

‘Really? I haven’t touched you in 45 days and THATS WHAT YOU THROW IN MY FACE?’

‘And you aren’t used to that, are you? Jude Bellingham isn’t used to waiting for any girl, is he? Because he always gets what he wants, whenever he wants it. However many times he wants it. Because women just fall at his feet left, right & centre.’

‘When did you become so filthy, so nasty?’

‘Since I met you.’

Jude let her go abruptly, stepping away from her. She rubbed her wrists, trying to soothe the reddened area.

‘Maybe you were right. Maybe this is too complicated. Too hard.’

The haze lifted, and she felt her heart sink to her stomach.

‘Maybe.’

Jude had his back to her now. He rubbed his temple repeatedly, questioning his life choices. Maybe this relationship thing was not for him. Maybe Jobe was right, he wasn’t ready. He had tried with sincerity, but still fallen short. Or maybe they were just not right for each other.

She stayed still, waiting for his next move. Waiting for him to look at her again. He didn’t.

‘Umm…I should probably head back.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Jude picked up his phone from her desk, paused at the door of her bedroom, torn, but eventually walked out. She heard the main door slam on his way out.

That’s when the tears finally started. She fell on the bed face down, letting it all out.

In hindsight, not a single argument had been worth fighting over. It just escalated like mad, due to both their faults, and ballooned into a point of no return. 

Was it that, a point of no return?

She buried her head in the pillow as reality slowly started to sink in.

But she didn’t have to stay there for long. The door flew open two mins later, and there he was.

Jude had tried to storm out but ended up just pacing around the living room. Unable to walk away. He had never been good at letting her go.

No words were needed. She ran to him ecstatically. And he caught her as she jumped into his arms. Pressing her against the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist.

Their lips crashed together - nipping, sucking, kissing with abandon. A clash of teeth and tongues. He won eventually, invading her mouth at will. Both gasping apologies in between kisses.

Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging & pulling, as he continued to wreck her mouth, her face, her neck. 

‘Lets not fight like this again.’

‘Done. And don’t ever walk out on me again.

‘Done.’

They went back to the frantic kissing, but she to break for air a few moments later.

‘Jude - I should have told you earlier about him. Should have listened to you. I am sorry.’

His face suddenly turned all serious, and she wondered if she had walked into a hole again.

‘Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’ll tell him you’re seeing someone, that you’re practically living with someone. That the person is famous, so you want to keep it low profile. And then, you will stay away. No conversation outside of work. No messages. No calls. No social get togethers. I don’t want him in a 5 mile radius of you outside of work. AND, if after this, he still doesn’t get the message, you’ll come straight to me & then I will deal with him my way. And you, dove, will stay out of it. I don’t wanna hear a peep from you then. Understood?’

The absolute authority in his voice left no room for disobeying. She nodded instantly, and was rewarded with a fierce kiss.

‘Now…go & get ready for me.’

‘Huh?’

She couldn't’ think straight, with his tongue still in her mouth.

‘I was promised you in my jersey. Just my jersey.’

She had completely forgotten all else after their fight, but he hadn’t. His eyes glinted suggestively, as he set her down on the ground & patted her ass, nudging her towards the washroom.

‘Don’t keep me waiting. I have plans for you tonight.’

...................................................................................

Phew! I posted ahead of time, yayyy!

This was meant to be angst plus smut but the angsty piece itself went on for 4.4k words. Too much fun :)

You can guess what's gonna happen next. That is the next chapter :)

As always, would love to hear your thoughts / comments / feedback. They keep me going :)

[notroosterbradshaw]

Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)

about: Bradley's home just before the turn of midnight. After 15+ Christmases together, it's just sometimes lovely to reminisce about life before the babies wake and the madness ensues.

word count: 6k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

a/n: I haven't had a lot of time to put this together the way I would have liked, I will quietly edit after xmas to put some more time into this... hopefully. otherwise, please enjoy and have yourself a merry little something if you feel that way inclined x

masterlist.

It was so late. 

Bradley was so late.

A late arrival to base, mandatory debrief, it was a shitshow of delay after delay from his three-month deployment but coming home to see the house dark, he knew you’d given up and headed to bed. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, quietly dropping his duffel bag at the front door but ears pricked up to hear Christmas music – Eagles, Please Come Home for Christmas – and he could swear, you singing gently with Don Henley. The sweetest sound even if you were the first to admit your voice was reminiscent of nails on a blackboard.

Untrue. It was like pure honey from the hive and he couldn’t get enough.

Chewing his lip in anticipation as he quietly unlaced his boots, he wandered into the dim living room, only lit by the glow of the fading white lights on the tree and carefully curated tea lights flickering on the fireplace. But he couldn’t interrupt the revelry as you danced gently around the tree you were trimming, one hand adjusting a decoration, the glass piano that once belonged to his old man, and a balloon of Pinot Noir in the other. He watched as you took a delicate sip, the floor around the tree littered with beautifully wrapped gifts and the stockings full of candies and odds and ends.

It really was a picture. You curated magic.

If he knew you, and he knew you so well, the tree would have been up on Thanksgiving evening and perfected every night until now, Christmas Eve. So beautiful in what little you wore, one of his many threadbare old Navy tees and maybe some undies underneath for modesty, or maybe not, he hoped. The reflection of the lights danced against your bare skin on display that had him swallow rough, and like most instances in your presence, hard. So hard. Three months without your touch, taste and sweet voice hard.

“Hi,” Bradley said finally, as you jolted slightly and looked in his direction, a smile growing on your face as he made his way to you, steadfast as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against yours. 

“Hi,” you said simply, even though you had a thousand things you wanted to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you said as he smiled softly at you, grasping your cheek in his calloused palm and searching your face intently – looking for anything that may have changed, confident in his recall he could never forget one feature on your divine face. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you confided delicately. And honestly? Neither did he. 

He looked at his watch. “With moments to spare,” he said, amber eyes dancing mischievously. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, your delicate perfume grounding him, ridding away his sea legs. “May I?” he nodded towards the wine in your hand, and you gratefully passed it to him. “Like this,” he told you. “Glass for me?”

You made a face. “Like, six hours ago… maybe?” 

He grinned. “That good, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but you were so late.”

“So late,” he mocked, bobbing to put the glass on the coffee table.   

“And yet you still haven’t kissed me,” you mumbled.

He huffed a gentle laugh and did exactly what was expected of him. Three months away from your soft lips, and sparkling eyes as he pulled you closer to him with a firm hand on your lower back. Three months of fantasising what this moment would feel like even though it had happened dozens of times before. How slick your tongue was against his and it reminded him of the soft-spoken, even shy freshman he met in college in his sophomore year. The first time your eyes met in the dorm hall as you dragged your suitcases behind you, looking for room numbers and coming up short. So small in the ocean of chaos.

Bradley had no reason to go over and ask if he could help you. Leave the conversation with friends about, he reckoned, the Phillies… Countless students were struggling with the same problems, but you? Magnetic. No one else mattered, it was like no one else in the universe existed. And still… now? Aside from your beautiful daughters, maybe no one else did either.

That’s how Bradley Bradshaw’s kiss made you feel after all these years. The man who could have any woman he wanted, and those who still felt entitled to try and sway his attention on the infrequent nights out you shared. 

And just like the boy you fell in love with, his firm hands skimmed the fabric of the tee. You felt a warm palm against your hip and drift to your thigh and of course, his intended destination, against your bare ass – “Perfect,” he breathed against your lips.

You weren’t sure when he’d started dancing with you, his hips slowly guiding you to whatever song was in the background, now you weren’t so sure because all there was was him.

As he kissed and moved you, he whispered if his girls were asleep… that no one was about to wander in from their bedroom. And as much as he wanted to see his babies, his gorgeous girls, he needed their mother more and he would eagerly see them tomorrow morning.  

“Upstairs,” you told him, and he knew that meant homecoming was less raucous than it was when you were both a little young and dumber. No fucking on the couch or your back pressed up against the wall, your thigh in his calloused palm and his slacks dropped to his ankles the second he walked in. Those days were gone, greeting each other so much softer.

You weren’t entirely surprised when his hand smoothed from your side and drifted between your thighs to your delicate core. He tenderly pressed his soft lips into your pulse as his long, slender index finger tenderly skimmed the smooth skin of your pussy. “You feel good,” he breathed gently, so conscious of his voice raising and bringing the kids’ attention downstairs. “I want you. I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he moved to your lips again and he kissed you the way he did when you first started seeing each other. The way his tongue flicked against your lip, tracing with an edge of demand as you gave in, willingly falling under his spell and kissing him back with the same ferocity.

His strong thigh pressed against your core, and you gasped against his lips, the rough material of his uniform making you heady as he tilted you that little further to almost ride him. 

“Not here,” you told him, guiding his pout to your mouth and leading him by the hand to your bedroom, the master bed, your sanctuary and sometimes the loneliest room in the world when Bradley was away. 

Bradley wasn’t surprised to see a few candles lit in the bedroom either. As you got older, your need for romance seemed to have crept through with the solitude that came along with a husband who served and two little girls who ran you off your feet every day. Bradley, a romantic at heart, unleashed some of the sweetest things that had ever happened to you. He was always big on flowers, and planning sweet dates but physical touch was his love language. 

He was a hand holder, he liked that you were the right height he could rest his lips against your temple and kiss you when close, skilled hands and massage. But it all meant so little in comparison to him holding you tightly in his arms. Something over the years you missed dearly when he was absent, you never felt safer than feeling his warm palm pressed into your lower back, the way his brawny arm would curl around your waist and tuck you into his side.

You were the other’s missing piece and so lucky to have met each other so early in life. 

“Too young to fall in love, too young to get married,” Bradley reiterated all the things you heard all those years ago. “Too young to start a family.”

“They may have been right about the last part.” At 23 and in over your head with a newborn and a husband dedicating his career to defending the country was one thing, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever thrown yourself into, leaving family to move where Bradley’s job required. The other military wives took you under their wing, (s)mothering where they could. And you were so proud of all of Bradley’s achievements, but it didn’t cure the sad nights of solitude once the kids went to bed, and you had time to think about how hard it all is to do alone. 

Bradley huffed a laugh into your ear. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t change anything now.” 

“They never thought we’d last,” you rolled your eyes like you did every time you two embarked on this quiet joke that was now at everyone else who didn’t believe expense.  

“Like I told you. From the moment I met you, it was forever,” he pulled you towards the bed, lightly tossing you towards the pillows with little effort on his behalf, you gave him a look as you adjusted against the soft pillows. “Was I wrong?”

“You’ve been very convincing,” you teased as he playfully rolled his eyes.

“In what way?” he played along.

“Well, you’re a wonderful father.”

He hummed, as he began on the buttons of his shirt. How were you supposed to continue when he was playing a strategic game of rendering his wife speechless? After 15 or so years, his body was more impressive now than the day you met him. It was almost criminal. 

When you met him, a gangly 21-year-old boy who was endeavouring to improve himself, prepare himself for the rigours of being a pilot for the navy. Gym, protein shakes, gym, school. It had been quite a development, watching Bradley grow into the man he is today.

…and you got to reap every single benefit. 

“Just a good dad? Shit…”

“An amazing father and from what I can gather, a pretty fantastic leader.” 

“Captain, Mrs Bradshaw,” he corrected. “But I’ll overlook it this time.” 

You rolled your eyes again, watching his nimble fingers get to the last button and push back the material to – disappointing. An undershirt. He tossed his shirt at you gently, his cologne wafting over your senses. “How many layers you got there, Captain Bradshaw?” 

Eyebrow raised; he kept your gaze as he stripped the second layer that kept you from his golden skin. “Better?”

You didn’t hide your shallow breath. Because yes, your man was only getting finer as he got older. The precision of his well-defined muscles glowing by candlelight, the smattering of freckles across his shoulders and broad chest, abs, abdominals, abs – they seemed to go on and your favourite, his Adonis belt. May as well have been named the Bradley Belt for all you cared, because his was spectacular. You reached the familiar logo of his boxer briefs and slender hips. The snail trail that led to the jackpot. “Better,” you confirmed as he moved to his belt, slacks and zip. “More,” you replied. “I’m practically naked here.”

Bradley’s lip quirked. “I think that tee you’re wearing is at least 10 years old.”

“Sue me, it smells like you when you’re away,” you sniped as he winked cheekily and stepped out of his dropped pants, approaching the bed. 

“I hope you’ve washed it after three months.”

Three months. But yes, you’d begrudgingly washed it. But it was still nice to be wrapped up in something that belonged to him when it wasn’t his arms to keep you safe. “Would have been better if you were here…”

“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, making his way to the bed and crawling over to you, resting his cheek on your breast, tightening a grasp around your waist. “God, I missed you.”

Smoothing his curls, you tenderly kissed his temple. “No way as much as I did, Bradley.” 

“Were the girls good?” 

“They had their moments, but they’re nearly teenagers…”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to start fending dudes off at the door,” Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to believe his baby girls were growing so quickly. Violet was in Grade 7 and Olivia Grade 5. It was hard to miss so much of their lives and sometimes felt like lifetimes between his time at home. But he’d reconciled he would do more time on dry land this year, taking up a training facilitator role on base for new Top Gun recruits. You’d spoken about it for so long and now it looked like he was getting his opportunity to make Friday night basketball games, and swimming on Saturday mornings and whatever else was expected of him. 

“Not long now,” you had to agree but as much as you wanted to tell him everything he’d missed that couldn’t be fit into the couple of minutes you managed to get him every once in a while, you were so desperate for your husband, you didn’t want to play the polite game. “Bradley?”

He hummed again. 

“I want you.” 

Looking up at you, he ran his slick tongue over his top lip. “Well, ma’am, I guess I’d better get to work, huh?” his grin was wet, and he reached to kiss you, so tender and sweet but you knew it was laced with so much more as he rolled you beneath him, propping himself on an elbow and using his free palm to raise your thigh over his hip. His kisses were so good, and you knew you were a keening mess for him… when weren’t you?  

Gasping into his mouth as he lightly walked his fingers to your core, he was bold and spread your lips, taking your arousal, sticky and warm, he pressed your clit and started to rub, just so to relax you. You melted beneath him. After all these years, he knew exactly how to make you a bag of bones. He didn’t need to ask as he pressed his long index finger in, never once breaking the kiss, just increasing the intensity. 

Making out with Bradley while he fingered you. He was going old school. Those days before you slept with him, you’d be tangled together on your shitty single bed, grinding against the other. The first time he dared touch you, how he asked so sweetly if he could try and make you cum, to finger you. When you gave him a shaky yes in reply and opened your legs to him as he slid his long fingers under the waist of your tights, his soft eyes reassuring the panic that washed over you, kissing you tenderly and promising against your lips that he’d stop if you wanted him too. You told him you wanted to because he was Bradley and you’d never met anyone like him, you’d never felt the things he was making you feel. Maybe you had something to prove – to him, to you? You weren’t sure but as Bradley’s big hands slowly tugged your tights down your legs, carelessly discarding them and seeing those pretty pink undies soaked through with your excitement, he breathed, scared he’d cum before he’d touched you. He dared to sweep your undies to the side, your pretty pussy bare and glistening for him. 

He did that, he made you that wet, he thought proudly. He was so excited and popped the button on his jeans, needing to relieve some friction and moved to coax you under his arm, his nose nuzzling against yours. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or if I need to stop,” he breathed, his gentle rasp calming you as you softly gripped his wrist. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this, but with Bradley, it was like you’d never been touched before. He ignited sparks in you that you’d never felt before, no one else’s fingers did this… not even your own. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told you as you pulled a pillow over your eyes, so shy, so bashful. He tossed away the pillow and kissed you, his hand tracing down the side of your body and index finger gathering your excitement to coat your labia and clit. He started slow and asked if you touched yourself or if you had toys. And yes, you had a vibrator that gave you a pretty good impression of what you liked but this was already wildly exceeding anything the vibe brought to the table. “Do you like this?” he was so considerate and when you hitched a breath and told him ‘faster’, the keenness to learn you clouded over and his façade darkened, turned on by you telling him what you liked and he slid another finger into you, trying not to blow his load as you started to cry out, his thumb passing on your thrumming clit and shamed, you held back how much you really wanted to come alive for him.

You knew you couldn’t bite back your moans of pleasure, and as he laughed into your skin, he reached and lifted your sweater and bra, dragging his mouth down to your pretty tits, lapping and licking and sucking as you started the shudder below him. You clawed at his wrist that was buried within you and grinding against you as he toyed with your tits more, kneading and sucking harder. He was gonna blow his load before you even touched him. 

“Oh, Bradley,” your voice was so sweet as you fucked into his hand, quivering and sensitive and wet and desperate as you came. Everything all at once. 

“You’re so sexy,” he crooned with his deep rasp. “I’ve never seen someone cum like this…” He kissed you deeply as you felt the last bursts of electricity flow through your body before flopping into the mattress and urgently pushing his fingers away, too sensitive. He smiled against your lips and told you it was okay, he loved seeing you lose control. 

After you’d cum, and you nervously asked him if you could give him a hand job to return the favour or whatever, he knew he was in love. Young and dumb and no one could tell him differently. How he got to his back and watched as you drag his jeans off and pull down his boxers, his cock so hard, weeping precum. “Tell me if I hurt you,” you mumbled, the most nervous you’d been. “Or if you don’t like it.” 

“You could never hurt me,” he hissed as you used both soft hands to wrap around his length. “That is so fuckin’ good, baby,” he managed, head sinking back into your fluffy pillows, imagining if he was to die tomorrow, he’d die happy. And as he wrapped his hand around yours, showing you the tempo he preferred, he almost came as your wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock without warning. “Oh, shit,” he hissed unprepared, trying not to fuck your face, his hips wild. He had never been so turned on. 

He’d dated and slept with a few girls, and had a few blowjobs but nothing, nothing felt like this, and he buried his big hands into your hair, massaging and encouraging you as best he could. He screeched a warning he was coming and to take your mouth away if you didn’t want to taste him. When you didn’t relinquish your sweet mouth on him, he came hard in the back of your throat and you swallowed the salty flavour of him down, he pulled you to him and kissed you deeply, telling you he thought he was in love and, silently, he hoped you were too. 

“That was the best head I ever had,” he peered up. “And you’ve never given a blow job before?” he was suspicious. You shook your head bashfully, but also excited he was so happy with your attempt, and you vowed you’d only get better if it brought out this reaction in him. “Feel free any time you wanna practice,” he almost laughed, falling back against the headrest of the bed.

A few hours later, as Bradley pounded into you, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel nostalgic, recalling the first time you had sex with him. It never felt like plain old missionary with him, he tucked you in close and you’d wrap your calves around his hamstrings, keeping him close as he whispered filth in your ear. 

You knew you’d bled, and you were begging not noticeably. You didn’t want that embarrassment, even if the towel caught it. Overall, it wasn’t a painful experience, Bradley had done everything to relax you, the slick of the lube reducing any real friction and he’d gone down on you before he’d even taken off his jeans. “You have the prettiest pussy, baby,” he told you as you shuddered beneath him and he continued fucking you with his fingers until you pushed his face away, so sensitive. “Okay, okay,” he cooed to you, trailing wet kisses up your naked body, exposed wholly to him. 

It had been a very fun few weeks, lots of kissing, touching, and making the other cum and sneaky sleepovers but when you told him you were ready to have sex – with him – your first – Bradley couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe you would be interested in him, you were so sweet, and kind, and pretty. So sexy and he hoped, all for him. He hadn’t met anyone who he felt so connected to. He worried he was trying too hard to force something that wasn’t there, but as he slowly pushed into you, gloved cock long and girthy, stretching you and you sighed into his ear to tell him how good it felt and that you thought you were falling in love with him, everything stopped.

His hips, lips and heart froze as he must have misheard words he was desperate to return but far too timid to do so. 

“Remember the days we’d be in bed all day and just fuck and laugh. Order takeout and fuck again?” Bradley said between the rolls of his hips. “I wanna be able to do that again,” he groaned in your ear as you fuckingthrobbed around him, so close as you clenched. “I’m gonna take you away in the New Year. You, me, the Maldives. Private villa and all that good lovin’ we deserve.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you giggled against him, excited for him and the prospect that you would spend some uninterrupted time together and you rose to meet his thrusts, spurring him on with your enthusiasm. He felt so good: strong, rough and as the head of his cock hit your G-spot, a step closer to orgasm – heaven, he wasn’t sure. He knew your body like it was his, and he brought his fingers between your bodies, brushing against your pained clit as your back arched and his tongue swirled around your nipple. He sucked on the delicate skin, as you began to quake and grunted low, your warm, slick pussy. “Yes, Bradley,” you encouraged. 

“Your pretty cunt was made for me,” he murmured in your ear and that was it, you felt the quakes start in your toes, the muscles in your tummy start to coil and your pussy started to throb around his cock, your entire body on fire with desire for your sexy husband. “Yes, baby,” Bradley kissed you deeply, trying to concentrate on his thrusts but it was impossible as he made you feel so goddamn good. He raised your thigh to get that little rougher and you moaned, the gush fell between you both and he grunted, not giving you a moment of respite, chasing his orgasm. You fell back, completely spent as he laughed darkly, his cock rocking into you again, wrapping his palm around your waist and pulling you back to him. “So close, don’t give up on me now, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“Too sensitive,” you whined to him. “Cum, Bradley,” you begged.

It was low and powerful, the feral groan that met your demands. His hips sped up, desperate for release. He couldn’t hold back anymore and as your nails pierced the tanned skin on his back, he came with a low groan and fucked more unruly thrusts into you before collapsing above you, kissing you wildly. He gasped, completely spent, still in you without intent to move. “Gonna need to burn the bed,” he uttered to you as you barely managed a reply. It was fucking like that you missed so desperately when he was away. 

“That was incredible,” you said, kissing some sweat on his brow away. “I love you.” 

He chuckled into your skin, pressing kisses into your pulse. “I love you, baby,” he was a dream, this man. “Good job, team,” he raised his palm for a limp high-five, both spent. 

“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”

“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered with the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes. Was this happening? Was Bradley about to get the family he’d been missing for so long?!

But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he wanted to try for a baby so soon. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley wholeheartedly agreed. 

Bradley was so determined to rise through the ranks, that you didn’t want to detract him any more than you might have but you were young and in love and when you found out you were pregnant with your first baby, a girl to be named Violet. The thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley so the drama of it all (even as intimate as it was for you was a one-time deal). And even babies. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly a glowing example of fatherhood. 

He was a smitten young man. A beautiful wife, and a gorgeous little girl waiting at home for him while he served his country and continued slowly but surely through the ranks, getting a reputation as Rooster, slow into the fight.

Or Rooster, and the size of his cock, you’d joked quietly one evening. The way he seemed so scandalised and as the devil crept into his gold eyes, the grin behind his growing moustache was seen to be believed. Not many people knew that about the version of it, you shared, and when you’d learned he’d been adorned with it, whoever gave him the callsign would rue the day of the double entendre. One of life’s funny coincidences and Bradley wouldn’t wipe the devious smile off his face when you’d christened him with it.

When Violet was three, you found out Olivia was going to come into the world punching. Now both tweens and the baby-making days were well behind you both, you felt like you were starting to live your lives again, not bogged down with school runs, weeknight ballet, gymnastics, basketball, softball, soccer and whatever else they were desperate to try. Both athletic like their father, you felt like a taxi when Bradley was away, running the girls from one thing to the next, the sweet solace sometimes found when both girls were away from home at sleepovers and the like.

They were the nights you couldn’t wait to introduce to Bradley. A date night, Jesus, wine on the couch uninterrupted for a drop-off or pick up to what was for dinner or “Mama, I have an assignment due tomorrow and I haven’t started.”

Recalling when your period was late after about two cycles after going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens. 

But there was something different while you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you sat up, a little perplexed. It was too early for a period and you weren’t ovulating. Popping up, you joined Bradley in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his hips to kiss between his shoulder blades. He smiled, turning back for a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished. 

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley watched you, he looked at the test, begging it wasn’t about to flash NOT PREGNANT and he’d read incorrectly – but he gazed back at you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head. 

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small, but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Baby…” his fingers light as they had sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Sweetheart,” he called to you. 

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch. And he was due to leave within weeks. You were 23, you had only just found the job of your dreams -

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt so warm and so protective as he held you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there. What if something happened on tour, what if - 

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly. 

You looked up at him, trying to placate your growing fear. What if he never came home? “I just thought we’d have more time maybe.”

He bit back his smile and sighed. “Sweetheart, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

“I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

Well, it wasn’t – it was a choice you’d actively made together. To make love, to make a baby. The liberty of changing your mind seemed so incredibly unfair to you and Bradley after you were both so sure this was what you wanted. “I think I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to it all happening.”

Bradley softened. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak. He could not hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided. 

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - ” You shut your mouth and the guilt of the situation started to overwhelm you, Bradley chose to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

“No. Oh sweetheart,” he kissed your hair. “But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes and change into your oversized nightie, his large palm lingering gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have… his baby in your soft belly. 

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow. You snuck under the cold sheets and he climbed in after you, the scorching skin of his chest against your back. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. But it's still something you'll need to consider..."

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck. “I think…”

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. “I won't let you do this alone. Whatever you decide, I’m right there with you.” 

But with a belly of arms and legs and your sheepish husband standing before you a few months later, you screeched, "You're getting deployed?" you looked at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly all that separated you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you mimicked sarcastically, spoiled for months of your husband home with flight and combat training simulations and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter." 

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick. 

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did,” he did, he did. Didn’t he? Shit, he doubted himself for one second but in this instance knew beggars couldn’t be choosers and he had his leave approved, but he also had his orders and he was so close really getting into it.

His career was on such a sheer trajectory, his head was swimming with its force. 

“Is anyone going with you?”

"Payback, Phoenix," he confirmed softly. 

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. 

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise our baby on my own,” you said, the fear in your voice evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair. 

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear, don't dare come home." 

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. 

“Come on, Mama, give it to me,” Bradley urged as he held your ribs, thumbs toying with your nipples, that delicate roll of your hips grinding down on him as the sun started to rise. Neither of you slept even though you were both exhausted, you wanted to ground yourselves together before the madness of the day commenced. Between lovemaking, different positions and so much mess, you just chatted quietly, catching the other up on what they missed, knowing full well you would be next to useless for the lunch Penny was putting on with Mav (you were flying out in a few days to spend New Year with your parents). “Look at you, as sexy as the day I met you,” he continued, chewing his lower lip – he was close but we wouldn’t cum until you did. “Pretty little thing.”

Bradley had leaned into the whole encouragement during sex – and you will credit him for bringing out a wilder side you never knew you had in you – his voice still made your stomach flip flop and how off, give him everything he deserved in your shared pleasure and more.

“Mama, is Daddy home?” you heard a screech from upstairs. Olivia. Daddy’s girl. “His bag is at the door!” A prompise Bradley had always made his girls was he would wake them even if it was the dead of night to reassure them he was home.

Last night… he did not.

Bradley’s eyes flicked open as you paused above him, knowing your girls were unlikely to burst in but also… Dad was home and maybe, just maybe they were likely to run in excitedly. He rolled you off him quickly and you landed with such a lack of grace that he snorted and he tossed his tee at you, hitting you square in the face. He scoffed another chuckle as he reached for his discarded boxer briefs and stood to height, still hard but if you knew him, visualising the worst of the worst to settle. “I’m home. I’ll be right out, just need to hit the bathroom, girls,” he carefully called back, starting for the door and snuck a look back at you. “You got five minutes; I know I can’t hold those two wildcats back from a tree with presents under it.”

You nodded with a grin as you pulled the shirt over your head and moved towards the en suite but not before changing direction and stopping him before he went to see his girls and pulling an old Lakers singlet over his – god, so many golden muscles. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you tenderly traced an ab or eight and he smiled, bending to kiss you. “Last night was so good. Been a while since we had a night like that.”

He chuckled lightly against your lips. Pride evident, he shrugged. “I miss the days we’d fuck for hours,” he sighed, low. “We’re going away, just you and me. Okay?”

“I can’t wait, handsome,” you told him as he kissed you again -

“Dad?” Violet now. 

“At ease, Captain,” you told him as he playfully did as instructed, kissed your forehead softly and let the reign of terror commence, greeting his darling girls after months apart with excited hugs, kisses and giggles.

“I missed my girls,” you heard Bradley rumble. And it was always the same, the way he’d swallow back the emotion of seeing how much he’d missed. “You two have to stop growing, okay?”

“Or you could stop traveling,” Olivia said, often quite vocal about how often her dad was away.

Hearing your name as you straightened in front of the mirror a few minutes later, brushing your mussed hair and impatient with the slight burn Bradley’s moustache caused on your upper lip (pussy and thighs but that was a tale for another day), you wrapped yourself in your light gown. You breathed and headed to the living room to start your Christmas morning, your girls perched in front of the tree, the lights still fading in and out after a night left on, and your husband safe and sound on the couch. He winked, the happiest man on the planet with his three girls, everything exactly where it belonged.

Even last night’s half-full wine glass.

[revehae]

warnings: noncon, hair pulling

wc. 765 (what a silly number)

eunseok could see everything. the delicate swell of your supple chest damp with sweat, a sticky blend of his and your own. the plush mound of your ass in his hands. even the bone of your elbow against his thigh as it shoved against him, his hand tangled in your hair.

in his mind, at least. never in a million years would you voluntarily offer him so breath-taking a view of yourself, but eunseok didn’t mind. he liked the chase.

he always saw you around campus. he couldn’t help it. you were the only one in university dressed as if you were attending catholic school. he had never seen anything below your knee-length skirts, and even with your legs on display, they were more often than not sheathed in tall white socks.

but your displays of modesty only made him more determined to expose what laid underneath.

eunseok watched the seasons change and your outfits do little to accommodate the hottening weather. he was lucky to see even a few inches of your skin in the summertime. he imagined how much you sweated, how much the moisture gathered on the dip between your breasts and clung to your back.

you had never thought much of eunseok, always assuming he was harmless, but he seemed maybe even a touch kind. there had been a time where you dropped a pen, and without a trace of a smile, eunseok handed it back to you silently. you didn’t even clock how his fingers brushed yours for an additional second or two, thinking he was trying to ensure the pen was firm in your grasp before he let go.

he was random and fleeting. never there for longer than a few moments, and he touched you for even less. gone before you could say as much as a thanks. maybe you had even become curious about him too, because he never stayed in one place for too long, only ever around enough to leave you wondering.

but your curiosity, as quickly as it was piqued, was sated even quicker. you did not want to know anything more about eunseok. you would have been perfectly fine with never seeing him again. and eunseok would move on, but not before he took what he wanted from you.

eunseok’s chest was flush against your back, pressuring your writhing body still beneath his weight. you felt naked. you were naked. eunseok had wanted to slowly reveal your sacred skin, piece by piece, but the horror in your eyes as he yanked at every bit of fabric made him impatient. savoring you was never what he had in mind. this tryst was merely a burst of spontaneity.

you had never felt more exposed and vulnerable. eunseok stuck a hand between your bare legs, which made you jolt and squeeze them shut. with an exasperated groan, eunseok widened the gap between your thighs with his knee, fisting his hand in your hair with a murmured threat. “stop being difficult.”

eunseok didn’t have to see it. he could feel how you tensed under his skin with the intention of making it even harder, for him but unknowingly for yourself, until you felt him starting to penetrate your unused cunt. a broken whimper fell from your lips, a sound you never knew you were capable of making.

it made eunseok’s head spin. the chaotic tameness of your voice. the shocked shudder of your body beneath him and your thighs instinctively attempting to close on him. and the tight, sweet pulse of warmth around his cock. it wasn’t wet, courtesy of eunseok being too zealous. but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because it was like the more he moved and the deeper he pushed, the more intense the pleasure wrecking through his spine.

“please, be gentle,” you whispered to him with a hint of resignation. you didn’t cry, but he tell you wanted to. your voice shook like you were willing it not to.

“gentle?” eunseok repeated, chuckling breathlessly. he had to admit, you had put up one hell of a fight. “not exactly what i had in mind.”

you resisted him. or tried to, at least. but eunseok didn’t have much trouble keeping you comfortably locked beneath him, your feeble attempt to defend yourself doing nothing to hurt him as he forced himself in and out.

but he liked that you tried. because he could feel your body dampening with the effort. your elbows pressing into his thigh. the shape of your ass inadvertently pushing into his grasping hand.

it was exactly as he had imagined.

[princessbellecerise]

1 A.M

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Bucky had a dark secret, and so did you. Both of you had hidden your desire for the other from your father, but one night on a kitchen table changes everything

warnings | dbf!bucky, smut, dracaphyllia, age gap, kitchen sex, oral (m. receiving), 18+ ONLY

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

It was 1 A.M when you ran into each other.

You were up because you couldn’t sleep, your body tired but your mind not letting you get a wink of rest. You were too busy stressing over miscellaneous things; such as work or your current situationship. You had tossed and turned all night and when it finally hit one o’clock, you decided to just go to the kitchen, hoping some water might pull you back to sleep.

Likewise, Bucky wasn’t getting much rest either.

He hadn’t really slept since the moment he closed his eyes, but unlike you it wasn’t because of stress. No, his predicament was more…unique, due to the fact that Bucky was simply just too excited to go to sleep.

His cock had been throbbing all night, and despite Bucky trying to his to soothe himself with his hand, it didn’t work. It wasn’t enough; not when what he really wanted was right down the hallways.

Bucky had been staying the night at your Dad’s place for a few nights, just until renovations on his own home got finished. That meant for a whole week, he had to be tortured with the fact that you were there, and Bucky couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The fantasies that he had about you were just that: fake. And at first, they were enough to get him through the night, his vivid imagination conjuring up things that would never happened in real life. Like you riding his cock, for instance. Or Bucky fucking you in the pool, that tight little swim suit you were always wearing stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

Normally, that was enough to satisfy him.

But not tonight.

Something about that night had him restless, unable to sleep due to his running thoughts. Bucky figured that eventually he’d have to fall asleep, but once it started to approach one o’clock he knew that wasn’t the case.

He wouldn’t be able to truly rest anytime soon, so he sighed and got out of bed, making his way into the kitchen when he surprisingly ran into you.

You were awake, and struggling as a matter of fact. You trying to reach the snacks that your dad placed on the top shelf of the pantry, but you were having trouble since it was so high up. You weren’t tall enough to reach it, so Bucky chuckled and decided to help you out.

“Here, let me doll.”

You jumped as his figure suddenly appeared behind you, warm chest pressing into your back and causing you to suck in a breath. Quickly, you turned around, just in time to come face-to-face with Bucky as he finished grabbing the snack.

He handed the chocolate chip cookies to you and wordlessly you took them, your mouth becoming dry as you stared into his blue eyes. You weren’t expecting to be so close to him, and it made your heart hammer in your chest as you giggled nervously and lowered your head.

“Thanks, Buck,” You said quietly, stepping away from him out of modesty. And for your own sanity, not trusting yourself to be so close when he was half naked. Not that you would ever tell him that; god save you from the humiliation of that conversation.

“No problem, sweetheart,” Bucky wore a sweet smile to mask his disappointment. He quite liked being against you, even if it didn’t help his already hard cock. “I take it you can’t sleep, either?”

Changing the subject would help distract him from the fact that you were only in a nightgown. Short and lacy—just how he liked it.

“Mhmm,” You hummed softy, nodding your head. Your hands rung in front of you nervously as you noticed his eyes raking over your body. “Been up for quite a while. I’ve been trying to sleep but my mind just won’t let me, you know?”

“Hm,” Bucky nodded, understanding exactly how you felt. “I feel ya. My thoughts have been driving me crazy, too. I feel like they’re gonna turn my brain to mush,” He said honestly, though he left the part where you were the main culprit.

Chuckling a little bit, you related and then you offered him a cookie as you guys walked over to the kitchen table. Bucky took it, and he noticed how nervous you seemed to be as you stood in front of him. Eyes darting back-and-forth, not looking at him. Fingernails digging into your skin.

It was obvious that something was on your mind. And curiously, Bucky wanted to know.

“Hey, doll. You alright?” He tried to keep his voice lower now that you were closer to your dad’s room. Sam may have been a sound sleeper, but he didn’t want to risk him waking up right now.

“Hm?” You looked positively distracted. Your body was flushed, and though you tried not to, you just couldn’t help the hammering in your lower regions as you looked at Bucky. “Oh—oh no, I’m fine. Just still a little tired, that’s all.”

“You sure?” Bucky wasn’t convinced. He could see the way that you were slightly leaning away from him, almost if you were afraid to touch him. And you were doing that thing with your lip, biting it in a way that made Bucky go crazy.

God, you looked so good. It took everything in Bucky not to take you right then and there.

“Yeah,” Your tone wasn’t at all convincing and you knew that. But you couldn’t help it—you needed to lie your way out of this situation before you ended up as a puddle near Bucky’s feet. “Yeah, everything’s absolutely perfect. One hundred percent, I just think I need to get back to…”

Your voice suddenly trialed off when you made eye contact with Bucky’s sweats, your mouth feeling as dry as cotton due to the erection that was pressing against them.

You felt your whole face flush when you noticed that he was hard, and big which had you gulping a little. Suddenly, the room left like it was spinning. And of course, it only got worse when Bucky suddenly reached out to touch you.

“Are you sure, Doll? You look a little…” His calloused hands came to stroke your arms in a comforting way. Or at least, it was meant to look that way but really, Bucky just wanted an excuse to touch you. To feel your soft skin without you turning away.

And it worked—you let him touch you but not without trembling a little bit, his touch causing your skin to feel like it was on fire. You opened your mouth, but no words could come out as you looked at him.

And how could they? Everything you wanted to say was absolutely off limits. You couldn’t exactly open your mouth and tell Bucky that the way he was barely dressed right now made you wet. You couldn’t tell him that you had been weak in the knees for him ever since he had walked into the kitchen with no shirt on.

After all, Bucky was like a second father to you. You had known him ever since you were nineteen and you’d bet everything that you had that he didn’t see you the way you saw him. Sam’s little girl—that’s all you were to him. An innocent little college student that he’d never touch that way.

You couldn’t tell him that. So, you settled on lying even though you knew it would kill you.

“I…I’m fine. I’m sure. I think…I think all I need is to go back to my room and get some rest,” You stuttered, trying to convince him that you just needed to lie down.

But Bucky didn’t move. Nor did he think you were telling him the truth, which meant he wasn’t going to let you leave until he knew you were okay.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to go just yet if you’re really not alright,” He frowned, and his concern for you only made you wetter. “You know if there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours, you can tell me, right? Anything you need. Anything at all.”

He stared at you and you shivered as he all but whispered those words in your ear. You barely even noticed how close he had gotten to you until it was too late, and suddenly you were staring into his eyes with your lips trembling.

Tears seemed to gather in your own and you weren’t sure what it was about that moment, but you just couldn’t hold back your feelings any longer. You had to get them off of your chest, even if it ran the risk of him rejecting you or telling your dad. You had to tell Bucky how you felt, because if you didn’t—you were afraid you might burst.

“I…” This was it. You were going to spill. “I-I need you Buck,” Your voice came out as a whimper and a tear fell down your face as you looked at him, the dam inside of you finally breaking. “I…I want you inside me so bad, it hurts. I—fuck. I tried to hold it back for so long, cause I know how you feel about me. But I swear, I didn’t mean to. I just…I just need you.”

Bucky felt his whole world still as the words tumbled from your mouth like a waterfall. You couldn’t help yourself as you spilled every thought he only dreamed of hearing from your lips. You told him everything Bucky had been fantasizing about for years, and for a moment, he thought that it was just another one—a dream that his cruel mind had conjured up.

He didn’t think this was real life until suddenly, he realized that his hand was still on your body, grounding him to reality. Prompting him to realize that this was very much real, and you were crying in front of him because you were so horny and so ashamed.

It felt like your whole world was crumbling, sure that you had done it now. You had certainly just ran off your dad‘s best friend, and the only other man that loved you. Surely, the next step was for Bucky to reject you and then go tell your dad everything that you had just confessed.

…But he didn’t.

Bucky didn’t do any of that, and instead, you were in for the shock of your life as he suddenly used his hand to grab your face, making you look at him through your tears.

Everything was blurry, but the smile on his face was the one thing that was clear enough for you to see.

“Sweetheart,” Utter relief flooded his voice, and Bucky could’ve sworn he’d never been happier. “You don’t know how fucking long I’ve waited for you to say that.”

“Wha—”

You were suddenly cut off when Bucky decided to slam his lips against yours, silencing your words and your worries at once. His rough mouth moved against yours, and now it was your turn to question your reality as he kissed you.

You couldn’t believe that this was happening. The person you had desired most in the world was finally reciprocating the same emotions you had. And to be honest, it overwhelmed you, making you slow to kiss him back at first.

You had to take a second to even gather your thoughts, but once you did, you swore you melted.

You fell into the kiss with Bucky like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like kissing him was something you were born to do, and your mouths moved in sync as Bucky groaned and wrapped his hands around your body.

He steadied you as he backed you into the kitchen table, the legs creaking a little bit and causing you to pull away. You looked at him worriedly, eyes glancing down the hall to where your dad was sleeping.

“Buck—we gotta be quiet,” You suddenly reminded him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “My dad’s right down the hall. I don’t want him to wake up.”

That was the last thing you needed, and Bucky knew it, even though he was disappointed to pull away from your lips.

“Sorry baby doll,” He whispered sweetly in your ear which caused you to forgive him in an instant. You wrapped an arm around his neck and right before he kissed you again, he said, “I’ll try to be more careful next time.”

Your reply was quickly swallowed by his lips, but you didn’t care to speak much anyways. All you wanted in that moment was to devour him and savor the taste of sweet, delicious forbidden fruit. It tasted so good on your tongue that you couldn’t wait to sample what else he had in store for you.

And as if Bucky could read your mind, you were suddenly gasping as his fingers came to play with the skin of your thighs. He trailed them up so that he could get to the bottom of your nightgown, and every place that he touched left fire in its wake.

The flames that licked at your body had never felt so good, and in that moment you were praising yourself for choosing the right night attire.

The lacy nightgown only made it easier for Bucky to gain access to what he really wanted, your cotton covered pussy that he could already feel the heat radiating off of. It was easy enough for him to trial his fingers towards it, ghosting over the fabric and loving the way you moaned in his mouth.

Bucky swore he couldn’t get enough of your lips but much as he wanted to keep kissing you, his throbbing erection had him pulling away and practically clawing at his sweats to free himself. It was almost painful how hard he had gotten in the last few minutes, his cock standing straight up and slapping against his belly when he pulled on his sweats.

You watched with hungry eyes as he gave it a few pumps, loving the soft groans that escaped his lips.

You both were trying your very best to be quiet as you couldn’t imagine the reaction your daddy would have if he found you and Bucky fooling around at 1 A.M. Bucky imagined that Sam would quite literally lose his mind, and the thought had him smirking as he crawled closer to you.

You were desperate to feel him, he could see it in your eyes. Bucky could see the way you were practically crying because you wanted him so bad, the tears in your eyes only making him harder.

You were so desperate, and it was wonder you made it this long as your pussy throbbed.

You knew that the cotton panties you were wearing were soaked by now, and you couldn’t wait for Bucky to pull them down and fuck you like you deserved. You ached for him so bad, the longing almost killing as Bucky reconnected your lips and stood between your legs.

You could feel his cock poking at your clothed entrance as he kissed you; almost as desperate as you were—if not more. After all, it had been Bucky’s fantasy of this exact same situation that kept him awake in the first place. And now that he finally had what he always wanted, Bucky couldn’t stand to wait any longer.

He needed to be inside of you, and he needed to do it now.

You seemed to agree as you allowed him to pull away and finally get rid of the one thing that was separating the two of you. In an instant, he had tugged down your panties and brought them to your ankles, slipping them off before carelessly throwing them somewhere on the floor.

Mentally, you made a note to pick those up before Sam woke up in the morning. But right now, that was a very far away thought in your mind. Right now, the only thing that you were focused on was the way Bucky’s cock brushed against your entrance, teasing you so bad that you actually started crying.

“Please—Buck. I need you,” Pathetic tears began to roll down your face as you looked at him, just begging for Bucky to fuck your desperate cunt. You grinded your pussy against nothing, showing him just how much you needed the friction. And fuck—you were so wet that Bucky could see your pussy gleaming even in the dim light.

He smirked.

“That’s it—go ahead and cry, little girl. I’m gonna fuck those tears out of you anyways,” Bucky then growled in your ear. And not even a few seconds later, your deepest and darkest desire came alive as he slid into you.

As if on que, both you and Bucky let out low moans and you held onto him as he began to push himself deeper inside of you. His thick cock provided a delicious stretch, one that had you whining before he even bottomed out. Likewise, Bucky had screwed his eyes shut at the feeling of your tight pussy, utter ecstasy filling his veins.

Fuck—you felt like heaven and everything else he had dreamed of. As a matter of fact, your pussy felt even better than that and it wasn’t long before Bucky found himself speeding up, really fucking into you. Just like you wanted him to.

His hips snapped into yours, and you gasped when suddenly his cock was plunging as deep as it could go. Over and over, the table shook as he pounded into you, his balls smacking into your ass.

Random tableware began clattering but you could barely hear it over the sound of yours and Bucky’s moans mixing together.

You tried to be quiet; you really did. But with the pleasure that he was bringing you it felt damn near impossible to not scream out. He was hitting that special spot inside of you just right, making you see stars every time his cock dragged against it. It had you struggling to hold back your cries and eventually, you found yourself crying again.

On top of you, Bucky loved it. He loved seeing the sweet tears run down your face, the sobs of pleasure that he eventually had to cover with his own mouth. He couldn’t risk Sam waking up; not now. Not when he could feel your pussy clenching around him, letting him know that you were close. He didn’t want to be robbed of the moment you creamed around his cock, so he kept you silent until you physically couldn’t take it anymore.

You moaned in his mouth as finally you hit your peak, your orgasm causing your body to shake and your walls clamp down on Bucky’s cock.

The delicious feeling had him groaning as you shuddered underneath him, a quiet sound that indicated his own release was near. Bucky sped up, fucking you dumb as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The lewd sounds that your pussy was making only baited him even further, edging him until Bucky’s release finally came about.

As much as you would have loved for him to cum inside of you, you both knew it would cause too much of a mess. So, right before he spilled himself, Bucky quickly pulled out and watched in astonishment as you got to your knees and quickly took him in your mouth.

The feeling of your tight lips wrapped around him had Bucky coming in no time, holding your hair between his fingers and groaning as you played with his balls.

You looked up at him and in the kitchen lights, Bucky swears that you’ve never looked sexier with your tits out and your mouth around him. Like a good girl, you made sure to get every last drop from him before you finally stood up, cheekily showing him that you had swallowed.

“Fuck—” Bucky grabbed you and pulled you close to him, your heavy panting mixing in with his. He kissed you, and when he pulled away you could tell that he was surprised to taste himself on your tongue.

“Good?” You teased him a little bit and Bucky let out a breathless chuckle as he shook his head.

“S’alright,” He simply shrugged before giving you a wink. “But I think I’d much rather taste you, doll.”

Just like before, a familiar heat spread to your cheeks and down to your core. Involuntarily, your legs clenched together and Bucky watched as you took a shy glance towards the hallways before looking back at him.

“How about we arrange that then?”

[cozymoko]

Ohh!!! Can i have fruitykawa with a reader who's kind of insecure about their relationship with him? Like,yes she's aware that they are married and all,but Fruity is such a wealthy (and handsome) man that surely there are alot of women around him. It makes her feel upset and tries to distance herself from him.

🌕 anon

ALWAYS, MY BELOVED

It's been a while since I updated. Shoutout to my homie, 🟡 anon for this request. Kinda got burnt out at the end, but I tried my best. Enjoy~!

Pairing: Hachiro Furukawa x Female! Reader (1.9k words)

Format: Headcanons, mini scenarios

WARNING(S): yandere themes, jealousy, insecurity, mentions of cutting (plastic surgery).

Synopsis: Hachiro Furukawa, my oc, with a wife who's insecure due to him being so handsome! (≧∇≦)/

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

NAVIGATION 🍮

Being WEDDED to the BEST is not for the weak-spirited. You had to appear stronger — better than the average woman so that they wouldn't dare question the legitimacy of your place. With your status, a ring costing nothing less than a fortune would never be enough. 

Your marriage had become public only a few years ago. Due to Hachiro's wishes. Yet that didn't seem to stop many promiscuous women from testing their luck. You bit back the unladylike words bubbling in your throat as they approached him. Fluttering their long lashes and flashing their pearly white teeth.

Models, lawyers, entrepreneurs: the party was bustling with so many. For a moment, you felt like nothing more than a pretty little accessory.

“Mr. Furukawa, how nice of you to make an appearance!” The host's eyes shift to you, thick and clouded with disdain. “It's a joy you brought the misses with you this evening.” The snarkiness of his tone was palpable. It seems the host wasn't exactly a fan of you, but then again, who was? After all, no one bothered to hide their curious gazes when Furukawa was not within earshot. But all you could do was hold your husband's arm just a little tighter.

The women especially.

"Is that Furukawa? Isn't he just dashing!"

"Wah~! He's even taller than I imagined!"

"Do you think he'll drink with me?"

Tightly sewn dresses, embracing the ladies that adorned them. Various warm shades painted lightly across their lips. Bouncy twists and swirls curled into their hair. Bedroom eyes peering over the many men scattered across the room; married or not. It's safe to say you weren't exactly pleased that your husband was one of the few.

You often hid yourself behind layers of lovely fabrics and excellent posture, in hopes of maintaining your modesty. In your eyes, it only seemed right that you matched the appearance and aura of that of your Husband. Though it seems each and every day was a torturous test of your self-restraint.

Nonetheless, you were never one to lose your composure. A straight face was essential in any type of business setting. Sure, you weren't as deadpan as Furukawa, but you could definitely play the "cold wife" role perfectly.

RECENTLY, you've had QUITE THE OBSESSION with FASHION. You have encountered plenty of upcoming entrepreneurs, many of who you've managed to befriend. One of your closest ones is a fashion designer.

She would soon be introducing her new line of work after months of a troublesome hiatus. So, after pulling a little bit if strings, you were able to help her out. By strings, you mean asking Hachiro for some assistance. With his support of the project, people were bound to come and see the clothes. Granted, he was skeptical of your request, it didn't take him long to break and give you what you want.

That evening, the two of you attended an induction ceremony for the company's new clothing line. Hachiro had no reason to attend, but the grin on your face was much too difficult to resist. Just knowing that he made you happy warms his heart immensely. You were the cutest.

But, all good things, of course, come to an end.

“Oh, my! Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” A woman with rosy lips approached the two of you, swaying her hips a bit too much for your liking. “Hachiro, dear, it's been so long since I've seen you!”

Even other women didn't dare to acknowledge you, especially in the company of Hachiro himself. He didn't take kindly to people dismissing your presence. But this girl, definitely had some guts.

“Inoue,” he hums languidly, watching her in masked disdain. “I'd rather you not address me so informally in such a public setting.”

That's right, KAMIKO INOUE, one of the top models that had recently taken Japan by storm. You were expecting her appearance after Hachiro's announced sponsorship, but her rudeness surprised you a bit. Especially her addressing your husband as though they were closer than friends.

You scoff, looking away from the two. Seeing how you'd much rather watch them set up than listen to Inoue's mindless flirting. Hachiro placed his hand on the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. But you couldn't dare look into his tender gaze, knowing of the possessiveness bursting within your chest.

She giggled, “How silly of you, Hachiro!” She reached her manicured hand out to grab his free arm just for him to grab her by the wrist.

“Please refrain from touching me so familiarly, Inoue. I'm a married man, and I'd be simply overjoyed if you would respect that.” He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his steely eyes, before pulling you flush against his chest.

A bright red bloomed across your skin at his affection. Hachiro never showed too much PDA. "You have a photo shoot to attend to, no?" He asks coldly. "Me and my wife will be sure to cheer you on from the sidelines.

That soiled your mood for the evening. Snatching the genuine smile from your lips and replacing it with one faker than the plastic on that whore's skin. For once in your life you were truly feeling vulnerable.

YOU had CONTEMPLATED GOING UNDER the KNIFE more times than YOU CARE to ADMIT. Not for your own pleasure, but the sake of your sanity. You didn't know what you'd do if you saw another beautiful woman talk to your husband.

Even in your youth, he was the center of attention. He had captured the hearts of many girls from various levels of wealth. You would know as you were one of them. But you were in no way richer or as elegant as the others who approached him. So why did he choose you? You asked yourself.

That night you had taken the guest room. It felt cold and quiet. Absent of the usual scratching of pens and occasional shuffling of papers you had grown accustomed to. The pleasant rumble of his chest as he attempts to entertain you whilst working. But you couldn't bring yourself to lay by his side with such heinous thoughts roaming your mind. You were able to fall into a long, dreamless slumber. But not without the company of a few heavy tears and a single question.

Were you selfish?

From that day, you didn't bother answering his calls, whether it be morning or dawn. You didn't bother visiting him during those long hours he slaved away at the company, though many times you truly wanted to. You didn't bother to allow your personal driver to pick you up, and if he tried, you merely snuck out of the house.

Any and everything reminded you of him, and that alone rendered you to tears. While he was away, you didn't allow yourself to be another burden pestering him on his business trip. You couldn't allow it.

AND IT WAS ALL DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

THE FLIGHT HOME was DREADFULLY SILENT. Aside from the tapping of someone's sleek dress shoes. Hachiro had not so much as uttered a word since boarding the plane, nor did he intend on it. For if he did, nothing kind would leave his mouth. Perhaps a, "hurry up," or two — or three. But all of it was for the sake of his sanity.

Hachiro needed his wife, desperately.

You slip through the large double doors, entering your bedroom with wary steps. It was quiet, as expected, and without your presence, it felt almost dead. A week had passed since you last drowned in the warm duvet. A week had passed since you relished in his scent nestled deep within its silk. And oh how you missed the smell of him. Finally, at peace, your shoulders dropped. You took a seat on the edge of your bed. Under your confident front, you were only one person. One person with one mind; though you usually had two. Hachiro and your own. But your pride didn't allow you to confine in the man you loved. What were you scared of? Being shamed, or perhaps laughed at — scolded? Though none of it seemed likely, you could not shake the feeling of embarrassment that held you on a tight leash. CREAK! You jumped, startled by the sudden weight pressed against your back. "Thank God you're safe," your heart swelled at the sound of his voice. The voice of not a stranger, but a lover — a partner. Hachiro grabs you by the chin and lifts your face up. You quickly recoil away in shame, praying he didn't get a peek at your messy face. The need to prove yourself had increased tenfold, you couldn't allow yourself to falter in his presence. “look at me, [Name]," he whispered softy. Hachiro lifts your head once more, swiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks. "You're crying? Tell me what's troubling you. I can help you, [Name]."

And just like that, you broke. Loud, anguished sobs tore through your throat. Your stomach fluttered at the familiar smell of citrus and mint. You couldn't get enough of it. His arms were warm and comforting, and you couldn't deny the safety you felt by his side. His embrace was stronger than anything you've ever known, as if holding him wasn't enough, you held him as though he were your lifeline. It wasn't your intention to tell him, but you just couldn't help it. Each and every thought was placed on the table. The insecurities that you felt bestowed before him. The people you despised and envied slipped past your lips without thinking. All while Hachiro cooed sweet nothings in your ear, promising you his loyalty until his last breath. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumb through the swollen flesh of your eyes. His usually cold eyes burned with something you couldn't possibly describe. “I can hardly control myself sometimes.” You stared at him dumbfounded — in utter disbelief. His glasses must've been dirty, you thought. Your hair was a literal wreck. And the past couple of weeks had not been too kind to your skin. Small breakouts peppering your cheeks from stress; bags that could carry at least a ton of sorrow nestled beneath your eyes. Surely his vision was just a little blurry. But upon further inspection, you couldn't spot not a spec of dirt on his lenses. Upon your lack of response, he hums, leaning in a bit closer. “I'm serious, dear.” You huff, burying your face into his neck as your skin takes on a feverish shade of red. Damn him for being so attractive. You felt like a high schooler all over again. Smiling softly, you held him closer. “You're the best, Hachi.”

Hachiro sat awake by your side, gently stroking your back with easy motions. His lips had found themselves on your warm skin. And his heart beating vastly at the things you had confessed to him. The possessiveness you had experienced for him. The jealousy and anguish that had consumed you on his behalf.

Of course, he never wanted to see you upset, but seeing how you value him makes him a bit selfish. Just seeing you made him snap a little on the inside. His rational mind fought for control over his need to have you, to prove his love to you. But he decided against it. He would be sure to show you how deeply his love runs on a later occasion. But for now, he settled for cradling you in his arms. Promising to take all those bitter emotions away from you.

“Good morning, Japan!” Shouted the host. “It's come to our attention that Ms. heartthrob Kamiko Inoue has quit the modeling industry after a life-threatening accident!”

“...HUH!?”

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

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

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

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

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

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART