#and being patient when I'm intensely asking for it

[abbotjack]

God I hate to be that person but ughhhhhh I love that jack fic where they find out reader is pregnant and I'm CRAVING a second part to that (if you're u to of course). Like, how it'd be during her pregnancy, him being sweet but also worried and protective. Omg I need more soft jack w a baby on the way!!!!!

The Camouflage Onesie

part two of he begins to notice (read this first!)

content warnings: pregnancy, medical references, nausea/morning sickness, sexual content (explicit but consensual), body image changes, hormonal shifts, domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, labor and delivery scene, emotionally intense partner support, and high emotional/physical dependency within a marriage. yeah. pregnancy

word count : 5,735

WEEK 5

The test turned positive on a Sunday. By Monday morning, the entire medicine cabinet had been rearranged like it was a trauma cart.

Your moisturizer had been nudged over to make room for prescription-grade prenatals, a bottle of magnesium, a DHA complex, and—of all things—two individually labeled pill sorters with day-of-the-week dividers. One pink. One clear. Yours and Jack's, apparently.

You found him in the kitchen at 6:42 a.m., already in scrubs. He was calmly cutting the crusts off toast while listening to NPR and making a second cup of coffee for himself.

When he turned, he gave you a long once-over—not in a critical way, but diagnostic. Like he was scanning you for vitals only he could see.

“You’re flushed,” he said. “And your pupils are dilated. You feel dizzy yet?”

You furrowed your brow. “No?”

“Good. You’re hydrating better than I thought.”

You blinked. “Jack, I haven’t even said good morning.”

He walked over and handed you a glass of room-temp water. “I’m loving you with medically sourced precision.”

You stared at the glass. “This isn’t cold.”

“Cold water upsets your stomach. Lukewarm helps with early bloat.”

“Jack.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He tilted his head. “I’ve watched septic patients stabilize faster than accountants facing a positive Clearblue. I know exactly what this is.”

You pressed your hands to your face and groaned. “You’re not going to hover this much every week, are you?”

Jack leaned down, brushing a kiss over your shoulder. “No. Some weeks I’ll hover more.”

“I made your appointment already,” he said, voice casual. “Friday. Dr. Patel. 3:40.”

You blinked. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“She owes me a favor,” Jack said. “Got her niece into ortho during the peak of the shortage last year. Trust me—she’ll take care of you.”

You frowned, stunned. “How did you even pull that off so fast?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. I’m an ER doctor. I have connections. I can get my wife seen before the week’s out.”

Your eyes welled up suddenly—caught off guard by how steady he was, how sure. You were still half-floating in disbelief. Jack was already ten steps ahead, clearing the path.

WEEK 6

You learned very quickly that pregnancy was a full-time job—and Jack approached it with quiet precision.

The first time you dry-heaved over the kitchen sink, he didn’t rush in with a solution. He didn’t lecture or hover. He just stepped into the room, leaned against the counter, and waited until you looked up.

“Still thinking about that leftover pasta?” he asked softly.

You made a face. “Don’t say the word pasta.”

He crossed the kitchen, wordless, and pulled open a drawer. Out came a wrapped ginger chew. Then he disappeared down the hall.

When he returned, he had your cardigan in one hand and a bottle of lemon water in the other.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

Jack handed you the water first. “You always run cold when you’re nauseous. But I know you’ll refuse a blanket if you’re flushed.”

You stared.

He draped the cardigan over your shoulders.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you want toast.”

You half-laughed, half-cried, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You don’t have to be this gentle every second.”

Jack leaned in. “I’m not being gentle. I’m being exact. There’s a difference.”

Later that night, you sat curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the cardigan, while Jack quietly swapped your usual diffuser oil with something new.

“Peppermint,” he said when you asked. “Helps with queasiness.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And the bin next to the couch?”

“Let’s call it contingency planning.”

You smirked. “You’re really building systems around me, huh?”

Jack looked at you—soft, certain. “No. I’m building them for you.”

He moved across the room and brushed your hair back off your forehead, thumb pausing at your temple like he could smooth out whatever discomfort lingered there.

“You’re not the patient,” he murmured. “You’re the constant. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the ground steady under your feet.”

You didn’t have a clever reply.

You just pulled him onto the couch beside you and tucked yourself into his chest—grateful beyond words that this was who you got to build a life with.

WEEK 9

Jack was folding laundry on the bed when you walked into the room barefoot, carrying a bowl of cereal and wearing his old college sweatshirt.

You caught his glance. “What?”

He shook his head, smiled a little. “Just thinking you wear my clothes better than I ever did.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. He set a towel down. Reached for your bowl as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I got it,” you said.

“I know,” he murmured, holding it anyway while you shifted the pillow behind your back. Once you were settled, he handed it back.

You took a bite, then glanced at the basket of half-folded laundry.

“You know that’s mostly my stuff, right?”

Jack looked at the pile. “It’s ours. Who else is gonna fold your seven thousand pairs of fuzzy socks?”

You laughed into your spoon.

He leaned against the dresser and just looked at you for a second. Not in a way that made you self-conscious—just soft. Familiar.

“You’re quieter this week,” he said.

You shrugged. “I’m tired.”

He nodded. “Want to go somewhere this weekend? Just us?”

“Like where?”

“Nowhere big. Just—out of the house. We could rent a cabin. Lay around. Sleep until noon. Let you pretend I’m not watching you nap like it’s my full-time job.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do that now?”

“Not always. Just when you start snoring like a golden retriever pup.”

“Jack.”

He grinned, walked over, and kissed your temple.

“Alright, no trips. But at least let me cook something tonight. Something warm.”

You sighed. “You already do too much.”

He looked at you seriously then, crouched a little so you were eye-level.

“I don’t keep score,” he said. “I’m your husband. You’re growing our kid. If all I have to do is make dinner and fold socks, I’m getting off easy.”

WEEK 14

By week fourteen, the second trimester hit like an exhale.

You weren’t queasy every morning anymore. Your appetite returned. You could brush your teeth without gagging. And Jack, for the first time in weeks, actually relaxed enough to sit through an entire episode of something without checking on you mid-scene.

You were curled on the couch together—your head in his lap—when he slid his hand beneath your shirt and rested it on the soft curve of your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re subtle.”

“I’m consistent.”

You snorted. “You’re clingy.”

His thumb brushed just under your ribs. “I’m memorizing.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your feet closer. “You already know everything about me.”

Jack looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I know the before. This part? This is new.”

He went quiet, and you could feel the shift in him—something deeper, more reverent than before.

“I’ve seen pregnancy before,” he said. “But I’ve never… watched it happen to someone I come home to.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You okay?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I just keep thinking… you’re building someone I haven’t met yet. And I already know I’d give my life for them.”

Your throat tightened. You reached for his hand where it rested on your stomach, lacing your fingers through his.

“We’re doing okay, right?”

Jack bent down, kissed your forehead. “You’re doing better than okay.”

You smiled. “We’re a good team.”

“The best,” he said. “Even if you keep stealing all the pillows.”

You laughed. “You sleep like a corpse. You don’t need them.”

He grinned. “You’re getting cocky now that the nausea’s eased.”

“You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“No, I’ll just be glad to have you back.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have me.”

Jack kissed you again. Longer this time.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

WEEK 15

It started with the baby books.

Not the ones you bought. The ones Jack picked up—three of them, stacked neatly on the nightstand one morning after a grocery run you hadn’t joined him on.

You noticed them after your shower. He was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, humming something that definitely wasn’t in tune. But the titles made you pause.

“‘What to Expect for Dads,’” you read aloud, holding the top one up when he walked in. “You going soft on me?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Hardly. Just figured if you’re doing the building, I can at least read the manual.”

You smirked, flipping through a page. “You’re the manual.”

“I’m the triage guy. I don’t have maternal instincts. I have protocols.”

You leaned back against the headboard. “You’re being humble, but you’re gonna ace this.”

He shrugged, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “I just want to know what’s coming. I’ve done newborn shifts. I’ve handed babies to people shaking so hard they could barely hold them. But this? This isn’t a shift. This is us.”

You touched his arm. “You’ve already done more than I can even keep track of.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment. Then placed his hand over yours. “I don’t want to just be useful. I want to be good. For both of you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you leaned forward and kissed him—gentle, deep. His hand slid to your stomach as naturally as breathing.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You already are.”

That night, when he thought you were asleep, he cracked open the book again.

And stayed up past midnight reading about swaddling, latch cues, and the difference between Braxton Hicks and the real thing.

WEEK 16

Jack stood in the doorway of your office for almost a full minute before saying anything.

You looked up from your laptop, eyebrows raised. “What?”

He didn’t move. Just scanned the room—your desk, the bookshelf, the little armchair in the corner that you never actually used.

Then, finally: “Is our house big enough for this?”

You blinked. “For what?”

He gestured vaguely toward your belly, then the room. “All of it. A baby. Crib. Noise. Diapers. More laundry. Less sleep.”

You smiled gently. “I thought we were turning this room into the nursery.”

“We are,” he said quickly. “I just… I keep running scenarios in my head. And this place felt huge when it was just us.”

You closed your laptop. “Jack.”

He looked at you.

“We’ll figure it out. We already are.”

He crossed the room, leaned against your desk. “I’m not trying to panic.”

“I know.”

“I just keep thinking about how everything’s going to change. I want to make sure we still feel like us once it does.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “We will. You think too far ahead sometimes.”

“That’s my job,” he murmured.

“And mine is reminding you that it’s okay to not solve everything all at once.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I know. I just want it to be enough.”

WEEK 19

Jack was unusually quiet on the drive to the anatomy scan.

Not anxious. Just focused in a way that told you his brain had been working overtime since the moment he woke up. His hand rested on your thigh at every red light, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your leggings.

“You good?” you asked, turning down the radio.

He glanced over, nodded once. “Just running through the checklist in my head.”

You smiled gently. “You’re not at work, babe.”

“I know. But I’ve never seen one of these as a husband.”

You reached over and laced your fingers through his. “You don’t have to be perfect today. You just have to be here.”

He gave you a look. “I am here. That’s the problem. I’m so here I can’t think about anything else.”

The waiting room was dim, quiet, and smelled vaguely like lemon disinfectant. Jack sat beside you, legs spread in his usual posture, one hand on your knee. His thumb tapped once. Then again. Then stopped.

The tech was warm, professional. She dimmed the lights. Asked if you wanted to know the sex. You said yes before Jack could answer.

You held your breath as the screen lit up in shades of blue and gray.

“Everything’s looking healthy,” the tech said. “Strong spine, great heartbeat, long legs.”

Jack tightened his grip on your hand.

“And it looks like you’re having a girl.”

You exhaled all at once. Then laughed. Or maybe cried. It blurred together.

Jack didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at the monitor, jaw tense, eyes glassy.

You turned to look at him. “Jack.”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just—” He swallowed. “She’s real.”

The rest of the appointment was a haze—measurements, murmurs of “good growth,” the gentle swipe of gel off your stomach. Jack didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

That night, you came out of the bathroom in an old t-shirt and found him standing at the dresser, staring down at something small in his hand.

You stepped closer. “What’s that?”

He held it up without looking—one of the newborn onesies you’d bought weeks ago in a moment of cautious optimism. Light yellow. Soft cotton.

“You think she’ll fit in this?” he asked.

You smiled. “They’re tiny, Jack. That’s kind of the whole point.”

He nodded but didn’t move.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind. “You’re allowed to feel everything. It’s a big day.”

He turned, wrapped his arms around you carefully. “I think I was more afraid of not feeling it.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

“I am,” he said, voice rough. “I just keep thinking about how I’m going to keep her safe. How I’m going to teach her to breathe through chaos. How I’ll probably mess it up a hundred times.”

“You’re not going to mess it up.”

He looked at you. “You really think that?”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

Jack smiled for real then. “You’ve always been the smarter one.”

You rolled your eyes. “But you’re the one who’s going to end up wrapped around her finger.”

He kissed your temple. “That part was inevitable.”

WEEK 25

Jack convinced you to finally start looking at houses.

You’d been reluctant—emotionally attached to the place you’d built your early marriage in, skeptical about change when everything in your life already felt like it was shifting—but Jack had waited. Quietly. Patiently.

And then one morning, while you were brushing your teeth, he leaned in behind you, kissed your shoulder, and said, “You deserve a bigger closet.”

That was how it started.

Now, you were standing in a half-empty living room with sun pouring through tall windows and a sold sign posted out front.

Jack had just gotten off the phone with your realtor. “It’s official,” he said, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Inspection cleared. We close in three weeks.”

You blinked. “We really bought a house.”

He walked over, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. “Correction: we bought your dream closet.”

You laughed. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am. Also, there’s a window bench in the nursery. You don’t even have to try to make it Pinterest-worthy.”

You leaned into him, eyes scanning the bare walls. “I can already picture her here.”

Jack pressed a kiss to your neck. “I already do. I see her trying to climb that windowsill. Leaving fingerprints on every square inch of the fridge. Falling asleep on the stairs with a book she couldn’t finish.”

Your throat tightened.

You turned in his arms. “You really love it?”

He looked at you seriously. “I love what it gives you. I love that it lets you breathe. And yeah—I love that it’s ours.”

Later that night, back in your current house, you sat on the floor with your laptop open, scrolling through registry links and bookmarking soft pink paint samples. Jack handed you a cup of tea, then lowered himself on the couch beside you with a quiet grunt.

“Is it weird that I already want to be moved?” you asked.

He shook his head. “No. It’s called nesting. I read about it in that chapter you skipped.”

You shot him a look. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the one folding swaddles while you build spreadsheets. This is our love language.”

You leaned into him, content. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

WEEK 27

You’d been on your feet all day—organizing documents, boxing up odds and ends, making lists of what needed to be moved and what could be donated. Jack told you to slow down three separate times, each time gentler than the last.

But now, at 8:43 p.m., you were barefoot in the kitchen, half bent over a drawer of mismatched utensils, when he walked in, tossed a dish towel on the counter, and said, “Okay. That’s it.”

You looked up. “What?”

Jack didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He crossed the room, took the spatula from your hand, and gently nudged you toward a chair. “Sit. Let me take over.”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You folded your arms. “Same thing.”

Jack crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees. “You’ve done enough today. Let me be the husband who makes you sit down and drink something cold while I finish sorting forks from tongs.”

You softened, your fingers drifting to his hair. “I know you’re right. I just feel useless when I’m not doing something.”

“You’re 27 weeks pregnant,” Jack said, voice warm. “You made a person and folded three boxes of bath towels. That’s two more miracles than anyone else managed today.”

You exhaled and leaned back.

Later, when you were curled on the couch with a glass of iced water and your feet propped on a pillow, Jack settled next to you and tugged a blanket over both of you.

“House is gonna feel real soon,” he said.

You nodded. “She’s going to be born there.”

Jack’s arm slid around your shoulders. “We’ll bring her home to that nursery. Hang that weird mobile you picked that I still don’t understand.”

“You said it was ‘avant-garde.’”

“I was being polite.”

You smiled, tired and full. “We’re really doing it, huh?”

“We are.”

You rested your head on his chest. Jack’s hand drifted instinctively to your belly, and stayed there.

“Hey,” you said after a minute. “Thanks for making me sit.”

Jack kissed the top of your head. “Thanks for letting me.”

WEEK 30

You caught him standing in the doorway of the nursery around 9:00 p.m., arms folded, shoulder braced against the frame like he was keeping watch.

The room was nearly done. Diapers in bins. Chair assembled. Books on shelves. But Jack wasn’t looking at any of that. He was staring at the window, like he was imagining the light that would come through it in the early mornings.

You leaned against the opposite side of the doorway, watching him.

“What’s going on in that head?” you asked.

He glanced over at you. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Jack cracked half a smile but didn’t move. “I keep picturing her. Not just baby-her. Grown-up her.”

You walked toward him. “What version?”

He tilted his head. “Seventeen. Wants to borrow the car. Has someone texting her who I probably don’t like.”

You laughed. “You’re already dreading a boyfriend?”

“I’m already dreading anyone who gets to be in her world without knowing what it cost us to build it.”

That stopped you.

Jack finally looked at you then—really looked. “She’s not even born yet and I already know I’d lay down in traffic for her. And I know how fast people can break things they don’t understand.”

You rested your hands on his chest. “You’re not going to be scary.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Well. You’ll look scary. Army vet. ER attending. Perpetual scowl. Built like you bench-press refrigerators for fun.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“But you’ll love her in a way no one will mistake for anything but devotion.”

Jack leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not good at soft,” he murmured.

“You’re good at us,” you whispered. “That’s all she’ll need.”

He pulled you into his arms then, one hand resting flat against the curve of your belly. “She’s gonna hate me when I make her come home early.”

“She’s gonna roll her eyes when you insist on meeting everyone she ever texts.”

Jack grinned. “Damn right.”

You laughed into his shirt. “You’re so screwed.”

“I know.”

But he held you a little tighter. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there in the dim nursery, one arm wrapped around the two of you, as if holding his whole world in place.

WEEK 32

You’d read the pregnancy forums. The blog posts. The articles with vaguely medical sources claiming the third trimester came with a spike in libido. You thought you’d be too sore, too tired. Too preoccupied.

What you hadn’t expected was the absolute onslaught.

It was like your body had one setting: Jack. Crave him. Need him. Get him here, now, fast.

He’d just gotten home from a late shift, dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door, and disappeared into the shower while you laid in bed attempting to not whine out loud. That resolve lasted six minutes.

When he walked into the bedroom, towel low around his hips, water dripping down his chest, you didn’t even mean to say it:

“I’m gonna die.”

Jack froze.

He crossed the room in seconds. “What is it? Where’s the pain?”

You were already on your back, one hand pressed to your belly, the other covering your eyes.

“Not pain,” you groaned. “Just hormones. God, Jack—this is insane.”

He crouched beside you. “You need to describe what’s happening.”

You peeked at him from under your hand. “I need you. I need you.”

Jack stilled. Blinked. Then dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a long exhale.

“Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, laughing into your wrist. “I just—I’m desperate. I thought it would go away. It’s not going away.”

He lifted his head. Smiled. “Desperate, huh?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I think I am.”

Jack kissed your temple, then your cheek, then hovered over your lips. “You sure you’re good?”

You reached for him. “No. I’m feral.”

He didn’t waste another second.

What followed wasn’t frantic—it was focused. Jack stripped you with efficiency and reverence, lips brushing every newly sensitive part of you. Your belly. Your hips. Your breasts. He murmured to you the whole time—gentle things, grounding things.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, kissing the swell of your stomach. “You’ve been patient. Let me take care of you.”

“Please,” you whispered. “I feel insane.”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He slid inside you slow, controlled, the way he always did when he wanted to make it last. But tonight, there was something more behind it—urgency without rush, intention without pressure.

You clawed at his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Jack, Jack—”

“Right here.”

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you too. I always do.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs tightening around his waist. The angle shifted, and everything inside you splintered.

“Oh—God—don’t stop—”

Jack groaned, teeth catching your jawline. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So damn good.”

He guided you through it, one hand braced behind your head, the other cradling your hip like you’d break without it. When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears at the corners of your eyes.

He followed seconds later, low and deep and steady, body shaking over yours.

Afterward, he didn’t move. Just curled around you, one arm anchored under your shoulders, the other stroking your belly in long, soothing sweeps.

“Still dying?” he asked eventually.

You huffed a laugh. “Little bit.”

Jack smiled into your shoulder. “Guess I’ll keep checking your vitals.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your chest, then your stomach, whispering something you couldn’t hear but felt down to your bones.

When you shifted against him, needy again already, he looked up with a low laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Jack,” you breathed, “I’m not done.”

And Jack—predictable, capable, ready-for-anything Jack—just grinned.

“I never am with you.”

The second round was slower. Deeper. You rode his thigh first, panting against his neck, clinging to his shoulders while he whispered filth in your ear—soft, low things no one else would ever hear from him. He touched you like he already knew exactly what you’d need next week, next month, next year.

And when you collapsed against him again, trembling and sore and finally, finally full in every sense of the word—he kissed your forehead and said, “You’re everything.”

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jack tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

WEEK 35

The third trimester had turned your body into a full-time performance art piece. You were a living exhibit on discomfort, hydration, Braxton Hicks, and the high-stakes negotiation of shoe-tying. You’d stopped fighting the afternoon naps, started rotating three stretchy outfits on a loop, and made peace with the fact that gravity was no longer your friend.

Jack had adjusted too.

Without comment, he now drove you to every appointment. Without asking, he refilled your water before bed. Without blinking, he gave up half his side of the bathroom counter for the ever-expanding line of belly oils, cooling balms, and half-used jars of snacks.

But tonight?

Tonight he came home to find you crying at the kitchen table over a broken zipper on the diaper bag.

“Sweetheart.”

You looked up, cheeks blotchy. “It broke. It broke, Jack. And it was the only one I liked.”

“Hey, hey—breathe.”

You sniffled. “It had compartments. It had mesh.”

Jack took the bag gently from your hands, and examined the zipper like it was a patient in trauma.

“Looks jammed,” he said. “Not broken.”

You stared at him. “You don’t know that.”

He looked up. “I do.”

He walked over to the toolbox without fanfare, and returned two minutes later with a small pair of pliers. Thirty seconds after that, the zipper slid closed like nothing had happened.

You burst into tears again.

Jack set the bag down and pulled you into his arms. “Hormones?”

You nodded into his chest. “I love you so much.”

He smiled against your hair. “You want to take a bath?”

You sniffed. “Will you sit on the floor with me?”

“I’ll bring the towel and everything.”

Which is how twenty minutes later you were in the tub, steam curling around the mirror, your swollen belly just breaching the surface, while Jack sat on the floor, reading your baby book aloud like it was scripture.

“She’s the size of a honeydew,” he said, tapping the page. “Still gaining half a pound a week. Lungs developing. Rapid brain growth.”

You hummed. “She’s been moving a lot today.”

He smiled, reached over, and rested a palm over your belly. “She likes the sound of your voice.”

“She likes pizza. She tolerates me.”

Jack leaned over and kissed your temple. “She already loves you.”

You sighed, settling deeper into the water. “She’s going to love you more.”

Jack’s voice went quiet. “That’s not possible.”

You looked over.

He was watching you like he was memorizing the moment. Like he knew it wouldn’t last forever and wanted to hold every second of it.

“She’s got the best of you already,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You’re the one who’s been steady through everything. She’s gonna know that.”

He kissed your hand. “She’s gonna know we did it together.”

And you believed him.

Even through the tears, the discomfort, the slow shuffle from couch to fridge to bed—you believed him.

WEEK 36

Jack came home with a basket.

Not from the store. Not from a delivery service. From the hospital. Carried under one arm like it was made of glass.

You were on the couch, half-watching a cooking show, half-rubbing the spot where the baby had been kicking for the last ten minutes straight. Jack came in, dropped his keys, and didn’t say anything at first.

He just set the basket on the coffee table and said, “Robby made me promise I wouldn’t forget to give this to you tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jack gestured toward it. “It’s from the ER.”

Inside: a soft blanket. A framed photo of the team crowded around a whiteboard that read “Baby Abbot ETA: T-minus 4 weeks.” A pair of hand-knitted booties labeled “Perlah Originals.” A stack of index cards, each one handwritten—Dana’s in looping cursive, Collins’s in all caps, Princess’s with hearts dotting the i’s. Robby’s simply read: Your kid already has better taste in music than Jack. Congrats.

You turned one of the index cards over, reading Dana’s note about how you were going to be the kind of mom who made her daughter feel safe and loved in the same breath.

“I didn’t know they even noticed me,” you whispered.

Jack rubbed slow circles against your bump. “They notice what matters to me.”

You looked at him.

He shrugged. “You’re my wife. You’re not just around. You’re part of everything.”

The baby kicked again. Hard enough to make you gasp.

Jack smiled, leaned in, and kissed the place she’d just moved. “She agrees.”

WEEK 38

You’d read about nesting, but you thought it would look more like baking muffins at midnight—not following Jack from room to room like his gravitational pull physically outweighed yours.

He didn’t seem to mind. He’d brush his hand down your back every time you passed, help you off the couch like you were recovering from surgery, and kiss your temple every time he walked by.

By Thursday, the baby bag was packed and parked by the front door. You’d zipped it, unzipped it, and re-packed it twice just to check. And when Jack got home that evening, he nodded at it, then set something down beside it with a quiet thunk.

You glanced over. “What’s that?”

“My go-bag,” he said simply.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jack nudged it with the toe of his boot. “Army-issued. Carried this thing through two deployments and six different states. Thought it’d be fitting to bring it into the delivery room.”

You blinked. “You packed already?”

He nodded, unzipped the top, and tilted the bag open for you to see: a clean shirt, a hand towel, a toothbrush, a few protein bars, and a worn, dog-eared paperback you recognized instantly.

“That one?” you said, surprised. “You always said you hated it.”

“I did,” he admitted, zipping the bag shut again. “But it’s your favorite. I read your notes in the margins when I miss you on long shifts.”

You crossed the room and leaned into him. “You’re something else.”

WEEK 40

You woke up at 2:57 a.m. with a tight, rolling wave of pressure low in your spine. It wrapped around your middle like a band and didn’t let go.

Jack was already shifting beside you. Years in the Army meant he didn’t sleep deeply—not when he was home, not when you were pregnant.

“You okay?” he asked, groggy but alert.

You exhaled shakily. “It’s time.”

He sat up immediately. “How far apart?”

“Six minutes.”

“Let’s move.”

By the time you got in the car, the contractions were coming faster—steadier. Jack didn’t speed, but he gripped the steering wheel like the world depended on it.

You were wheeled in through the ER doors—because of course you were going into labor at the hospital where Jack worked. Princess met you at triage with a knowing smile.

“She’s in three,” Princess said. “Perlah’s setting it up now.”

You were halfway into the room when Jack froze.

He turned to Collins at the desk. “Patel?”

“Stuck behind a pileup on 376,” Collins said. “She’s trying to reroute.”

Jack muttered something under his breath and scanned the monitors. “Where’s Robby?”

“Down in trauma. He’s finishing up a round.”

Jack didn’t wait. He left you in Princess’s care and went straight for the trauma bay.

Robby was wiping his hands on a towel when Jack stepped in. Hoodie half-zipped. Scrubs wrinkled. Wide awake.

“She’s in labor?”

“She’s in active labor,” Jack said. “And Patel’s not gonna make it, but—”

“You want me in the room,” Robby finished.

“I need you in the room.”

Robby dropped the towel. “Done.”

When Robby stepped into your room, you exhaled like someone had lifted a weight off your chest.

“Hey, doc,” you muttered through a contraction.

“You’re in good hands,” Robby said, glancing between you and Jack. “You’ve got half the ER out there whispering about it.”

“Tell them if they bring me chocolate, they can stay,” you joked.

Perlah dimmed the lights. Princess wiped sweat from your forehead. Robby took your vitals himself and kept your eyes steady with his.

Hours blurred together. Jack never left your side.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“You’re doing perfect.”

“She’s almost here.”

Then everything started to move faster. Robby gave a nod to Princess and Perlah.

“One more push,” he said. “You’ve got this.”

Jack leaned close, his forehead against yours. “Come on, sweetheart. Right here. You’ve got her.”

And then—

A cry. Loud. Full. Brand new.

“She’s here,” Robby said quietly.

Jack didn’t move at first. Just watched. His eyes were wet. His hand covered his mouth.

Princess handed her to you, swaddled and squirming. Jack kissed your forehead and brushed a tear off your cheek.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it.”

Later, after they’d cleaned up and the room was quiet, you watched Jack walk over to the bassinet. He held up a camouflage onesie.

“Oh my God,” you said. “Seriously?”

He looked over, completely straight-faced. “This is important.”

“You’re impossible.”

He kissed you once, then again. And held her like he’d waited his whole life.

[inardescere]

A stutter.

Rafayel hums softly, waiting patiently as he holds his thigh, thumb drawing gentle circles to soothe him now that he's no longer trying to make a point. Throughout the whole scene, he could see the other's expression morph constantly, a battle between something in his head that the Lemurian couldn't possibly comprehend. Part of why he was so forceful was for the need for control; Caleb had asked for him to give pain, asking for Rafayel to end his life with his own bare hands because he thought it was hot. Maybe, it really was a kink that got him excited, enjoying the thrill of a near-death scenario where adrenaline spikes through his blood, the rush of fear an addictive drug to those who want to feel. But from what Rafayel knew and learned of, those were supposed to be in a controlled environment, only simulating the scenario to get one excited with no true harm involved. If it was simply that, the Lemurian doesn't think he would mind trying. But there was a nudging feeling that Caleb would drown in it, thrive on the feeling of Rafayel's fingers digging a bit too deep, Rafayel's strength unrestrained would break him so easily but what if he derives pleasure from being hurt, turn him numb to what should be pure insanity. 

Although Rafayel had promised to take care of him, he didn't feel like he could comply with those specific wishes. Not until he learned the truth why he wanted to be treated so roughly.

Caleb trembles under his gaze, under his touch. Had he taken it too far? There seems to be more to his past than the sliver he had revealed, maybe even more so than what Rafayel had gone through. If Rafayel's short life had been terrifying, what had happened when the closest people to him had used him? The Lemurian had wanted to subdue him so he would listen when Rafayel told him he was not in the right headspace to provide him what he wanted, too inexperienced to fathom the level of strength or mental control able to keep. But he looked so vulnerable laying still, hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white and the sheet looked ready to rip trying to ground him. Then he apologizes, his voice a whisper that almost doesn't carry to his ears. It makes his gaze soften, his touch steadying him, firm and heavy as he leans further forward. Terrified of losing control, of wanting only to have nothing left. Even if he couldn't understand it completely, he could relate to his fear of growing attached.

It takes a second to crawl over the man, towering over him before he slowly lowers himself down close. "Thank you," he murmurs, the tip of his nose nuzzling his cheek, knees finding their place and he takes hold of his face, cupping his jaw and his thumb rubs a soothing touch to his cheek. For trusting him so much, for always showing him vulnerability that Rafayel would have never been strong enough to show. The Lemurian makes a pained noise when he hears his plea, lips tenderly matching with his, rewarding him for his honesty. He is soft, all frost and intensity gone, not even teasing. A tender touch, an affectionate, lingering kiss. "I'm also sorry. I got too carried away." Maybe he could've found a better way to word it, less intimidating when he was handling his new lover who was put in a spot. But he's unsure when to take his words literally and when he should put a stop to his masochistic tendencies, afraid to break something he meant to treasure. Rafayel presses his lips to his temple, holding onto Caleb's waist and lifting him, pulling him into his lap. He scoots all the way back to the headboard against the wall, holding him loosely, rubbing his back gently to soothe him.

"Just so you know, I'm not mad at you." He leans up and kisses his jaw, cupping his face so he can pull him down, to give him soft pecks on his lips. Then he pulls back, squishes his cheeks between his fingers and smiles, playful and soft, pinching his face between his fingers. It's a silly face, one that makes him laugh softly and he leans up to kiss his puckered lips, letting go and soothing those red cheeks with more soft kisses. Reassuring him, it was alright. "I want to be gentle. I think I wanted to scare you a bit, because I can be aggressive. But I don't want to." Caleb has gotten more than a lifetime's worth of rough handling from Rafayel already, he just wants to show him how to accept the opposite too. "I'm not leaving. Right here, haven't left you alone since you woke me up." He murmurs as he buries his face into his neck, kissing just once and hugging him, cuddling. He sways back and forth for a few seconds, humming softly, then lifts his head.

"If you want me to stay-- want something from me," he starts, tracing a finger along his ear, to his cheek, tracing over his lips. "You don't have to command it. Just ask me, and I will do my best to have it done. You spoil me and my incessant demands, why wouldn't I do the same?" He leans in, fingers gliding lower to replace it with his lips, a soft, lingering touch with a soft nip at his lower lip. Don't be scared. "Try." He urges, rubbing down to the small of his back, pulling him close to his body. "What do you want me to do, Sunset?"

perhaps he pushed him too hard. caleb realizes that he messed up by showing sides of himself that were meant to be kept as a secret. the atmosphere between feels like it cracked, heavy with tension because of his sudden shift. his mind feels like a battlefield of contradictions, and he feels the click coming, as it always did, stripping him away from rafayel's warmth and kindness, because he seems to forbid himself from getting affection, unconsciously. something deep inside twists him into something colder, something sharper, something he despised. and as he lays pinned beneath rafayel, legs splayed in a position that made his breath catch, that makes him feel so vulnerable and humiliates, the realization begins to seep in. the lemurian simply looms over him, a predator poised with intent, his voice like a velvet blade that sliced through caleb's defenses with precision. sally, his hands are steady and commanding, but right now? they are clench at the sheets beneath him, unsure whether to fight back or surrender.

it's not fear what he feels, it's the gnawing ache of recognition of knowing that the shift inside him is not just some fleeting impulse. ah.. the implant is humming faintly, feeding the darker edge of his thoughts, nudging him towards control and domination, the insidious desire to command everything and everyone around him. because control is safety and vulnerability is weakness. even though he reacts to the sharp dig on his leg, a grunt leaving his lips after being maneuvering so easy, he can tell rafayel grip is not necessarily cruel but firm. it feels like these actions are forcing him to confront that part of himself that sought dominance at all costs. this grip is not only physical but emotional as well, how easily the lemurian could turn the tables on him.

he even numbs the other's actions, being unable to feel any touch as rafayel continues to speak. it feels like a reprimand, and he couldn't help but lower his head as he allows the other to do whatever he wants to him. maybe he simply is not fit for rafayel, and his initial sense of self-consciousness surfaces to cloud his brain again. he will never be enough, for rafayel or anyone, as long as this... thing, lives inside of him. yet, he cannot bring himself to talk about it, to speak the truth and explain the reason behind his sudden shifts. why feeling so vulnerable forces him to act up like this. he cannot talk about it, he cannot even mention it, as he doesn't even know where it lays.

“you might get off on being hurt or controlled, but i’m not in the mood for it.”

the words sting more than caleb would have wanted them to, becase they are not just a rejection of his actions, but a mirror that holds up to the part of himself he didn't want to face. the part that wasn’t the charming and kind captain, the daring leader. it was the part of him shaped by the implant, by the years of being honed into a weapon, by the relentless demand for perfection that had stripped away his ability to just be. he swallows hard, his throat tight as he stares up at rafayel, whose hands now let his legs rest, waiting. his final words echo in his mind, realizing that one more false move and he could lose whatever this is, forever.

nicely... the thought almost made caleb laugh bitterly, trembling in silence. how long had it been since someone had asked him to do anything nicely? anyone had expected something soft from him, everyone expected obedience and brute force. his chest tightens, nsre if he ever could do something nicely.

"i..." his voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat as he speaks, hesitant, as if the words themselves were fighting him. his gaze changes again, more softer, even watery. some sort of plea, remembering his own words to break him gently. this is a situation he caused by himself, and he knows playing victim won't work as rafayel is just following his requests. yet it makes him regret it, as he does want to be treated nicely, sweetly, tenderly. he wants to be took care of in the same way he does to others. so why is it so hard not to sabotage himself? he blushes softly, looking away from rafayel, fixing his gaze on a shadowed corner of the room. 'i don't want to be like this.' he wants to say, yet the words don't seem to come through, in fact, he is not able to say it out loud because that would lead to more questions he doesn't wish to answer right now. he feels his breathing steading little by little, ignoring the whisper of control that is starting to fade away.

"i'm sorry." he says, barely above a whisper. his hands, unclenched from the sheets, trembling as they move to rest lightly on the other's arms, caressing them softly, wanting to feel something else, different from the internal struggle he currently has. "i'm terrified of losing control, of letting myself want too much and being left with nothing." perhaps he should go, stand up, leave everything behind for once. buut that mean running away instead of facing his own head. "please... continue." it's not an order, nor a demand. it is a plea, fragile and human, the most vulnerable that caleb has allowed himself to be in years.

[i-like-loserz]

Sorry for asking but do you do twt links?

yes i do — and it's for sub!san 🤭

i call this one: failed cockwarming

cw: smut (18+), nsfw link, sub!san, praise kink, edging, overstimulation, m!squirting, cockwarming (obvi), piv + unprotected

note: there's nothing i love more than a whiny, desperate man, completely lost for the touch of his partner...(did not mean to make this 1k words lol) -- also WHAT A CUTIE

NSFW LINK AND DESCRIPTION UNDER THE CUT

there's been one thing you've wanted to try with your boyfriend for a while now: cockwarming.

you've been building him up to it, knowing how desperate he gets once he's inside of you. how do you expect him to be a good patient boy while you're sitting on his cock if you don't train him?

it started with a series of edging sessions. you make him sit on the couch or against the headboard of the bed and slowly stroke him, refusing to speed up or hold him firmer. your fingers glide over the blushing silk-like skin, drawing shutters and moans from his perfect lips. he begs you sweetly, eyes already shiny with desperation, but you refuse to give in. it's for his own good, you tell yourself.

every time he tries to buck his hips against your hold, you use your other hand to hold him down, scolding him lightly for being so greedy. after bringing him to the edge a few times, he's shaking under you, cock hard and throbbing for relief. his eyes are red and wet from frustrated tears, his lips are shiny and plump from all the lip bitting, and there's a cute blush that's spread over his pretty face.

when you finally let him cum, his eyes roll to the back of his head and his flushed chest heaves beautifully from the intensity of his climax. he cums so much.

it spills over your fingers and trails down your wrist, making a mess of his lap. he whimpers desperately as you continue to stroke him. he tries to back away from the overwhelming painful pleasure of being overstimulated, but you keep pinned in his spot, interested to see how much he can handle.

he ends up having his first squirting experience, completely soaking everything around him -- including you.

"i-i'm sorry, i didn't mean to--" he's embarrassed, pouting with a blush as he stares at the soaked sheets under him. you drag your thumb over his thigh comfortingly and can't help but admire the way he shudders just from the faint touch.

"you did so good for me, sannie. you looked so pretty squirting for me like that~" the praise immediately calms him down, happy to please you and that you're not mad about the mess (but then again, you never are).

you thought this practiced restraint would help san acclimate to cockwarming. it's not like you're moving against him or anything. it's all about enjoy each other's company and the feeling of being connected. apparently there's a very big difference between your fist and your pussy.

it started off promising. you approached san with your idea:

"sannie..." you're playing with his hair delicately as he rests his head on your lap. it's a routine bonding moment that san regularly begs for. it makes him feel doted on and secure, and it usually leads to him falling asleep at the end.

he opens his eyes gently, already bleary with an adorable sleepy expression.

"mhm?"

"i was thinking..." you hum, massaging his scalp as you speak, "there's this thing that apparently brings couples closer together. it's supposed to be very comforting and intimate."

you swear, if he were a cat his ears would've been perked up at the mere mention of 'being closer' -- as if you could be any closer to each other. you practically spend every minute together.

he turns his head so he's looking at you more directly, "what is it?"

---

it's only been a few minutes and he's already whining under you. you feel so full and warm, perfectly draped over his body as he stuffs you to the brim. if it weren't for his desperate whines and the way he's throbbing inside of you, you swear you could fall asleep like this.

you've been trying to placate him with small kisses along his face and neck -- but it's only making it worse.

"it's okay, sannie, just relax." you coo, "don't think about it, i'm right here, baby..."

he whimpers softly, "i-i can't, it's -- mmph..."

he holds onto your waist firmly, trying to hold back. you can't help the way your body reacts when he squeezes you tightly with his large hands, the pressure feels amazing. you unconsciously clench around him, causing him to buck his hips against yours unsteadily with a choked out moan.

"f-fuck...sorry, baby, i didn't mean to do that~" you whisper against the heated skin of his neck. you press lazy kisses against him, already half-delirious from that scant bit of movement. "just stay here with me..."

your hands move to ghost over his chest, one of your favorite parts of his body. he's surprisingly sensitive there, gasping whenever you flick over his nipples or grope his pecs. you know you shouldn't, but you can't help the way your fingers circle around his pretty blush buds. he shivers from the contact and shallowly thrusts into you again.

"s-stop, it's too much." he lets go of your waist to grab your wrists, forcing your hands away from his chest. with misty eyes, he looks up at you, "i'm trying to be good, but i'm gonna cum if you keep doing that."

he looks fucking edible like this.

fuck it.

you take advantage of the weak hold around your wrists and push both of your arms to the top of the mattress. he looks lost as you pin him to the bed, weary eyes anticipating your next move.

"i was trying to do something new with you, but you just can't help it can you?" you tease, "so sensitive that you'll do anything to cum, hm?"

it's almost like he can't hear you, reeling from the teasing words that drip from your enticing lips.

you squeeze him within you again. that gets his attention.

"anything" he pants eagerly.

"fuck me, baby."

[sematarygirls]

        BOYFRIEND!RAFE x ANXIOUS!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ protected p in v, oral (f! receiving), established relationship, loss of virginity, reader and rafe being dorks, slow sex, these bitches do not shut up, reader is very insecure about her body and of course, has anxiety

NOTES .ᐟ this is representation for all my anxious and insecure girlies who giggle and blurt out random stuff when they're nervous (aka me)

You and Rafe were both on his bed making out, him laying underneath you as you straddled his waist—his idea, of course, citing that it would be more comfortable for both of you that way. "You better just have something in your pocket," you jokingly mumbled against his lips, feeling something distinctly hard and suspiciously close to his dick pressing against you.

You had a tendency to make a lot of dumb jokes and laugh when you were nervous, blurting out whatever came to mind before you could decide against it, which was ironic since overthinking was a second nature to you. You were shy and got nervous a lot, especially around Rafe. He was your first boyfriend and the hottest guy you'd ever laid your eyes on, neither of which helping your nerves.

Rafe's hands slipped under your shirt to touch your bare skin, holding you firmly on his lap. "Wouldn't you like to know," his smirk was teasing as he pulled back from the kiss to peer up at you.

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the whole point of asking," you also pulled back, sitting up as you smiled down at him. You liked it when Rafe went along with your stupid jokes, bantering with you to put you at ease. He never made you feel weird or awkward for using humor to cope with your anxiety.

"Well, if you must know, I'm packing heat," Rafe quipped with a mischievous grin, his grip on your hips tightening.

You gasped exageratedly, feigning shock. "You have a gun?" You knew very well what he meant, but when did that ever stop you from saying something stupid?

He snorted, his blue eyes shining with amusement. "Yeah, I have a gun in my pants because that makes so much sense," he replied sarcastically, finding your nervous humor endearing.

"Okay, Mr. Sassypants," you rolled your eyes playfully, your palms resting on his chest as a smile pulled at your lips.

"Mr. Sassypants?" Rafe repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You know, that's not a very nice thing to call your loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend."

"Well, I can't help that my loving, patient, and amazingly sexy boyfriend is such a diva," you grinned, feeling his chest rise and fall, his heart beating steadily under your fingertips.

"Diva?" He gasped in mock offense, his hands sliding up your sides. "I'll show you a diva." In one swift motion, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him.

You laughed, looking up at him with a smile despite the anxiety gnawing at you. He had a way of putting your mind at ease with just one look, and the soothing circles he was rubbing on your skin were definitely helping. He stared back at you, his gaze softening. He loved your smile and the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed. Truthfully, he loved everything about you, even your innate ability to make everything a tad bit awkward.

His eyes searched yours intently, searching for any signs that you wanted him to stop. Noticing his serious turn of demeanor and his intense gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up. "Oh, cmon, don't get all serious on me now," you rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I take my role as your boyfriend very seriously," he grinned, leaning down to kiss your neck. "And, it wouldn't be very boyfriendly of me to let you go on without knowing the wonders of sex."

"Oh, right, of course, it would be for my benefit," you giggled, your heart racing at the idea of being intimate with him. You weren't exactly against the idea, but you were still a virgin, and the idea of being with someone like that was undoubtedly nerve-racking.

You could feel Rafe smile against your skin, his hands sliding farther up your sides. "Uh huh, always thinking of what's best for my girl."

"Wow, who knew you were so selfless?" You giggled, biting your lip as he nipped as your skin. Your fingers slotted into his hair as he continued to kiss and suck at your neck, his hot breath fanning against your heated skin.

"I'm a saint, what can I say?" He mumbled, his tone teasing. He was being careful, trying to reassure you without actually saying anything because he knew you'd prefer to keep things as lighthearted as possible to make you forget about how serious the moment actually was. He could tell you were nervous, and he was determined to make you as comfortable as possible.

"Uh huh, a saint," you smiled as he slowly, tentatively pushed your shirt up your body. He was giving you time to tell him to stop, maybe even slap him if you wanted to, but you didn't. As much as you felt like you were going to die on the spot at the idea of him seeing you naked, you trusted him, and you wanted this.

"I am but a humble servant of my sexy girlfriend," he pulled back from your neck to search your eyes again, pausing for a moment before your shirt revealed your bra. You gave him a small nod, and he smiled, tugging the shirt over your head as you leaned up a little and lifted your arms to help him. He threw the shirt aside, eyes roaming your skin, as if memorizing every detail. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed out.

"Shut up," you said bashfully, your heart beating faster under his intense gaze. There was a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren't pretty enough for him, that he would hate how you looked, and that was why you preferred to fill the silence with easy jokes and stupid quips. It made it easier to silence that nagging part of you that thought you weren't good enough for him.

"No, I mean it," he insisted, his fingers slowly tracing the lace edging of your bra. "You're like, way too pretty to be real. I mean, look at you." There was a sincerity to his words that he couldn't fake, an edge of awe and pure unbridled devotion that made your head spin.

The way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way he touched you like he worshipped every inch of you—it was all overwhelming in the best possible way. It had you scrambling in your mind to say something, anything, even if that something was a dumb dick joke.

"I bet you're thinking about saying something stupid, aren't you?" he asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he leaned down to pepper kisses over your collarbones and down the swell of your cleavage.

"I never say anything stupid," you breathed out, as he kissed the skin that wasn't hidden behind your bra. It made your heart flutter that he knew you so well, but it also made you realize how awfully predictable you were.

"Uh huh and I'm the Queen of England," he retorted sarcastically, reaching up to slide one of your bra straps down your shoulder, kissing the bare sliver of skin that was revealed.

"Oh my God, you are?" You gasped, his remark loading you with the perfect ammunition to say something stupid. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness."

"Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to kiss and touch you, slipping your other strap off. He slowly unhooked your bra, his eyes meeting yours as he paused, asking for silent permission. You bit the inside of your cheek nervously before nodding.

He pulled your bra off almost instantly, his gaze sweeping over your bare chest. You felt so vulnerable beneath his gaze, resisting the urge to cover yourself. "Okay, your turn, pretty boy," you swiftly said, trying to ease your nerves and figuring you might be a little more comfortable if you weren't the only half-naked one.

"Yes, ma'am," He smirked, leaning back to pull his own shirt off, revealing his muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare, eyes roaming over his abs and the way his muscles flexed as he tossed his shirt aside. He settled back over you, his hands sliding up your sides. "Better?"

"You are annoyingly hot," you huffed, finding it completely unfair that someone as perfect as him could even exist, let alone be on top of you right now.

"Aw, you're just saying that because you want in my pants," he teased, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "But I can't blame you, I am pretty irresistible." He leaned down, swallowing the small gasp you let out at his touch as he captured your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

"That's slander," you mumbled into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled him closer.

"Mmm, then sue me," he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, slowly making his way to your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. He was ridiculously skilled with his mouth, knowing exactly how and where to kiss you to drive you crazy. "Yknow what, maybe I will," you retorted breathlessly, your chest rising and falling a little faster.

"I think we can come to some sort of settlement out of court," He paused, his hot breath washing over your skin before he slowly, deliberately wrapped his lips around one of your peaks, swirling his tongue around it. "What do you think?"

Your lips parted at the feeling, intaking a sharp breath of air. "Uh, yeah, yknow that could work maybe," you grinned, your fingers gently tugging at his hair as he ravished your tits with attention.

"Mmm, I thought it might," he hummed with a cocky grin, switching to give equal attention to your other breast, your back arching ever so slightly, urging him closer. He smirked against your skin, making his way lower and leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. His hands slid down your sides to your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

"Hey, wait, I don't want to be naked first," you protested, only half joking. You would rather die than be fully naked in front of him while he sits there with his clothes on.

"Oh, trust me, I have no intention of leaving my pants on any longer than necessary," He assured you with a mischievous grin, slowly unbuttoning your jeans, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a freak," you grinned, moving on to the making fun of your boyfriend portion of the program in an attempt to soothe the pit of nausea in your stomach. You were kind of scared, not that you wanted to be lame and admit that.

"Hey, I resent that," He protested, but his tone conveyed the opposite message as he tugged your jeans and underwear down your legs in one smooth, expert motion, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm just enthusiastic, that's all."

"Enthusiastically a whore," you snorted, letting your head fall back, staring at the ceiling. You'd really rather not see yourself naked right now, not with the amount of anxiety already coursing through your veins. You did not need a reminder of what Rafe was seeing.

"Whore?" He teased, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs. "I think you mean an amazing boyfriend who loves you and wants to make you feel good."

You hummed thoughtfully. "Uh, no, I'm pretty sure I mean whore," you grinned, reluctantly looking down at him despite yourself.

"Well, this whore is about to rock your world," He smirked, slowly trailing kisses up your inner thigh, gripping your hips. "Just relax and let me do all the work." His voice was low and seductive, his intentions clear.

"You're such an idiot," you laughed at his cheesy choice of words, a little nervous that the witty banter would have to be put on hold. He can't exactly respond to your sarcastic remarks with his mouth occupied.

He hummed, his breath hot against your core. Your breathing picked up, and you were unsure whether it was anticipation or if you were on the verge of a panic attack.

He slowly dragged his tongue along your slit, groaning at your taste on his tongue and the subsequent gasp that fell from your lips, making his painfully hard cock twitch in his jeans. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them further apart and opening you up to him. He had dreamed of this moment, imagined this exact scenario about a half a dozen times as he got himself off, and now that it was actually happening, he was going to relish every moment.

He began to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue delving deep inside your tight heat, familiarizing himself with every inch of you. His nose nudged at your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that pulled a low whine from your throat. Your fingers threaded into his hair, moaning at the unfamiliar pleasure.

His fingers replaced his tongue, his mouth moving up to the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking it into his mouth, determined to send you over the edge. He pushed his fingers deep inside and curled them, finding that spot that made your back arch and your hips buck against his mouth.

"Rafe," his name left your lips a breathy whimper as your head fell back against his pillows. Rafe was no stranger to having women under him, writhing and moaning his name, but something about it being you made him crazy. It took all his self-control not to blow his load in his pants right there and then.

He redoubled his efforts, eager to make you cum, rubbing that sweet spot inside you with ruthless precision and sucking on your clit, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nub. Another moan fell from your lips, your grip on his hair bordering on painful as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your legs practically shaking at the intense pleasure.

He groaned as he felt you spasm around his fingers, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled away, grinning as he took in your dazed expression. He carefully slipped his fingers from your quivering hole, bringing them to his mouth. He couldn't help the moan that rumbled low in his throat as he tasted you on his tongue. God, you were perfect.

His eyes flicked up to yours as his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean. "Good, huh?" He asked, his tone smug. He knew it had been good, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"I'm gonna slap that stupid look off your face," you playfully rolled your eyes, your skin practically burning up with embarrassment.

"I think that would take our case from a civil lawsuit to a criminal assault charge," he grinned, calling back to your previous joke about taking him to court. He positioned himself over you again to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"It's my first offense and a misdemeanor," you mumbled into the kiss, cupping his face. "Worst I'll get is a fine, so... totally worth it."

"Okay, smartass," he pulled away, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Just saying," you smiled softly up at him, his hair falling into his face and his blue eyes sparkling. He really loved you, and it was evident just from the way he looked at you. He'd never felt anything like it before. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But, of course, you had to ruin the moment of peace because shutting up was not something you were wired to do, especially not in the face of such charged silence. "Your little friend is poking me again," you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself. Little friend? You really couldn't have come up with anything else?

Rafe couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he rocked his hips against you, making you gasp softly. "He's just happy to see you." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, his fingers absently tracing along your side.

"Okay, well, can you tell him I don't really know him like that, so maybe he should calm down a little bit," you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but you loved it, and you loved him. He understood you in a way you never thought you'd be understood by anyone.

"He says he's not planning on staying a stranger for much longer," he smirked, his hips rolling against yours.

"This is actually so stupid," you giggled, your hand covering your mouth as you laughed beneath him.

"Oh, now it's stupid?" He rolled his eyes, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You're the one who started it."

"Shut up," you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "Okay, okay, you can... start now, I guess," you said awkwardly. There was only so long that you could stall with stupid dick jokes. Besides, you felt a little bad that he had been so patient and undoubtedly, extremely hard.

"About time," he murmured with faux annoyance, his voice low as he fiddled with his belt buckle and pulled it through the loops, tossing it aside before popping the button on his jeans and slowly unzipping them.

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm your nerves as the sound of him pulling his jeans off seemed to echo through the room. You wanted this. You knew you did, but you couldn't help the pit of fear in your stomach.

He paused, feeling your body tense beneath him as you took a deep breath, a sign he knew all too well. "Hey, look at me," he coaxed softly, cupping your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can wait if you're not ready. Just tell me to stop, and I will, no questions asked, no hard feelings. We can just forget all about it," he reassured you.

Your heart fluttered as you heard your boyfriend's words, meeting his gaze and seeing the sincerity behind his eyes. "No, I- I want to. I'm just... scared, yknow," you bit your lip nervously, mentally kicking yourself. You always seemed to be scared. There probably wasn't a single thing in the world that you weren't scared of.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he soothed, pressing gentle kisses to your face, your neck, your collarbone—anywhere he could reach. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. It's your first time. If you weren't scared, that would be a little concerning."

You laughed softly at his words. "You just make sure you wrap it up. I don't know where you've been," you joked. "Safe sex is great sex as the Lil Wayne once wisely said."

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Lil Wayne, huh? I didn't know he moonlighted as a sex ed teacher." He reached into his bedside table, pulling out a foil packet and waving it in front of your face. "But don't worry, I'm always prepared."

"Jesus, that's a lot of condoms," you said, peering into his drawer and seeing way more condoms than you realistically thought one person would need. "You are a whore of massive proportions. Like, literally a menace to the female population."

"Oh, hush," he grinned, tearing open the packet and rolling the latex down over his length. "I bought them in bulk. You know, for... emergencies," He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning back down to press kisses to your skin once more.

"Eugh," you giggled, your face scrunching up in disgust. "I genuinely do not want to know what a sex emergency is."

"Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared, okay?" He murmured against your neck, his breath warm. "Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me kiss you and calm you the hell down?"

"Yo, I am literally so calm," you rolled your eyes, lying through your teeth in the name of comedy and also not sounding like the total little loser virgin you were. "So calm and so chill. Literally have never been calmer or chiller in my life."

"Uh-huh," he hummed, clearly unconvinced as he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, his fingers slowly trailing down your side, his touch gentle. "Because nothing says 'calm and chill' like sex jokes and rambling like you're on speed."

"Well, I can't help that I'm the funniest person alive," you argued, the realization dawning on you that you were naked, and he was naked, which meant there was only so many more sex jokes you could make before the sex actually commenced.

"You're not even in the top five funniest people I know," he teased, his fingers reaching your hip as he slowly pulled you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, you got jokes, huh?" You grinned, nervously giggling when you felt his tip nudge at your entrance. "You better take that back if you wanna get laid tonight."

"I think I'll stick with my original statement," he said, his voice low and husky as he pressed forward, the head of his dick pushing into you slowly as he rubbed soothing circles on your hip. "You're just not funny enough to make the cut, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing at the painful sensation. You grabbed his bicep for support, digging your nails into his arm. "Liar," you joked weakly, your chest heaving as you breathed through the intrusion.

"Shh, just breathe," he whispered against your neck, his voice low and soothing as he paused, letting you adjust to the foreign feeling. "You're doing so good, baby. You're taking it like a champ."

"Okay, don't call me champ while you're inside me," you grimaced, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted as you slowly adjusted to having him inside you.

"You okay, baby?" He asked softly, pushing the slightest bit further into you as he examined your reaction closely.

"Oh, yeah, just peachy," you said sarcastically. The pain was gradually starting to fade, making the whole thing more enjoyable by the second. Though, the pressure between your thighs was intense.

"Mhm, you're a real ray of sunshine," he chuckled softly, pushing the rest of the way into you, his body shuddering as he bottomed out. He was as deep as he could go, his hips flush against yours.

You gasped as he pressed all the way into you, your grip on his bicep tightening. "You're gonna look like you got mauled by a lion after this," you panted out, apologetic for the involuntary response.

"I'd wear that badge of honor proudly," he said, his voice thick with amusement as he slowly began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a gentle, soothing rhythm. "Now, shut up and let me make love to you."

"Don't say 'make love' either. That's so gross," you giggled softly, a breathy moan falling from your lips as he set a slow, pleasurable pace.

"Then what would you prefer I call it?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued his steady movements, the friction building between your bodies. "'Coitus'? 'Intercourse'? 'Fucking'?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillows and brows pinching in pleasure. Okay, you were definitely starting to see what all the fuss was about. "Let's just not refer to what's happening right now as anything at all."

"Mhm, I can work with that," he hummed, his pace picking up slightly as he felt you start to relax more, your body welcoming his thrusts. "Just focus on how good it feels, baby. Let me take care of you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you deeply as he continued to fuck you with a pace that demonstrated his love and devotion to you. He never thought he would be one for slow, romantic sex, but he didn't think he was into a lot of things before he met you. You had a way of making him discover things about himself he was completely clueless to.

As he kissed you, he slowly shifted his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that particularly sensitive spot inside you. He felt you tense up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips into the kiss, and he smiled against your mouth. "You like that, huh?"

"You're such an ass," you grinned, your fingers curling into his hair, back arching into him as his tip continued to hit that spongy spot inside you, the pressure low in your abdomen building.

"Maybe so, but you love it," he smirked against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward in a steady rhythm. "And you're gonna come for me again, baby. Aren't you?"

Your mouth fell open in pleasure, your breath hot against his lips. "uh huh," you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut. He was a cocky motherfucker, but he was hot and he put up with your shit, so it was only fair you put up with his in return.

"That's my girl," he purred, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit as he continued his relentless pace. "Come on, baby. Let me feel you. I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You gasped sharply at the added stimulation, his name leaving your lips in a whine as you tensed around him, sent over the edge for the second time.

He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, the sensation of you practically choking his dick sending him into his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself into the condom with a low moan of your name.

Your walls pulsed around him as you slowly came down from your high, relaxing into the mattress. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your whole body on fire and coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

He collapsed on top of you with a satisfied hum, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone as he softened inside you. "I love you, you know that?"

"Good 'cause otherwise this would be pretty awkward," you laughed breathlessly, gently raking your nails over his scalp soothingly. "But, seriously, I love you too," you added quietly after a beat of silence.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed /

[taeyongdoyoung]

that's a warning

summary: your professor's age is not a problem to you. and neither is his dark secret... pairing: professor!chan x uni student!reader genre: dark academia, vampire!au, smut warnings: professor/student dynamic, age gap (unspecified), mentions of toxic friend, descriptions of blood, kissing, biting, eating out, blowjob, daddy kink (who's surprised?), ddlg implied, size kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, insecurities, danger kink author's note: this is based on a dream i had + inspired by railway, obviously. read at your own risk 🥵 too many references to the song's lyrics in bold, sawrryyy word count: 3k

The moment you set your eyes on Professor Bang, you know that you need to have him. You've never felt an attraction so intense, so overpowering, so sinister in its obsession. You are willing to go to any lengths to get close to him. Even if it kills you.

It starts off innocent, almost childlike. The way you stay after his lectures to ask him silly questions (you know the answers to) about the homework. Sometimes you ask him about the location of other lecture halls (even though you've been to them hundreds of times). Sometimes you go to his office hours just to be alone with him (even though you are perfectly confident in understanding the study material).

At first, Chan accepts your incessant flood of questions with an easy-going smile. If he's being honest with himself, he likes the attention. It's been a while since someone's been that interested in talking to him. Especially someone so…young. Most students usually avoid his intense stare. He's been told it's far too intimidating. He tries to be welcoming to everyone but he's not sure he's doing a good job.

But as the semester nears its end, his patience wears thin. You always get full marks on your assignments and quizzes so he doesn't understand why you are constantly asking for his "help". And he's certain you know your way around the university better than any other student. You're always on time and your homework is flawless 100% of the time. So, he really doesn't get it. Are you messing with him? Is it funny to you to joke around with a poor old lonely professor?

Chan's decided he's had enough. And this time, when you catch him alone after the lecture, he's going to confront you.

"Cut the act," Professor Bang scolds you directly. "I know you know the answer to that question. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what, Professor Bang?" you ask innocently, while batting your eyelashes.

"Pretending you're dumb. It's obvious you're a top student, so why are you always asking me stuff?" he grunts and pins you down with his intense gaze you're so addicted to.

Hell, you've never felt more terrified. It excites you.

"Don't you know already?" you mumble quietly. You want to look away but you're trapped in his beautiful dark eyes. So you don't.

"Is it fun, messing with an old man like me, huh? Is it some stupid college dare?" Chan asks, his insecurities getting the worst of him.

"You're not old," you insist passionately. "There's no dare. I just…like you."

"You…like me?" he repeats in disbelief.

You nod furiously, trying to convince him of your sincerity.

"But…why?"

"What do you mean why? You're so smart and handsome and sometimes even cute. I like…how you explain stuff like you don't think anyone is dumb, you're so patient and…warm."

Huh. Warm? It's been a while since someone's used that word to describe him, Chan thought.

"You do realize we could both get in trouble if…" he can't even believe he's even considering this. "If we were to…pursue something outside of the university walls?"

Fuck it, he said it.

"I know. I won't tell anyone, I promise," you are desperately grasping at straws as you find yourself so close to the one thing you've ever wanted more than anything.

Professor Bang shakes his head.

"I'm not asking you to keep it a complete secret. Just…if you choose to share it with people, be careful who you trust."

"I understand, Professor, I'll be careful," you promise.

"And…call me Chris or Chan or something," he shrugs. "When it's just us two."

God. It's really happening.

"Let me take you out to a restaurant," he offers suddenly. "Tomorrow evening?"

"That sounds amazing!" you grin excitedly.

Your first date with Chan arrives and you are so happy you feel like you could die. You don't wanna jinx things so soon and don't tell anyone where you're going.

"You look stunning," he compliments your dress as he pulls a chair out for you.

"Thank you so much, Chris," you smile and take a seat. "You look absolutely dashing, as always."

He chuckles but doesn't respond rightaway.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just…I don't hear that much. Especially not from beautiful young women such as yourself."

"You're surely joking?" you frown. "Anyone would kill to be in my shoes right now."

"You're too kind," Chan replies, not seeming to believe your words and you decide to drop the subject. For now. "What would you like to drink?"

"Hmm…maybe some red wine?"

"Good choice," he smirks. "And food?"

"I'm really into pasta these days!" you squeal with excitement.

Chris orders for the two of you, making your heart flutter for the hundredth time. He's just…so dependable.

Till the food arrives, you busy yourselves with getting to know each other better. Outside of the university walls, it turns out you are both passionate about things other than academic endeavours. And with each glass of red, it becomes easier to share stuff about yourself with him.

As the evening nears its natural conclusion, Chan insists on paying the bill for the food and drinks.

"Now I feel bad," you pout adorably, clinging onto his arm for support, because all the wine made your legs slightly unstable. "Let's go for coffee!"

"I don't…really drink coffee," Chris confesses shyly.

"Tea, then! Please, I don't want to go home just yet. This night is so perfect, I don't want it to end."

"Okay, okay," he agrees easily.

You lead the way to one of your favourite cafés. This time, you excitedly pay for the warm beverages.

"It's snowing outside!" you marvel at the pretty snowflakes falling, illuminated by the street lights.

"Good thing we're all cozy and inside, then," Chan chuckles.

"Yeah…" you smile softly. "I really like you, Chan," you admit.

"I know, you said that a couple of times," he shakes his head, amused.

"Yes, but…you didn't say anything. Do you like me, too?" you inquire self-consciously.

"I do like you. You're very clever and funny and obviously super pretty."

"Really?" you blink furiously to stop yourself from tearing up. You don't get to hear something like that by someone you admire so much. Someone who inspires you to be as diligent and hard-working as him. Scratch that. You don't get to hear words like that very often. It sometimes strikes you how badly you need to be acknowledged for your efforts.

"You must know that."

"No, actually, I don't," you smile sadly. "But it's really nice of you to say it. True or not."

Chan stretches his hand out across the table to hold yours.

"Hey. It's true, okay?"

"Guess I'll stick around to find out, yeah? And maybe I'll help you believe it, too," you suggest.

"Maybe. I'd really like that."

And stick around you do. The next semester, Chan is no longer your Professor, so you don't have to worry so much about getting in trouble with the university's authorities. Eventually, as things start becoming more serious, you decide to share the news about your boyfriend's identity with a few of your closest friends.

Luckily, most of them are super supportive and happy about your relationship. They tell you that you've looked happier recently and are pleased to finally know the reason. There is one friend, however, who is completely against.

"I don't approve. You can't date him," she outright says.

"Can't? Excuse me?" you become aggravated. You've had some fights in the past, situations when she's been jealous of you hanging out with other friends and has done some toxic stuff behind your back. So, her reaction doesn't come as a complete surprise. But still, it sucks that she hasn't outgrown this kind of pettiness.

"He's like…too old for you. And the fact he was your Professor is just…gross."

"How can you say that? You've never even met him."

"Then, let me meet him."

"Why would you meet him if you've already made up your mind?"

"To make sure he's worthy of you, duh."

"That's my call to make. Not yours."

And with that, you leave. This is just…too much. Later, you talk to another friend about this situation to get a second opinion.

"Nah, fuck her. I mean, it's your relationship, she can't dictate how you feel or who you're seeing romantically."

"Right? That's exactly what I've been thinking."

"It sucks that she said those stuff but maybe you're better off," your other friend shrugs.

"Yeah…For the time being, I'll distance myself from her. If she starts acting like an adult, only then will I consider letting her back in."

"That's totally valid," your friend agrees. "Take your time and look after your mental health."

"Thank you so much. I knew you'd get it."

"Always!"

Soon after that, you hang out at Chan's place and you decide to talk talk to him about the falling-out with that toxic friend.

"Well, technically, I am too old for you."

"The fuck you are! Are you taking her side?" you cry out passionately.

"Hell, no! I'm just saying…you could find any college guy your age and…"

"No, shut up, Chris!" you shake your head, refusing to entertain such an idea. "I don't want anyone but you!"

"But I'm dangerous for you," Chan sighs. But you can't believe that. He's been nothing but kind and accepting in the short time you've known each other.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"You'd think I'm crazy if I told you," he grins somewhat devilishly. "It'd be better if I showed you instead. But then, I'd have to kill you."

"W-what?" you stammer, his behaviour totally unlike the gentle guy you're used to seeing.

Suddenly, Chris grabs your wrist and starts pulling you somewhere.

"W-where are we g-going?" you ask helplessly but he doesn't respond. He's too strong to fight him back so you just try to keep up with his speed and follow him down the stairs and into the basement. Where you'll find answers to questions you didn't even know you were supposed to be asking.

When he unlocks the door, you are greeted with red. A lot of it.

"What is all this?"

"Come on, sweetheart, I thought you were smarter than that," Chris chuckles.

"It's…blood banks," you state the obvious, feeling dumber than ever.

"Wow, you don't say," Chris replies sarcastically.

"Why…why do you have all this blood in your basement? Is it like a…kink thing?!" you gasp in shock.

"No, darling, it's not a kink thing," he laughs, the idea incredibly amusing. "Take a guess."

"Are you a serial killer?" you try to think of a logical explanation.

"You're too realistic," Chris sighs. "Think…something you never thought possible."

"You're…a vampire!" you exclaim triumphantly.

"Bingo," he confirms unenthusiastically. "So, your friend was correct to worry. I am too old for you. And bad for you. I never should have let this go so far."

You shake your head.

"N-no, she's not right," you disagree. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" Chris tilts your chin up, facing you directly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to restrain myself from sucking your blood dry?"

You gulp nervously but refuse to believe he'd actually do that. Especially considering he hasn't done so already…

"Why did you become a Professor surrounded by so many humans if self-control is so hard for you?" you push back cleverly.

"It's never been a problem for me to control my thirst. Until you."

"Then, why did you let me get so close?" you inquire.

"Because I was weak…And lonely. I shouldn't have let you in."

Your eyes tear up with emotion.

"Are you saying you'd be happier without me?"

"Happier?" Chris scoffs. "No, I wouldn't be happier. But you would be safer without me."

"Fuck that," you argue. "I am safe when it's just you and me. Knowing you're a vampire changes nothing about how I feel about you."

"Then, you're even more insane than I am," Chris sighs, unable to deny the growing tension between you two.

You kiss him roughly to prove him right, digging your fingers into his soft hair. He kisses you back just as hungrily, incapable of letting you go.

Yes, he may be dangerous for you. But so are you. Willingly pursuing him, not running away from him despite knowing the truth.

He grabs your hair and pulls back, exposing your neck.

"Last chance to get out of here. That's a warning," Chris whispers darkly.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you grin, completely trusting him.

Even if he was your Professor, even if he is way older than you than you initially thought, even if he is a blood-sucking predator, there is no one else you'd trust so unconditionally, so irrevocably.

"What if I hurt you?" he asks, a hint of worry making his dark eyes glow with warmth.

"You couldn't," you insist and close your eyes, tilting your neck. "You can bite me, if you want."

"You're crazy," Chris repeats.

"I trust you," you speak your thoughts out loud.

And this is his breaking point. He attacks your neck with his sharp fangs, not wanting to hold back any longer. The bite stings but in such a sweet way you would be happy to go, if this was your fate…As he drinks from you, you weakly wrap your hands around his neck for support, needing him to ground you. Just as badly as he needed one taste from your delicious blood. If your blood is what Chris needs for survival, then he will surely be your undoing.

Somehow, against all reason, Chan manages to detach his fangs from your neck.

"Fuck," he caresses your neck, smearing the blood all over your porcelain skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you murmur dazedly. "I'm okay."

He holds you close, kissing your cheeks and trying to clean up the mess he made.

"Let's get out of here," Chan suggests and lifts you in his arms, carrying you back to the coziness of his place.

"I don't mind," you reassure him. "You being a vampire, that is. I love every part about you. I love...you."

"You…love me?" Chan gasps in surprise.

"I do, I love you," you say once again for good measure.

He doesn't say anything, just kisses you again in disbelief. You hug him tightly, finding so much comfort in his arms. Whatever you've heard about vampires doesn't apply to Chan. He's radiating so much warmth you feel you could burn.

"Hold on tight," he warns and you grip the headboard top rail for dear life, as Chan makes sure to show you blood is not the only thing he's interested in drinking.

As he laps up your juices greedily, you find yourself on the verge of losing your sanity. Your hands give out and you let go of the bed's railings and opt for burying your fingers into his curls once more for support.

"Chris, please, please," you cry out, not even sure what you're begging for. For him to stop? For sweet release? It doesn't matter, as long as he stays with you.

Soon enough, your prayers are answered and you start seeing stars floating in the middle of the room.

"Did I kill you already?" he laughs upon seeing your reaction.

"Try harder," you tease him, even though you are already so gone.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Chris shrugs.

He takes off his jeans and stuffs your mouth full with his giant cock. You try to babble something but it's no use and your helplessness only turns him on more. You hug the back of his knees and let him fuck your throat as he pleases, even though you don't have much of a choice in the matter. Your vision is cloudy with tears and you can't even ask for mercy as his cum starts flooding your mouth. If you thought him drinking your blood was overwhelming, this is on a whole 'nother level of dizzying.

Once he's done using and abusing your throat, he pulls his cock out, smirking at you from above.

"You okay, sweetheart? Still alive?"

"Y-yes, d-daddy," you manage to croak out weakly.

Chris shakes his head in amusement upon hearing the sudden title.

"Then, I guess Daddy's gonna have to give ya a rough ride so you'll forget your own name, huh? How does that sound?"

"More, please," you plead desperately and he makes good on his promise.

He enters you without another warning and you can't keep your screams inside.

"G-god, y-yes," you moan.

"God isn't in this room, darling," Chris cackles maniacally. "The devil, however…"

You kiss him again because he's talking so much your brain can't keep up.

"S-so b-big," you cry.

"Yeah? Too big for my little girl?" he teases you.

"N-no. P-perfect. You're perfect," you insist stubbornly.

Chris fucks into you with supernatural stamina and you are grateful for that because even though you want to, you aren't able of keeping pace with him. Instead, you are happy to just hold onto him and focusing all your energy into…well, not passing out. You're so wet for him that his enormous size slides in and out easily, satisfying both of you with the intensity of the feeling. At last, you cum together, overwhelmed by the passion and affection you feel for each other.

He collapses on top of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. You welcome his weight like he's a giant blanket, comforting you.

"Don't wanna let go of you," Chan murmurs cutely.

You stroke his hair once more with a gentle touch. How is this man who has so many more years of experience still such a cute boy, desperate for tenderness?

"Then, don't. I'm all yours to keep," you chuckle weakly.

"That wouldn't be very productive to our academic future," Chan complains.

"It's okay. I feel like we've both earned a little break," you point out.

"From university? Sure. But when it comes to us two…I need no break. No brakes."

"Nicely said," you giggle, ready for another round on this train that never sleeps.

The End

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[starmatzz]

𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓪𝓷 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮🎀

San x gf!reader | smut, mdni

| nsfw tags

| cock riding, pet names, mentions of male and female parts

“Straddle my lap now, sweetheart,” San said with a soft voice, sitting on a bed as he leaned back against the bedpost. 

You had wanted to try riding for so long but could never find the right words or the right moment to tell San.

One day, though, you finally mustered the courage to share your desires with him.

Your cheeks were flushed as you obediently straddled his lap. Both of you got already worked up in a foreplay, dry humping each other lovingly. 

San was always patient and understanding, especially when you were trying something new, fully aware of how shy and self-conscious you could be.

He pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants just below his hips, his cock springing free. 

“You look nervous, bun,” he mumbled while being too focused on pulling down your panties. His tone wasn’t teasing like usual; it was genuine, a soft reassurance to make sure you were comfortable.

He paused, his thumbs gently rubbing over your hipbones, offering a moment of comfort before carefully positioning you above his tip. 

You hesitated, watching him grip his cock and align it with your already wet hole. 

“If anything feels uncomfortable, just tell me right away baby,” he looked into your eyes deeply, “now, sink down slowly.”

You held his gaze, your eyes locked with his as you slowly lowered yourself. The stretch burned, but you didn’t care—it only made the moment more intense.

It was worth it for the sight in front of you. 

San closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, releasing a deep, steady exhale.

“You feel amazing, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips as he watched you.

You continued sinking down, focusing on the feeling of being filled inch by inch. Squeezing your eyes shut in agony, the sharp lines of discomfort etched across your features. But soon, the tension slowly eased, and your expression softened, the pain fading into something more bearable. 

Suddenly, he was all the way in, and you exhaled deeply, resting your forehead against his shoulder as you tried to steady your breath.

“What a good girl, I'm so proud of you baby,” San opened his eyes, his hands gently guiding your hips upward once more, his movements slow and deliberate.

You complied, flexing your thigh muscles to push yourself upward. Once you could feel only his thick tip inside you, you both looked down. 

The sight was breathtaking as you lowered yourself again, being able to see how San's cock was filling you up. It got you so overwhelmed, you got all shy and collapsed onto his chest.

“Aw baby, is it too much already?” He asked with a chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your back.

You nodded with a soft smile, and neither of you moved, silently agreeing to stay like this—his hands on your back, as you simply enjoyed the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

[ovaryacted]

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[lynleaf]

gif from

coping and caring for littles with RSD!

what is rsd?

(r)ejection (s)ensitivy (d)ysphoria is an experience of intense emotional pain caused by perceived failure or rejection. in short, it is a heightened sensitivity to rejection. this condition is linked to adhd because it is believed to stem from disregulation of rejection-related emotions and behavior. although it is linked to adhd, it can also come from other forms of neurodivergency, ptsd, bpd, and other conditions.

in littles, this can look like:

🍀 intense negative reactions to angry, indifferent, dismissive, or annoyed tones of voice directed at them

🍀 overperceiving or "inventing" threats around them, can lead to heightened anxiety or sudden mood changes

🍀 adverse reactions to having structured caretaking (a.k.a "firm hands"), being told what to do, or being disciplined

and can result in:

🍀 fussy littles

🍀 emotional and physical shut downs or social withdrawal

🍀 outbursts, tantrums, or fits

🍀 negative self-talk, rumination, and defensiveness

if you are a little with rsd, here are some ways to manage (even while regressed)!

- giving yourself positive affirmations

"i did nothing wrong", "they are not upset with me", "i am loved and seen", "my opinion is valued and i matter"

- counteract your immediate response to perceived negativity. if someone says something in a rude tone, think of other possible reasons they may be upset.

"they are not upset because of something i did. they might not be feeling well, they might be having a bad day, or they might be stressed or tired right now. the way they reacted to me is not my fault"

- write down what happened, how it made you feel, and some ways you can make yourself feel better

- think about what is in your control and what is out of your control

e.g. you cannot control someone else's emotions, but you can control your breathing

calm your amygdala

- take big deep breaths

- practice identifying something in each of your senses

"what can i hear, what can i see, what can i smell, what can i taste, what can i feel"

- remove yourself from the situation if you can

take a brain break, go to a quieter location, watch a video of something you love, listen to a song that calms you

- hug your plushies!

- use a pacifier or chew toy

if you are a carer for a little with rsd:

- be patient! your small may not be able to idenitify why they are feeling or reacting this way in the moment. sit with them and don't rush them as they process their emotions

- if they are being fussy or verbally combative, it is valid to feel overwhelmed or stressed. remember that above all else, you are in control of your body and how you choose to respond. keep your voice level, avoid using aggressive language, speak gently, and reinforce positive talk

- ask them how they are feeling and listen to them. let them explain their emotions, even if they seem irrational. what they feel is real to them! validate their feelings

- help your little figure out ways of coping that work for them. give them options

"do you need some quiet time alone to calm down? would you like for me to hold you? how about we watch your favorite show? or we can play something together! you can pick!"

this is something that i have struggled with all my life, and it seems to be heightened when i'm regressed. i hope this helped others struggling or who know someone struggling, at least a little bit! <3

if you have rsd, remember:

the people in your life want you to be there. your friends care about you! you are not a bad person because you made a mistake. everything you do doesn't have to be perfect, you are human! and you are deserving of love no matter what. <3

[parfaitblogs]

oh my lover 𝜗𝜚 s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid undresses you for the first time. 

spencer reid x fem!reader. fluff/smut (18+ mdni). 0.8k words. established relationship. borderline body worshipping? actually he just loves you a lot. kind of soft dom!spencer but only if you squint. use of sweet girl and honey. 

a/n: i saw a textpost about this and thought it was wonderful beautiful incredible amazing. just a silly blurb because my motivation for writing has been almost nonexistent </3. enjoy my beautiful angels

spencer reid who didn't think he could meet somebody more nervous than him when it came to sexual intimacy, soon learning that he has fierce competition and that competition is you.

spencer reid who had to literally coax you into climbing onto his lap many moons ago because yes, he was kissing you, and you were close, but you weren't close enough and he had since discovered that he needs to feel every single inch of your body to be enjoying himself. 

spencer reid who was incredibly patient with you, allowing you to initiate quite literally every time you wanted to do something with him, for he was often in fear of pushing too many boundaries and screwing this all up. spencer reid who would ask before he made any moves, and you who had grown accustomed to quietly whispered phrases such as, 'can i kiss you, sweet girl?', and (more recently), 'do you want me to stop? no? okay, honey. i won't'. 

spencer reid who had you laying beneath him on the forest green sheets of his bed, kisses along your skin emitting the loveliest of whines and mewls from your lips, that had him borderline considering quitting every responsibility he had to focus on you. who was oh so hesitant about taking this any further, until you were so lost in a daze that you had subconsciously been pushing your shirt up your torso. spencer reid who had caught the sight, then your hand, stopping you from tugging it all the way off, an amused smile on his lips. 

spencer reid who murmured, 'can i take your shirt off?', and then laughed when you had feverishly nodded your head. who took his utmost of time with it, despite your complaints, pressing kisses up along the hot skin of your stomach with each inch the shirt uncovered. spencer reid who had to pause for a moment when he stared down at you, nowhere near fully naked but still so, so beautiful, to the point that his brain was malfunctioning. 

spencer reid who's fingers traced the outline of your bra, committing the image to memory the best he could despite the motor fry he was currently experiencing from the sight of you. who then took your bra off with so much ease, and began kissing the skin. again. who repeated every tiny ministration that tugged a moan from your throat, despite being something as small as an open-mouthed kiss on your ribcage. 

spencer reid who was trying to stay focussed on the task at hand (undressing you), but getting seemingly distracted by the way you arched your back when his lips had grazed oh so lightly over your nipples.

spencer reid who's fingers finally — finally — hooked under the waistband of your pants, kissing down your body once more, pulling them down your legs at the same time. spencer reid who looked up when he felt the air in the room shift, a layer of intensity coating the two of you, noting the almost worried expression on your face. 

who had asked, 'what's that look for?' and then been thoroughly confused when you expressed discomfort for him seeing you fully naked for the first time. who acknowledged that it was the first time anyone was seeing you naked, and it was a big deal, and he knew the feeling all too well. 

spencer reid who, instead of continuing straight away, lifted his head back to yours, kissing the tip of your nose and the corner of your mouth, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hip bones, slowly. who murmured, 'i'm going to think you're incredibly beautiful no matter what, but i will only go as far as you're willing'. spencer reid who swallowed the protests you had on your tongue about that matter with a kiss, shushing you and enforcing a silent promise that you are as beautiful as he says you are.

spencer reid who took his sweet fucking time removing your underwear from your body, marvelling at the sight of you and forcing his heart rate to remain at a normal enough rate so he could enjoy you properly. who kissed you again, and again, and again, mumbling incoherently about how pretty you looked in between each one. spencer reid who shushed you again, a little less seriously, because you were now giggling that he had this big brain of expansive knowledge, and the only word he could come up with for you was pretty. 

but, regardless, spencer reid who made you feel so immensely loved the entire night, successfully taking his time to kiss and admire each and every crevice of your body, until you were thoroughly exhausted, but pleasantly fulfilled. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK1 | "REACTING TO THE VOLUME OF THEIR BULGE APPEARING IN YOUR BELLY" - 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 + 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐊

TW: size kink, afab anatomy, pet names, v!sex, hard smut, not reviewed.

BI HAN, SHAO KHAN, SHANG TSUNG, KUNG LAO, KUAI LIANG, JOHNNY CAGE, BARAKA.

Fucking him on top of you was always too intense to be true, he was a big man compared to you - and he made a point of making this dynamic very clear, he loved power, how it made him feel so powerful and relentless in compared to your small body, he could easily break you and that was fucking exciting for him. You opened your legs for him like a needy slut for his cock, while he poured a series of delicious degradations in your direction, going with two fingers up your wet and needy hole, while his other thick hand came against your face, forcing you to watch his fingers aggressively work on you, saccharistically placing the blame on you for having such a tight pussy - he loved how tight you were, but he also loved seeing you blush with embarrassment.

"-Oh come on angel... Don't be shy..." He moaned, smiling roguishly, while placing his dick on top of your pussy, making a comparison to your entrance, his hard dick reached your navel easily. He made a quick movement, without any warning, making you jump and arch your sides in a loud moan that echoed through the walls, he placed his hands on your hips, running his thumbs over your skin, soon seeing the bulge that formed on your skin, he could see his own cock taking you, it was too much for him, a primitive moan, perhaps even animalistic, left his lips, as he accelerated with all his might, moaning with every movement he could see under your skin, knowing that he was filling you completely, he is totally arrogant about it, taking one of your hands and taking you to the place.

"-Feel it baby... This is the power I have over you, only I can fuck you like this, you hear? Only I can fill you like this." he moaned hoarsely, smiling as he sped up even more, he was going crazy with every movement seen outside of your womb, he loved it, he loved being so strong compared to you.

"-You're going to cum, right? After all, you love a huge cock inside your little pussy." He placed his hand on your waist again, marking with his thumb where his dick went, while he leaned in and whispered in your ear between screams of pleasure. "-I'm going to fill your fucking uterus with my semen, and breed in that beautiful pussy, right?"

LIU KANG ,RAIDEN , TOMAS VRBADA, KENSHI, ZEEFFERO, QUAN CHI, HAVIK, REIKO, SYZOTH.

Fucking him while you sit on his dick, with his body sitting on the messy bed - sex before bed, with all the passion and with the intention of killing the longing he felt for you during the day, he knew it was a: A big, strong man, his muscles overcame the clothes he wore - he loved holding you in his arms, suspending you around, while he fucked you in every corner of the house.

He would kiss you passionately, while your hands went behind the back of his head, while his eyes slowly opened, seeing his hard cock, close to your pussy, the comparison was huge, he was always afraid of breaking you, often he just he would let you rub yourself against his thigh or over his dick, without any penetration or even inserting just the tip of his shaft, but when you asked for more he would back away, even if you begged for more, he was a patient man.

But that patience ended a while ago, and he needed that. He moaned more, as he watched you slowly sit on his cock, warming him with your heat, the sound of your wetness, he grinds his teeth as he felt the paradise of your walls squeeze him, he would try to ask you if you were okay, but soon he would see the bulge in your belly, making him tense with desire and moan loudly as he threw his head back.

"-Fuck dear, look at this... Mmm- Ah I can't control myself Mmm-" he then made a quick movement with his hips, thrusting everything inside you, stretching you wide open, as he always wanted. His strong, veiny hands met your hips, squeezing the soft flesh, while his eyes focused on the length that was exposed under your belly, making him grunt and sputter, passing his fingers with each thrust of your cunt. on him, drooling the thick length inside you - he was addicted, the vision of filling you up completely, and seeing you feeling pleasure with him slamming the fat head of his dick repeatedly into your sweet spot, made the big guy cum without warning someone, filling you with cum, with hard thrusts and even bordering on pain with so much pleasure, like a thin line of desire.

"-Ah- fuck, I'm going to fill you up... C-cuming-" he screamed as he emptied his thick and viscous contents into you, the sensation was overwhelming, leaving you with even more volume in the uterus, even with him slowly leaving you.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[servndipityz]

Hii! I wanted to request a Nam-gyu x reader smut story where it's Obviously Readers first time at a club despite only being a year or two younger than him. Maybe with the reader being a virgin too? I can't get this idea out my head 🙏 Rest is up to you, thank you so much<3

a/n ── hope you like it! absolutely loved the idea :)

CLOSER

warnings ── SMUT! MDNI, takes place after the games (don't ask me how they got out lmao i just know that they're alive and happy), porn v plot, p in v, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, virginity loss, corruption kink kinda? oral (f receiving)

word count ── 8k

────────────────────────────────────────────

a month. a month and a half, if nam-gyu was being precise. but who’s counting?

it had been a month and a half since they’d gotten out of those fucking games. a month and a half since he’d started to get to know you better.

and more than a month and a half since nam-gyu had had sex. but who’s counting?

as shitty as his old life was, he couldn’t have been happier to have it back. promoting club pentagon again, getting high every weekend, slipping right back into his little trashy life.

plus, now he had something he didn’t have before. you.

he’d met you there, in the games, and he’d been doomed from then on. it was a strange sort of thing, really. nam-gyu was never the type to feel things. at first, he actually thought he’d caught the flu. then he figured it was just some kind of ptsd after the games—which, to be fair, he definitely had, but that was a whole other thing. but no, the tingling in his fingertips whenever he touched you, the stupid flip his stomach did when you talked... that wasn’t a mental disorder, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was.

he’d never felt that way about a girl before. almost... caring. maybe it was more than caring, but he’d never admit it. anyway, you and him were in some kind of limbo. you weren’t something, but you weren’t nothing either. you hung out multiple times a week, texted semi-regularly, and had messy make-out sessions more times than he could count—but less than he would’ve liked. never more than making out, though. and yeah, that thought crossed his mind sometimes. he wasn’t an expert on these things, but he’d taken girls to bed for much less.

you always seemed to stop things right before they got too intense, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. having to beat his meat every time after hanging out with you wasn’t exactly fun. but somehow, you seemed worth it. so he, the most impatient man in the world, had decided to be patient. for once.

anyway, even though he knew you weren’t really used to clubs, he figured he’d invite you to club pentagon. he wanted you to have a fun time, see where he worked, see how his life was before the games. he wanted you to let loose a little.

"thanos will be there, it'll be fun," he’d said, and it hadn’t taken much to convince you.

so there you were, the cold biting at your legs in your short skirt, gripping your purse tight as you eyed the long line of people waiting to get in. then, skipping it—feeling very glamorous all of a sudden.

"i'm, uh, friends with nam-gyu," you said, the words coming out almost like a question as the bouncer looked you up and down. you gave your name, and after a moment, he finally spotted you on the list, letting you in without much fuss.

as you stepped into the club, you were almost left in awe. you'd never really liked clubs—not really. when all your friends started partying, you gave it a shot before deciding you preferred a more chill vibe. getting drunk with friends, sharing a blunt, that sort of thing. but then again, the shitty clubs your friends dragged you to in your teenage years couldn’t compare to club pentagon.

several stories high, you could barely make out the ceiling. lights of different hues illuminated the space, smoke spilling from canisters, the bass-heavy music pulsing from a dj booth stationed at the center of the main floor. to say it was packed was an understatement, and you didn’t wonder why. the place was incredible.

you looked around, suddenly awkward. what now? what were you supposed to do? where were you supposed to go? how—

"nam-gyu!" you called out, spotting him weaving through the crowd toward you. he glanced up at you, nodding in greeting. kept it cool. he always kept it cool.

nam-gyu wasn’t expecting you to look this good. which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

your hands found their place on his shoulders before you even thought about it, familiar but not entirely effortless. still getting used to this. to him. to the way he let you in but only just enough.

"you came." he smirked slightly. his hand found your waist without thinking, the fabric of your shirt soft beneath his fingers. he barely had time to process it before you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. barely there. almost shy.

you weren’t used to that either. you pulled away just as quickly, catching the way nam-gyu’s dark eyes flickered over you before he schooled his expression into something more detached. not detached enough, though. the way his thumb ghosted over your side told another story. he was playing it cool. always.

"this place is super cool," you said, spinning slightly to take it all in.

the music pulsed, deep and low, the bass rattling the floor beneath you. the air smelled like expensive liquor and cheap cologne, bodies pressing close under flashing lights.

nam-gyu scoffed, pleased despite himself. "yeah?" he chuckled, tilting his head at you, his expression settling into something smug. "c'mon, i’ll show you the vip section."

and of course, you let him.

he led you through the club, already losing track of its winding paths, but nam-gyu moved like he owned the place. and he liked it—you could see he liked it. guiding you like he held any real power, his hand still pressed firmly to your lower waist as he did so. he liked being the one guiding you, showing you his world like it meant something. like he meant something here. and maybe he did. maybe you saw it too.

"look who it is!"

the voice cut through the air just before you reached the top of the short staircase. thanos. loud as ever, his grin splitting his face as he all but threw himself up from the couch. the two girls draped over him barely had time to react before he pulled away, arms open wide as he closed the distance between you.

you barely had time to brace yourself before he engulfed you in a hug, laughter rumbling from his chest. the scent of cologne and alcohol clung to him, heavy and overfamiliar, like he had been here for hours.

"damn, lookin' good!" he said as he pulled away, giving you a quick once-over—no real interest behind it, but enough to make you giggle.

it really was crazy how being stuck in some life-or-death games could make people this close in such a short time.

"okay, chill." nam-gyu rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips, his hand never leaving your waist.

thanos ignored him. "have a seat, señorita." he gestured toward the black leather couch, and you, along with nam-gyu, walked over to sit down. thanos dropped back into his seat, slinging his arms around the two girls, who seemed more than happy about it.

you ordered a drink as soon as you saw an opening, your nerves slowly starting to settle. though, judging by the weird looks you got for passing on the white powder on the table and the little bags of funky-colored pills, not everyone was on the same page.

there were other people you didn’t recognize lounging on the couches—probably some of nam-gyu’s friends or co-workers. thanos started rattling off introductions, including the girls, and as the alcohol finally started running through your veins, you felt yourself relaxing, settling into the atmosphere a little more.

you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the warmth of the alcohol was settling into your limbs, making everything feel just a little bit softer. the music vibrated through your chest, the flashing lights casting shifting colors over the VIP lounge, and you were beginning to understand why nam-gyu liked this place so much. it was loud, chaotic, a little grimy—but undeniably alive.

"you good?" nam-gyu leaned in, voice low against your ear. his breath was warm, his hand sliding from your waist to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing absentminded circles into your skin.

"mhm," you hummed, tilting your head toward him. "it’s actually kinda fun."

"yeah?" he smirked, like he knew he'd be right all along. of course he did. "told you."

his hand squeezed your thigh lightly before retreating, but not before dragging his fingers a little too slow against your skin. you rolled your eyes, but you didn't move away.

"hey, hey!" thanos suddenly called out, raising his arms to make sure everyone was listening. "how about we play a game?"

some people groaned, others laughed. a game?

"what game?" someone asked. thanos smirked, clearly pleased that he had everyone's attention.

"never have i ever," he said, his grin widening as more groans followed.

"aren't we a little too old for that?" you asked, smirking like the idea amused you.

"i'm not." he shrugged. "are you girls?" he leaned back, and both girls shook their heads vigorously.

you turned to nam-gyu, who seemed more interested in watching you than the conversation. your cheeks warmed when you caught him staring.

"wanna play?" you asked. he just shrugged. he wasn’t really into these kinds of games—he wasn’t into any games, really—but he didn’t care enough to argue. whatever passed the time.

eventually, everyone gathered around the table, all eyes on thanos as he ordered a round of the strongest drink he could think of for everyone.

the first few rounds were harmless enough. “never have i ever gotten a secret tattoo.” “never have i ever been arrested.” stupid things. you sipped your drink when necessary, laughing at some of the stories that followed, the warmth of the alcohol sinking deeper into your skin. nam-gyu barely participated, only taking a sip when he absolutely had to, but his hand had found its way back to your thigh, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against your skin.

then the questions started shifting.

"never have i ever hooked up in a club," one of thanos’ girls said, grinning like she already knew the answer for most people here. a bunch of hands reached for their drinks, nam-gyu included. you hesitated just a second too long before passing. his eyes flicked toward you, but he didn’t say anything.

the next one wasn’t any better.

"never have i ever had a one-night stand," some guy threw out. almost everyone drank. except you. you felt it before you even looked—nam-gyu was watching. his fingers stilled against your thigh for half a second before they resumed their lazy tapping, like he was processing something.

it wasn’t weird, not really. plenty of people hadn’t had one-night stands before. but it was the way you hesitated every time, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.

"never have i ever had sex in a public place," thanos threw in, laughing when half the group groaned.

nam-gyu took a sip. you didn’t.

you looked up at nam-gyu, meeting his gaze for just a second too long. you knew what he was thinking. knew he was piecing it together. maybe he’d already suspected—maybe he already knew—but this was confirmation, wasn’t it?

"wait," thanos interrupted, a slight crack in his voice from how drunk he was. "you're cheating!" he pointed at you.

"what? i'm not." you frowned, confused as everyone turned to look.

"c’mon, your glass is almost full. you haven't been drinking."

he wasn’t wrong. sure, you’d taken your fair share of gulps, but considering most people were on their second drink—some even on their third—it was true.

a flicker of anxiety crept in, the alcohol in your system making you let out a stupid giggle. "i'm not cheating," you shrugged shyly.

"she hasn’t been drinking on the sex ones. i've seen it."

your smile vanished completely. one of the girls next to thanos had spoken, but it was nam-gyu you worried about. you’d caught him noticing earlier, but you kind of hoped he wouldn’t actually put the pieces together.

hoped he wouldn’t realize you were a virgin.

but now, with everyone watching, you were running out of luck.

"yeah, because... because i haven't done some of those things."

it was normal, you told yourself. being a virgin. the right time had never come, and you weren’t about to give it up for some scumbag at a club. you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed. but this? definitely not something you wanted everyone to know.

"what?" some guy blurted out, brows furrowed. "those were easy. you're telling me you never had a one-night stand?"

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. what did he expect you to say?

meanwhile, nam-gyu hadn't stopped watching you, his hand—resting on your leg—now completely still.

it was driving you nuts.

but as you looked over at thanos, you knew it was definitely over for you. a slow smile crept onto his previously confused expression as realization dawned. "holy shit, you're a virgin!"

your stomach twisted. a hot wave of embarrassment rushed up your neck, burning under the weight of every pair of eyes on you.

"what? no," you scoffed, trying for casual, but it came out a little too forced, a little too breathless.

thanos’ grin stretched wider. he could smell bullshit from a mile away. "oh, come on," he laughed, leaning forward like he was about to drag this out, like he was about to make it a thing.

panic prickled at the edges of your brain. you needed to get out of here. fast.

your phone. yes. a perfect excuse. you yanked it out of your bag, squinting at the screen like you’d just received the most urgent message of your life. "shit," you muttered. "i gotta go."

you were already pushing up from your seat before anyone could react. nam-gyu's hand slid off your thigh, his fingers barely catching against your skin before falling away completely.

"wait—what? already?"

"yeah, sorry," you said quickly, grabbing your coat, your bag, whatever you needed just to make a clean escape. "totally forgot i had something early tomorrow. can’t stay."

someone called after you. maybe thanos. maybe one of the girls. you weren’t sure. you weren’t listening. you were already weaving through the crowd, heart hammering, barely remembering to toss a quick "bye!" over your shoulder before the club swallowed you whole.

still sitting on the couch, nam-gyu's mind was spinning, and he was barely even drunk.

of course you were a virgin.

it all made sense now. the way you looked at him sometimes, the hesitation, the way you could go from teasing to flustered in seconds. the way you pulled back like you weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t. and maybe he should’ve known, maybe it was obvious, but somehow, it still caught him off guard.

he hazily glanced toward where you'd just left, the rest of the crowd still laughing and talking around him.

nam-gyu wasn’t the type to walk girls home.

but then again, he also wasn’t the type to like girls.

so he did the only thing that made sense—he downed the rest of his drink, got up without bothering to say goodbye, and pushed his way through the club.

it was late. the streets were dangerous. he didn’t want you to die or whatever.

when he finally stepped out, the streets were dark, damp from earlier rain, and the air was sharp against his skin. he scanned the sidewalk, found you a few blocks ahead. you were walking fast, arms tucked close, head slightly down.

he hated this. hated how he cared. hated how natural it felt to push through the lingering crowd, to break into an easy jog—casual enough to not look stupid, but fast enough to close the distance. he just hoped everyone else was too drunk to remember him, of all people, running after someone.

“hey!” he called out once he was just a few steps behind you.

you turned at the sound of his voice, startled.

he caught the flicker of something on your face before you wiped it away—too fast, too practiced. a tear.

“nam-gyu?” you asked, confusion in your voice. “what—”

“i’ll walk you home.” he shrugged, casual, like it was no big deal. like it was just something to do. he shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he caught up to you, his face carefully neutral.

you gulped. the last thing you wanted was to be around him right now.

“okay.” you trailed off, unsure of what else to say. how had it come to this? you’d survived hell together, yet suddenly, everything was so awkward. he wondered the same thing as he walked beside you, lighting up a cigarette.

you felt bad. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it. a million times, actually. nam-gyu seemed so experienced, so mature, and you were just… a virgin. all those times you’d stopped things before they got too heated, all those times you’d held yourself back.

you weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. you didn’t want to burden him with the responsibility of taking your virginity. it was stupid, but you knew how men felt about it. they didn’t want some little girl who didn’t know what she was doing. they didn’t want to deal with it.

so ever since the games, ever since you two had started… whatever this was, you’d felt like you were leading him on. you knew you couldn’t keep it up forever. sooner or later, he’d find out and leave. you just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

after a whole block in silence, he finally spoke.

"so you're a virgin?" nam-gyu blurted out, though he already knew the answer.

it wasn’t a judgment, just an observation—dry, matter-of-fact. he took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly in the dim light before fading into the night air.

you cursed under your breath, shutting your eyes like that might somehow erase the last ten minutes of existence. as if not seeing him would make this less mortifying.

“…yeah.” the word barely made it past your lips, your voice low, hesitant.

when you finally risked a glance at him, he wasn’t even looking at you. his gaze was fixed on the cracked pavement, the faintest furrow in his brow betraying some kind of thought process.

you sighed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “i know it sucks. i’m sorry for not telling you, but it’s not exactly something that comes up after almost dying multiple times playing kids’ games! like—hey, i know we just survived the most traumatic experience of our lives, but by the way, i’m a fucking vir—”

"'s fine."

the words were abrupt, cutting your rambling off before you could spiral any further.

you blinked, arms falling to your sides as you realized you’d been gesturing wildly, like that might somehow defend your own inexperience. meanwhile, nam-gyu just kept walking, cigarette perched between his fingers, deep in thought.

"really? you're fine with it?" you asked.

the truth was, nam-gyu wasn’t exactly thrilled.

it wasn’t even about you being a virgin, not really. it was the fact that he’d thought about fucking you ever since the games. which was humiliating enough to admit to himself. a man had his needs, after all. but once again, he found himself in the unfortunate position of giving a shit.

he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"…yeah." his voice was low, clipped. he wasn't mad—just thinking. weighing his options. where would this leave you?

he hated himself for liking you this much. not being an asshole was unfamiliar territory.

"if you don’t wanna have sex, i understand," he added after a beat.

you widened your eyes. "no, no!" you rushed out. "i do wanna have sex."

his brain stalled.

you swallowed, hesitating as he watched you, gaze steady but sharp, like he was trying to read between the lines. you shifted, tucking your hands into your sleeves. "i've just… never done it. and i don’t know… i didn’t wanna bother you or… anything."

it sounded beyond awkward.

nam-gyu frowned, processing. not because he thought anything bad about it—just because it never occurred to him. he’d assumed you weren’t interested in having sex at all, or that you were waiting for some deep, poetic reason, for someone that wasn't nam-gyu. but now you were here, telling him this, cheeks burning, voice all soft and uncertain.

and now he had to keep his shit together.

"so… you want me to, like…" his dick twitched in his pants, betraying him immediately. no way this was happening.

"i mean—only if you want to…" your cheeks were burning, you were sure of that now. you felt like a teenager talking to her crush.

if he wanted to? his jaw went slack for a second, a breath slipping out as he stared at you. it was barely a question.

"fuck yeah, i want to," he let out, low and firm, like he needed you to understand.

something shifted then. the air got tighter, the weight of the moment settling between you. you bit your lip, eyes flickering over his face like you were still trying to wrap your head around this. then, slowly, a smile crept onto your lips—breathless, nervous, electric.

"okay." you let out a shaky little laugh, grabbing his wrist. your grip was warm, solid, like you’d made up your mind and there was no going back now. "okay, let’s go."

nam-gyu nodded, following your lead, his heart hammering in his chest as he picked up the pace. your apartment wasn’t that far.

the apartment was quiet when you stumbled in, breathless, a little drunk, and buzzing with something you didn’t quite know how to name. nam-gyu followed, the door clicking shut behind him as he leaned back against it for a second, exhaling like he was trying to steady himself.

the air between you was thick, charged with a long time of yearning. your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you toed off your shoes, glancing over at him. he was watching you, the way he always did—like he was already thinking ten steps ahead, figuring out how this was going to play out.

he hadn’t touched you yet. he was letting you decide.

so you did.

you took a step closer, then another, until you were right in front of him, your fingers hesitating before curling around the hem of his jacket. his breath hitched, just barely, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

you pushed up onto your toes, closing the space between you. his lips were warm, the taste of smoke lingering faintly as he kissed you back. he let you set the pace, his hands coming to rest lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your dress.

it wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but something about this was different. more urgent. more deliberate. maybe because, for once, there was no stopping this time.

your fingers tugged at his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders. he let it fall to the floor, his hands finally pressing into you properly, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. a quiet sound slipped from your lips, and you felt the way he stiffened at that, his grip tightening.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. he pulled back just enough to search your face, his dark eyes flicking between yours. “you sure?”

you nodded, chest rising and falling with each breath. “yeah.”

a muscle in his jaw twitched. his fingers brushed the side of your neck, then curled around it, his thumb ghosting over your pulse. “we stop if you change your mind.”

you swallowed. “i won’t.”

the look he gave you was unreadable—something dark and determined—before he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

nam-gyu wasn’t soft—he wasn’t sweet. he wasn’t the kind of man to whisper tender nothings or stroke your hair. he didn’t coddle. but the way his hands moved told you everything you needed to know.

the drag of his fingers down your spine. the slow, deliberate way his palm flattened against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. the heat in his touch, like he was holding himself back, forcing himself to move slow, to let you set the pace. it sent a shiver through you, and his grip tightened in response, like he felt it too.

you let out a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled sharply against your lips before pulling back just a fraction, enough to look at you properly. his dark eyes roamed over your face, pupils blown, jaw tight.

"you're nervous." it wasn't a question.

you swallowed. "a little."

his thumb brushed against your waist, almost absentmindedly. "yeah. that makes sense."

you let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was an edge of vulnerability to it. he could see it. you could tell.

he tilted his head, watching you like he was trying to figure something out. then he exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing over your skin with a gentleness that was completely at odds with the sharp, rough way he usually carried himself.

"you know i won’t fuck this up, right?" his voice was low, almost casual, but there was something else beneath it. something steadier.

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. "i know." and you did. maybe that was why you'd never let anyone else touch you like this before. because it wasn’t about inexperience, not really. it was about trust.

and god help you, but you trusted nam-gyu.

the realization sent a flush through you, warmth blooming in your stomach as you let your hands slide up his abdomen, tracing the firm lines of chest beneath his shirt. his breath hitched just barely before his fingers flexed against you, like he was restraining himself from just taking.

"you wanna do this?" he asked, one last time, voice rough.

"yeah," you breathed.

his jaw clenched. "then tell me what you want."

you blinked up at him, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he'd stopped moving, waiting, his hands resting heavy against your hips but not pulling, not pushing.

he was making you say it.

bastard.

you bit your lip, pulse hammering as you tried to work around the knot of tension in your throat. "i—i want you to touch me."

his fingers twitched, his entire body going still for a second. then he let out a breath through his nose, and his grip on your waist tightened.

"yeah?" his voice was just a little lower, a little rougher.

you nodded, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he was looking at you now—like he was barely keeping himself in check.

"get on the bed," he said.

your breath caught.

for a moment, you just stared at him, heart hammering, and then, slowly, you walked to your bedroom, him following you close. you backed up toward the bed, your knees hitting the edge as you lowered yourself down.

he followed, standing at the foot of the bed, watching you with that unreadable expression—half lustful, half like he couldn’t believe this was real. his hands went to his belt, and your eyes flickered down, pulse spiking at the sound of the leather slipping through the loops.

then, instead of undressing fully, he leaned down, hands bracketing your hips, pressing you back against the mattress.

"you ever let anyone touch you like this?" his voice was rough, like he already knew the answer.

you shook your head, breathless. "no."

a low sound escaped him, something dark, something pleased. his hands slipped under your skirt, palms dragging slow over your thighs as he pushed the fabric up. he took his time, tracing the shape of you, pressing just firmly enough to make you squirm.

"you thought about it, though," he murmured. it wasn’t a question. his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin at the tops of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours.

you swallowed hard. "…yeah."

his lips twitched, almost a smirk. "yeah? thought about me?"

your face burned. he was being cruel on purpose, making you say it.

"…yes."

"fuck," he muttered, like the confirmation did something to him. his hands moved higher, fingers hooking into the band of your underwear, but instead of pulling them down, he let them rest there, teasing.

"how’d you think it’d go?" his voice was lower now, almost a growl. "thought i'd just take you fast, rough? pin you down, fuck the innocence out of you?"

you sucked in a sharp breath, thighs twitching beneath his touch. he huffed a quiet laugh.

"bet you didn't think i'd take my time," he murmured, leaning down, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck. his lips dragged over your pulse, then lower, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone. "but i like knowing i'm the first one."

you gasped softly as his hands finally moved, slipping under your top, dragging it up inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. your arms instinctively came up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists, pushing them aside.

"none of that," he muttered, his gaze dropping to your bare chest. he exhaled sharply, running his thumbs along the curve of your breasts before cupping them fully, testing the weight in his palms.

"fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice low and reverent. "so fucking pretty."

you whimpered as his thumbs brushed over your nipples in slow circles. he watched your face the whole time, reading every tiny reaction, every sharp intake of breath.

"sensitive," he noted, almost to himself. then he leaned down, tongue flicking over one peak before wrapping his lips around it, sucking just enough to make you gasp.

heat coiled low in your stomach as he worked, alternating between each breast, slow and thorough. it was overwhelming, the way he was handling you—not rough, not rushed, just taking his time, learning every inch of you.

one of his hands trailed lower, down your stomach, to the waistband of your panties. he paused, looking up at you, waiting.

you nodded, exhaling shakily. "please."

his smirk deepened. "good girl."

he peeled your panties down your legs, his fingers skimming over your skin like he was savoring the moment. you shivered at the sensation, at the weight of his gaze as he settled between your thighs.

“fuck,” nam-gyu muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t been prepared for what he was seeing. his hands splayed against your inner thighs, pressing them further apart, baring you completely to him. he didn’t look away, eyes dark and hungry, his tongue running over his bottom lip like he could already taste you.

your body burned under the scrutiny. you weren’t used to this—being seen like this, having someone take their time looking. you twitched, about to press your legs together, but his grip tightened.

“uh-uh,” he murmured, almost amused. “you’re gonna let me look.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching as he leaned in, his nose brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. his breath was hot, sending a shiver through you as he exhaled, slow and controlled.

he dragged a single finger up the length of your slit, just enough to make you jolt, to make your breath stutter. "you're soaked, girl. you sure you've never done this before?"

heat surged through you at the teasing lilt in his voice, and you let out a shaky breath. "i—fuck, nam-gyu—"

"yeah?" he smirked, but it wasn’t cocky. it was something else, something almost fascinated. like he was enjoying this in a way he hadn’t expected.

his fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, barely any pressure, just enough to make you whimper. your hips twitched, and his grip tightened, keeping you pinned.

"relax," he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle. "let me make you feel good."

then he leaned down.

you barely had time to register the shift before his tongue was on you, warm and wet and unbearably slow. your breath caught, your fingers twisting into the sheets as his mouth worked you open, his tongue dragging through your folds, lazy and thorough.

"fuck," he muttered against you, his voice rough. "you taste so fucking sweet."

the way he said it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach. his hands pressed into your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open as he ate you like he had all the time in the world.

it was overwhelming—the way he was licking you, slow and deep, like he was savoring it. like he was getting off on this just as much as you were. his nose brushed against your clit with every stroke of his tongue, and it was too much, not enough, all at once.

your back arched, a desperate sound slipping from your lips. he groaned low in his throat, the vibration sending a shudder through you. "that's it," he murmured, his voice almost slurred against your skin. "let me hear you."

one of his hands slid up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as he pressed his mouth lower, flicking his tongue against your entrance, teasing the edge.

"nam-gyu—" your voice broke on his name, breathless and desperate, and his grip tightened.

"fuck, you sound good," he muttered. his tongue pushed inside you, and the sensation sent a sharp bolt of pleasure up your spine, made your thighs shake.

"think you can take me?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "gotta get you ready for me."

you gasped as he pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, curling it just right. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, his tongue lapping up every reaction, every sound.

"shit," he muttered. "so tight. gonna feel so fucking good."

the words alone made your stomach tighten, the heat coiling low, winding tighter and tighter. he added a second finger, stretching you open, thrusting slow, deep, his tongue still working your clit.

it was too much. the pressure built fast, overwhelming, unbearable. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"i—" your breath hitched, your body tensing.

he growled low in his throat, his fingers pressing deep, his tongue flicking faster, relentless. "come for me."

and you did.

the pleasure hit hard, shattering through you, knocking the air from your lungs. your back arched, your body tightening around his fingers, and he groaned against you, drinking in every last tremor, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking beneath him, gasping for breath.

only then did he finally pull back, his breath ragged, his lips slick and swollen. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark, almost feverish as he looked at you.

"fuck," he muttered, voice rough, almost awed.

he climbed up over you, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing against your skin, steadying you.

his exhale was sharp, controlled, but his grip on your waist betrayed him—fingers digging in, like he had to hold himself back from wrecking you completely. his forehead dropped to yours for half a second, just long enough for you to feel the way his breath came heavy, ragged.

"you're gonna kill me," he muttered, half a groan, half a laugh, before he pulled back, eyes flicking down your body—like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. his fingers traced your thigh absentmindedly, like he still couldn't believe you were letting him touch you.

then he sat back, unbuttoning his jeans.

your breath hitched as you watched him work, his knuckles going white with how tightly he was gripping his belt. the leather slid through the loops with a sharp snap, and your thighs pressed together instinctively at the sound. his lips curled slightly—he noticed.

"don't get shy on me now," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but he wasn't smirking anymore. no, his expression was darker, sharper. his fingers moved with slow, measured precision as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

your stomach flipped.

you had no idea what you'd been expecting, but whatever it was—it wasn't this. he was…big. thick. a flush creeping up his shaft, his tip swollen and slick with arousal. you stared, suddenly feeling very aware of your own inexperience, of the way your body still trembled faintly from the orgasm he'd just given you.

nam-gyu noticed.

"yeah?" his voice was rough, teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something dangerously satisfied. his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, giving it a slow, lazy stroke, like he was savoring the moment. "that nervous?"

you swallowed hard, forcing your eyes back to his face. he looked wrecked, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. his chest rose and fell heavily, like it was taking effort not to just pin you down and take—

"i can take it," you said, before you could second-guess yourself. your voice was breathless but steady, your chin tilting up just slightly in challenge.

his jaw locked.

for a second, he just looked at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time. then, suddenly, his grip on your waist tightened, dragging you down the mattress until your thighs framed his hips.

"yeah," he murmured, almost to himself. his hand brushed over your stomach, your hip, sliding back down between your legs. his fingers traced your entrance, feeling the way you were still soaked for him. "i think you can, too."

your breath stuttered as he pressed two fingers inside you again, stretching you open. his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft, teasing circles—not enough to push you over, just enough to make your breath hitch.

"nam-gyu—" you gasped, hips twitching under his touch.

his free hand came up, catching your chin, tilting your head so you had to look at him. his eyes were dark, blown out with something almost ravenous.

"you still sure?" he murmured, voice low. "tell me you want it."

your pulse pounded.

you could feel how badly he wanted you, how much effort it was taking for him to hold back. and yet—he still gave you the choice. he was still waiting.

your heart clenched.

"yes," you whispered. "please."

his restraint snapped.

the second your lips formed that word, he was on you—pulling his fingers from your slick heat, gripping himself, pressing the thick, flushed head of his cock right against your entrance. he didn't push in. not yet. instead, he rocked against you, rubbing his length along your slit, smearing himself in your wetness, letting you feel every ridge, every inch of his size before he even tried to fit.

your breath hitched. your nails dug deep into his forearms, your body instinctively tensing.

"relax," he murmured, voice tight, nearly hoarse, like he was fighting against the instinct to just take. his free hand smoothed up your thigh, over the curve of your waist, warm, steady, grounding. "breathe."

you tried. you really did. forced your lungs to expand, to exhale, to let go of the tension gripping your muscles. but the second he started to push in, all that breath stuttered out in a sharp, broken gasp.

it was too much. the stretch, the slow, inch-by-inch burn as his cock forced your body to open around him, to take him. a kind of ache you’d never felt before, raw and overwhelming—too much and not enough, like your body was fighting him even as it craved more.

"fuck," he gritted out, his jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jump. his hands flexed against your skin, his entire body trembling with restraint. "jesus, baby—you're so fucking tight—"

your stomach flipped at the words, heat pooling deep in your core. he never talked to you like that. never called you things like that. but now, here he was, panting above you, voice wrecked and reverent, murmuring praise like he couldn’t help it.

after a few seconds, you whimpered, hands gripping his shoulders. "more."

his control broke.

he pushed in, slow but deep, a smooth, deliberate thrust that seated him all the way inside you in one stroke. your breath tore from your lungs, your back arching as the stretch bloomed into something fuller, hotter, the ache curling into something dangerously close to pleasure.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "holy fuck," he rasped, voice wrecked, almost pained. his fingers dug into your hips, like he was holding on for dear life. "so fucking good—you're so tight, so perfect, fuck—"

your pulse pounded in your throat, your entire body thrumming with sensation. there was still a burn, still that overwhelming fullness, but beneath it was something else—something deeper, something good.

you shifted your hips, testing, trying to ease the pressure.

his entire body locked up.

"don't—" his voice was strangled, desperate. his hands tightened, pinning you down. "don't fucking move, or i’m gonna lose it."

every muscle in his body was taut, locked, like a predator barely holding back from sinking its teeth in. his fingers bit into your hips, warning you, anchoring himself—but you could feel it. the way he was shaking. the way his cock twitched, buried so deep inside you you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

you swallowed hard, pulse hammering, skin burning where he touched you.

it was too much. too deep. too thick. your body fought to adjust, pulsing around him in helpless, desperate flutters.

he groaned, low and guttural, pressing his forehead harder into your shoulder like he was in pain. “jesus christ.” his breath was hot against your skin, ragged, almost like he was laughing. “gripping me so fucking tight. gonna break me."

you shivered at the rasp of his voice, your fingers sliding up his back, feeling the strain in his muscles. the raw need in him. you were doing this to him. you, all wet and trembling underneath him, still adjusting, still unsure—and he was losing his mind over it.

you swallowed, tried to steady your breath. "you can move," you whispered.

his entire body tensed.

you barely had a second to register the shift before he pulled back, just an inch, and then—slow, deep—he thrust in again.

your breath shattered. your mouth fell open, no sound coming out at first, just a strangled, breathless whimper.

then, before you could so much as blink, he started moving—pulling out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, setting a rhythm that had your breath stuttering in your throat.

he wasn't just fucking you—he was making sure you felt every inch of him, dragging it out, taking his time. and god help you, but it felt so fucking good.

"shit—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

his hand slipped between you, his thumb pressing right against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. your entire body jerked, pleasure sparking through your nerves like lightning.

"yeah," he muttered, watching you like he was starving. "that’s it. let me see you fucking fall apart."

nam-gyu’s rhythm grew rougher, sharper—his control slipping, his hips snapping forward with a force that had you gasping, clawing at his back. every thick inch of him dragged against your walls, the stretch now molten pleasure, the overwhelming feeling of fullness making your head spin. his body caged you in completely, heat rolling off him in waves, his skin slick with sweat.

"fuck," he rasped, voice ragged, his breath hot against your lips. "listen to you." his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles. "moaning like that—so fucking needy, aren’t you?"

"fuck," you gasped, your nails raking down his back, desperate for more.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his head to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "shit, you're taking me so fucking good," he muttered, his teeth grazing over your throat before he kissed you there—open-mouthed and messy, dragging his tongue over your pulse like he could taste how wrecked you were for him. "never had anyone inside you, huh? no one’s ever had you like this—"

his words made your stomach flip, a desperate, aching heat blooming in your core. you shook your head, gasping. "no—"

"fuck, baby," he groaned. "you don’t even fucking know—" his lips found your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you jolt, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. "how long i've been thinking about this. how long i've wanted to have my cock inside this pretty pussy."

his hands slid up, gripping your tits, squeezing, kneading the soft flesh in his palms. his fingers flicked over your nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, and you whimpered, the pleasure making you arch into his touch.

nam-gyu groaned, his tongue darting out to trace the swell of your breast before his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard.

"oh my god—" your back arched, your fingers twisting into his dark hair, holding him there.

he chuckled, a low, breathy sound against your skin, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucked again, harder this time, drawing a desperate whine from your lips. his hips kept moving, slow but deep, every thrust sending a new wave of pleasure through you, making your stomach coil tighter.

"you're so fucking good," he murmured against your skin, moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention—his lips wrapping around the stiff peak, sucking, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. "so fucking tight, taking me so well—fuck, i knew you would."

you whimpered, the heat inside you winding tight, too much and not enough at the same time. your thighs trembled around his waist, your nails dragging down his back.

"nam-gyu," you gasped, voice wrecked, desperate. "please—"

"please what?" he pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen, his eyes dark, burning with something almost possessive. his fingers slid down between you, finding your clit again, circling it with slow, precise movements. "tell me what you need, baby."

you sobbed at the pressure, at the way it made your body twitch beneath him. "i—i wanna cum—"

his jaw tightened, his thrusts growing sharper, faster, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"yeah?" his voice was strained, breathless. "you wanna cum all over my fucking cock?"

"yes—yes—"

"then do it."

he pinched your clit, just the right amount of pressure, and the coil inside you snapped.

your orgasm hit hard, crashing over you in sharp, shuddering waves, making your entire body lock up beneath him. you let out a high, broken moan, your walls fluttering around him, pulsing, milking his cock as he fucked you through it.

"fuck—fuck—" nam-gyu groaned, his hips stuttering as you clenched around him, the tight grip of your body dragging him right to the fucking edge.

"shit," he rasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips as he snapped his hips forward, harder, rougher. "gonna—fuck, gonna fill you up—"

your entire body shuddered at his words, at the realization of what he was about to do, and you let out a breathless, desperate "please."

that was all it took.

he came, hard, his body trembling as he filled you, his grip tightening almost painfully as he groaned your name, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, wrecked.

the heat of him spilling inside you made your entire body tremble.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed, breathing heavy, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his hands—no longer rough, no longer gripping—slid soft over your skin, smoothing down your sides, your waist, your thighs, as if he was soothing you.

you were still shaking, your body aching in the best possible way, your mind swimming in a haze of heat and exhaustion.

nam-gyu shifted, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. his lips pressed to your temple, then your cheek, then—finally—soft against your lips.

"you’re a fucking dream," he murmured almost to himself, voice soft, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

your heart skipped.

then, before you could say anything, before you could think—

his hips rolled again, slow, lazy, his cock starting to harden again inside you.

"think you can handle another one?"

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© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[vigilante-3073]

Obsessive Compulsivity

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N has OCD and often struggles with her disorder in the workplace. Spencer looks out for her and ensures that no one is able to mess with her.

TW: Mentions of OCD/compulsions/feelings/panic attacks, disrespectful behavior, pranks, Spencer being a sweetheart.

Y/N had been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder when she was only fifteen years old. Y/N had struggled with her compulsions for years before she was able to get on medication. Y/N lived with a persistent feeling of intense anxiety and distress, the medication helped but the side effects seemed to outweigh the good ones.

Y/N had been in psychotherapy since her diagnosis and was able to cope with her condition, but it still effected her day to day life.

Y/N had a few particular compulsions that Spencer kept an eye on. He noticed that she gave into her compulsions more when she was stressed or upset. In their line of work it was important to look out for one another and he tried to be there for her as much as he could.

Y/N needed everything to be in threes.

She checked her door three times to make sure it was locked, washed her hands three times, clicked her pen three times in a row and a few other things. Her apartment was spotless, all the cans were facing out in her pantry, hangers were equally spaced in her closet and book spines were all aligned on her shelves.

Y/N cleaned her apartment every day, unable to rest until everything was in it's proper place. Her desk in the bullpen was spotless, everything aligned properly in perfect symmetry. It really bothered her when other people touched her things, but she tried to be kind about it.

Morgan tended to take advantage of that.

He stood in front of Y/N's desk in the bullpen, shifting around the items on her desktop while she was in the office with Hotch.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked, Spencer looked up from his paperwork.

"Wind her up and watch her go," Morgan smirked.

"You're an ass," Emily said, shaking her head.

"I'll bet you twenty bucks that she doesn't make it a minute without putting everything back like it was," Morgan said.

"I'm not betting," Emily replied.

"Why not?" Morgan questioned.

"Because it's mean and juvenile," Spencer stated.

"It may be juvenile, but it's not mean, it's- Oh, here she comes," Morgan said, quickly returning to his seat as the door to Hotch's office opened.

Y/N walked down the stairs and made her way over to her desk, she froze in place as she stared at everything. Morgan watched her out of the corner of his eye, glancing over to Emily.

Y/N's eyes flickeed from item to item as she reached out and adjusted things. She returned the items to their proper place, tapping them three times as she moved them.

"Stop touching my things, Morgan," Y/N said, pulling out her chair and sitting down.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart," He replied.

Y/N huffed, setting her files down and looking around at her things. Spencer watched her spend the next hour adjusting her items minutely, unable to focus on anything else until it was fixed.

Y/N was far too nice to do anything to get back at Morgan, but Spencer was always willing to help out a friend.

..

Later that day Spencer loosened the screws on the back of Morgan's chair, waiting patiently for him to return to his desk. Spencer almost felt giddy when he saw Morgan make his way over to his seat.

He sat down in the chair and leaned back, the backrest popped off and Morgan flailed his arms in the air as he fell onto the ground.

Morgan landed on his back, legs caught up on the seat of his desk chair as he looked around with a confused look on his face.

Emily laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as JJ sprang up from the edge of Emily's desk. Y/N turned around in her chair quickly and Spencer allowed a satisfied smile to settle on his face.

"Are you okay?" JJ asked.

Morgan stood up, "Somebody messed with my chair," He stated.

"He's fine," Emily smiled, shaking her head and returning to her paperwork.

"Who screwed with my chair?" Morgan asked.

JJ bent down and picked up the backrest of his chair from the floor, "The whole back fell off," She said.

JJ looked down at the floor, noticing the set of black screws on the carpeted ground, "Even the screws came out," JJ stated.

"You must have really pissed someone off," Emily said, not looking up from her desk.

Y/N looked over at Spencer, "Did you do that?" She asked quietly.

Spencer shrugged, "Just seems like karmic justice to me," He replied, sending her a wink.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush as she turned her attention back to the case files on her desk.

Over the next few months, Spencer became Y/N's avenging angel whenever Morgan decided to mess with her. Morgan tended to push the envelope with Y/N and Spencer absolutely hated it.

Y/N was a bit of a pushover and had always allowed people to walk all over her without a peep. Y/N deserved to have someone stand up for her and Spencer was happy to be that person.

Spencer expected Morgan to back off after a few innocent pranks, but he just wouldn't back down and Spencer chose not to either. He had changed out the sugar for salt in Morgan's coffee, added itching powder to his clothes in the locker room and had even superglued his pens to the top of his desk.

Spencer was honestly starting to get tired of thinking up new ways to mess with him. Y/N knew that Spencer was continuing to look out for her, she asked him to let it go, but he couldn't stand the idea of Morgan using her condition for his own amusement.

...

Morgan did not understand her condition until he saw how it truly effected her while they were out on a case.

The team had been on a case that required them to locate an unpredictable and dangerous unsub. Theories were thrown around and a long list of suspects gradually became smaller as more information was uncovered. The team finally reached the most likely suspect and a few searches from Garcia proved that they had their man.

The members of the BAU found themselves surrounding the man, snipers set up in the building across the street. Y/N had been trained in hostage negotiation and de-escalation, the unsub suffered from delusions and the team thought that Y/N may be able to get through to him.

Y/N was a profiler and did not carry a gun, she worked in the office and only went out into the field when the team deemed it necessary. Hotch ordered her to stay close to Morgan, putting her in a bulletproof FBI vest to ensure her safety.

The conversation had been going well and Y/N was beginning to establish a rapport. Suddenly a loud noise from nearby made the unsub jumpy and he became aware of how many officers surrounded him. He drew a weapon and everyone yelled at him to drop it, the man ignored them and charged towards law enforcement.

The sniper took aim and fired a shot, sending the unsub's blood splattering onto Y/N. She froze, eyes glossing over with tears as a nauseous feeling settled in her stomach.

Morgan stepped in front of her, looking her over for injuries, "Are you okay?" He asked.

"It got on me," Y/N stated softly, her hands were trembling as her breathing began to speed up.

"Are you hurt? Are you injured?" Morgan repeated, hand cupping her cheek and pulling her gaze away from the body.

"There's blood on me," Y/N mumbled shakily, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You need to breathe, Y/N. C'mon, baby, you're fine, it's just blood," Morgan said, attempting to comfort her.

"Here, I've got her," Spencer said, tucking his gun away and moving over to them.

"Spencer," Y/N mumbled.

"You're okay, you're safe," He assured, one hand holding onto her wrist while his other settled on her waist.

"It's on me," Y/N said, staring down at the speckles of blood on her skin.

Spencer nodded, "We'll clean it off, okay? I'll help you, but first I need you to slow your breathing down," He said, Y/N nodded stiffly.

She was hyperventilating, breath coming out in panicked puffs as she looked around wildly. Spencer took off his vest quickly, taking her hand and settling it on his chest.

"Focus on me, alright? I need you to copy my breathing," He said, holding her hand against his chest over his heart.

"I can't," She hiccuped, shaking her head.

"You have to. Just close your eyes and stay with me," Spencer instructed.

Y/N sobbed, "Just close your eyes and focus on me," Spencer repeated, his other hand settling on her waist again and pulling her closer to himself.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, "Copy my breathing, okay? Nice and slow," He said.

Spencer took a deep breath in before releasing it as a slow exhale. Y/N struggled for a moment before slowly settling into his calm breathing pattern after a few breaths.

Her eyes fluttered open, glossy eyes meeting with his, "Let's get you cleaned up," He said, she nodded.

"She okay?" Morgan asked.

Spencer nodded, "I need to take her home so she can get cleaned up," He said.

"I'll let Hotch know," Morgan nodded.

"Thanks, Morgan," Spencer replied, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Spencer wrapped his arm around her and led her over to the SUV, he settled her in the passenger seat before he drove her home.

Spencer walked her up to her apartment, sittin on the couch while she got herself cleaned up. Y/N scrubbed at her skin roughly under the scalding hot water, desperately trying to remove all traces of the blood.

Y/N felt like she couldn't get clean, sobbing as she continued to scrub her skin raw. It took almost an hour before she had finally calmed down enough to shut off the water and step out of the shower. She dried herself off and got dressed, but her entire body still felt dirty.

Spencer stood from his seat on the couch as the bathroom door opened, "You didn't have to stay," Y/N mumbled with a soft sniffle.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Spencer said.

Y/N nodded, eyes glossing over with tears again, "I can still feel his blood on my skin," She admitted shakily.

The skin of her arms, neck and chest were red and irritated from where she scrubbed the skin raw.

Spencer made his way over to her, "Can I touch you?" He asked, she nodded.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently, lifting her arm up to inspect her reddened skin. Spencer brushed his thumb over her pulse, "How can I help?" He questioned.

"I don't know," She replied.

"Can I give you a hug?" Spencer asked.

Her lip trembled and she nodded, Spencer let go of her arm and stepped closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her body against his chest gently. 

The smell of his cologne and the soft beating of his heart was calming. Y/N felt something break within her as she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking into Spencer's shirt as she slid her arms around him.

Y/N pressed herself closer to his chest, crying until her lungs ached and her eyes burned. She gripped onto the material of Spencer's shirt, he rubbed her back gently while murmuring words of encouragement into her hair.

It felt like an eternity before her sobs changed to shaky breaths, her tears drying on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Y/N mumbled against his chest.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Spencer assured.

Y/N reluctantly pulled away, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently.

"Thank you," Y/N mumbled, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Spencer asked.

She shook her head, "You've done more than enough already, Spencer," Y/N stated.

"I can stay if you don't want to be alone," He offered.

"You'd do that?" Y/N asked.

"Of course, I'd do anything for you," He answered easily.

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XVII. The Birth (Warning!Childbirth)

Suspicio semel excitatur, omnia pascit.

Once suspicion is aroused, everything feeds it.

They were laughing, muttering, glancing, and smiling in a way that could be seen as arrogant, sinister, cruel, or otherwise unkind. However, you find yourself unable to respond to their actions due to an overwhelming sensation of pain in your chest. Since you fell in love with Marcus, you'd felt the same pain in that spot many times for different reasons. When he fought in the Colosseum, when he was wounded, when you were separated, when he spoke of his past, when he went off to war, even every time he left home. But none of it was like the pain you felt now. It was a strange, intense, rage-inducing, all-consuming, aggressive, dangerous feeling.

The gentle touch of your aunt on your shoulder, Decima's concerned expression, the hesitant looks of the other women who respected you – these intense feelings absorbed all of that. As you felt the anger and suspicion spreading throughout your body, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing because of the situation you were in, and you hated it.

"I won't allow you to upset my niece, our princess, in my house! Don't you have any decency?"

Everyone except Julia averted their gaze. "You seem to have forgotten that you're talking to an empress. It was the princess herself who asked the question, Antonia."

Antonia's gaze was sharp. It was clear that there was an unresolved conflict between her and Julia, and you were certain it had something to do with your deceased mother. "It was you who made the insinuation, Empress Domna and everyone here knows it. To gain respect, you must first give it.”

“You're going too far.”

"Hah! Look who's talking! Weren't you the one who first accused your own husband, the emperor, and then a Roman general, of being unfaithful? That seems a bit impudent, doesn't it?"

You took a deep breath and stood up with your aunt's help, this was not the time to cry, this was the time to put your foot down and Julia had already crossed the line and exhausted your patience with her.

"Lady Domna, you should be focusing on your son's future, not my private matters and my husband's. It's a shame you've made a habit of it, but maybe you're influenced by this unfaithful woman at your side," you said, looking at her. You knew who she was. She'd told you sarcastically about Marcus' former wife months ago, but you never confronted her because you didn't care. But now it was time. Looking at her, you continued, everyone, including the slaves, had stopped murmuring and were focused on you two.

"Don't think I'm not aware of what's going on. I may seem patient, but I'm not stupid."

The woman was about to say something in protest, but Julia raised her hand to stop her. You weren't planning to deal with her anyway, you didn't even look at her face even once. Julia raised an eyebrow. "You're speaking to an empress, so watch your tone."

"I was here before you. I was born a princess! I earned my status by birthright, without having to marry an emperor like you."

You could feel your aunt smiling proudly beside you. The women began to murmur quietly. Julia was caught off guard by your harsh words, and the woman next to her shot you a look, but you didn't falter. Her silence emboldened you. You approached her and leaned into her ear. "I know my husband will be furious when I tell him about your slanderous words. You'd clearly forgotten what happened the last time you pissed him off."

"You're almost proud to say that," she said, narrowing her eyes, but you could tell she was tensing up.

"You're the last person to lecture me on pride. How quickly you forgot that thing you asked me for when you came to my villa. That's exactly what a woman without pride would do."

“Are you insulting me now?”

“No, I'm just describing you.” You said sarcastically.

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You little!”

"That's enough!" Your aunt intervened. "Please leave my house, you are no longer welcome here." She said to Julia and her companions. Then she looked at everyone. "Thank you for coming, ladies, but the banquet is over now."

Julia looked at you with a bit of a glare and turned away, and the other women with her followed her, without saying goodbye or showing any respect. You took a deep breath and put your hands on your belly. You could feel the baby moving inside you.

"Are you well, my lady?" Decima asked as she stepped towards you.

"They say if you cut the grass, snakes will appear." Your aunt mumbled. "You did well putting her in her place, Aurelia."

You gave her a half-smile in return. The other women greeted you one by one before leaving the courtyard.

"I think it's an ugly rumor. Everyone in Rome knows your husband Acacius would never do such a thing. If you don't feel well, it'll affect the baby, so it's probably best not to worry about it."

You trusted Marcus, of course, but suspicion had already crept into your mind.

"Thank you, Aunt Antonia. I'd like to take my leave now."

"Of course, my dear. You should go home and get some rest." She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. "I hope I'm not mistaken, but I believe you said the baby is due next week?"

You nodded.

"I hope everything will be fine."

"Aurelia, I'm really sorry about all this. Thank you for coming," Paulina said, giving you a hug. "Please don't concern yourself with what those women say. You need to think about your child.’

"So do you," you said, looking at her belly. "I'll be fine," you promised with a smile. Then took Decima's arm. "Have a good night."

"Good night, cousin," Paulina called out to you.

Your aunt accompanied you to the carriage, and the midwife came along too. "Aurelia, the things they said..." Antonia said in a low tone. "Even if it's true, just remember that you're still his wife, and that won't change. I'm sure it won't affect a love like yours. So you need to make sure it won't damage your marriage. That's what Julia wants, after all. Once she finds out you've had a son, she'll be even more hostile towards you. But as your aunt, I will always be there for you. I'll make sure she doesn't hurt you or your child. I won't let that snake bite me twice." She kissed your cheek and stroked your belly with her hand. "Now go home and rest. Try to keep your mind calm until the birth."

You smiled at her. "Thank you. I appreciate it.”

By the time the carriage arrived at the villa, it was already getting dark. You were lost in thought the whole way through, mulling over the past week. Over the past few days, Marcus left the villa in a bit of a rush in the afternoon and came back late. He never wore his armour during that time. Was there any chance he was really going there? Could the mere thought of a possibility hurt someone so much? But it did.

With Decima and the midwife's help, you carefully got out of the carriage. "Please don't mention what's happened back there to anyone, especially not the General. Is that clear?" You looked at the midwife in particular who replied with a nod.

When you stepped into the courtyard, Tullia greeted you.

"Thank Gods you're back safe and sound, my lady."

"Is my husband here?" you asked, looking up at your chambers.

"No, my lady. General Acacius has not yet returned." She and Decima exchanged glances. She was worried and surprised by your behavior.

"I will rest in my room," you said, heading for the stairs.

Decima came to you and took your arm. After all, it wasn't as easy for you to climb the stairs as before. As you approached the door, you looked at her. "I'd like to be alone, please."

She gave a little smile and nod, but her eyes showed her worry. You closed the door and took a moment to survey the room. It was as if your mood had even changed the atmosphere of the room. You touched the tulle around the bed and, as you ran your fingers through the fabric, everything you heard echoed in your head. You removed your necklace, crown, hairpins, bracelets, and earrings, put them all in a wooden box, and placed them in the closet. Once you'd removed the palla and stola, you went over to the bed.

You noticed the burgundy tunic that Marcus had taken off before leaving was on the bed. You sat down and held the tunic in your hands, taking a deep breath to enjoy his scent. Since he got back from the war, you only had physical intimacy once in balneum, and you missed him more than ever. It was tough, but you managed somehow. That is, until tonight. While you missed him on his own in the room, he is with someone else now...

'No, no, no, Aurelia. That's not possible.' You thought to yourself, 'I don't believe he'd do that.'

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. You were pretty sure they'd be back to give you a hard time later on. Decima looked over from the doorway with a tray in hand.

"I've made you some chamomile tea." She said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

You smiled back and put the tunic back on the bed. "Yes, please." You stood up and sat down on the bed with her help. She placed a pillow behind your back and handed you the cup with tea in it then sat beside you. "I hope you're not still dwelling on what they said,"

You shook your head, "I am not," you lied.

Decima squinted at you, she knew you well. "Come on now, Aurelia. This is the General we're talking about. His love for you is nothing like I've ever seen. Everyone else might be tempted to cheat, but he is not one of them."

You took a sip of your tea. "But I need to know where he goes in the evenings."

"Do you want me to ask Octavius?”

"No, not him. He can't keep secrets from Acacius." You took another sip. You and Decima then looked at each other and said the same name at the same time. "Cato."

You both laughed.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow," you said, handing her the tea. "I've had enough to drink for now. Thank you, my dear."

She took the cup and helped you lie down on the bed.

“Decima."

She looked at you before leaving the room.

"I'm so glad I have you in my life," you said. "Your friendship is really important to me."

"I value yours just as much, my lady. Get some rest now." She said and then closed the door.

It was already tough enough to get some sleep at night with a little warrior on the way. And on top of all that, you were plagued by unnecessary worries. You wanted to roll over, but even that was difficult now. After a while, you heard voices coming from the courtyard. You closed your eyes when you heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Why did I do this now? You thought to yourself. You couldn't manage to roll over, so you pretended to be sleeping. The door closed and footsteps approached. You felt Marcus's lips on the top of your head and opened your eyes.

"Forgive me, did I wake you up?"

You turned your head and looked at him, into his brown eyes. Was this the man who was unfaithful to his wife? It was impossible. You gave him a smile. "I can't sleep without you."

His smirked. "I'll be right back." He said and removed his shawl first, then his sandals. He ran his fingers through his hair, adjusting, and sat on the bed, crawling in next to you. He then gave you a kiss on the temple, then on the nose, and then on the lips. "I've missed you. Both of you." He put his hand on your belly and smiled when he felt a kick.

"We've missed you too. I suppose it's because you're always coming in late at night these days." You tried to keep your tone calm. His expression changed for a moment as if he was thinking about what to say, which made you a little confused.

"If I might ask for a little more patience, my lady? I'll be going at night less often very soon, I promise."

This left you feeling even more confused. Did he mean after the birth?

"How was the banquet? Did you have a good time?”

Oh, right. I had a great time, indeed!

"It would have been better if Julia hadn't been there."

Marcus frowned. "Or did she say something to upset you?"

You looked him in the eye, but he wasn't asking questions or seeming to expect anything. He seemed genuinely concerned and sincere. "No, she's her usual self, never mind her. Besides, she is the one who got upset. I might have said some harsh things to her." You grinned.

He raised his eyebrows. "You? My Aurelia? Did you really do it?"

"Yes, sir. I did.”

He laughed. "You did well. I love my princess even more when she is tough," he said with a grin, putting his hand under your chin and kissing your lips.

Gods, his mouth tasted so good, and your tongue felt truly blessed. You couldn't help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Marcus placed his hands on either side of you. He was almost starting to undress you, but he managed to stop and pull back. He broke the kiss, gently pushing your hands away. In response, you gave a little frown and pursed your lips, as you always did. He smiled and placed his hand on the back of your neck, guiding your head towards his chest.

'We should get some sleep now, my love." He was breathing heavily. Trying to calm himself down, stroking your hair with one hand while the other was just above your belly. He spoke to the baby for a while, feeling the kicks, and then he fell asleep. You watched him in his sleep, admiring his perfect nose, chin, eyebrows, and his curly grey hair. You had to get rid of this suspicion that was spreading like poison inside you. You fell asleep too, thinking about how to do it. You woke up more than twice over the rest of the night because your growing uterus was putting pressure on your bladder, leaving less room for urine and more frequent urges to pee. Fortunately, you had a devoted husband who was kind enough to wait for you at the door of the latrine while you peed. It must be a sin to slander this wonderful man.

When you opened your eyes in the morning and realised Marcus wasn't in bed, you had the urge to look up. However, you let out a slight groan when you felt a rather strong kick in your stomach.

"Good morning to you too, little one." You mumbled sleepily.

"Another kick?" Marcus asked. He was at his desk, looking like he was busy with some papers.

"Yes. It seems our child is eager to come out. Well, I'm really looking forward to it." You said with a sigh.

"Are you certain? I'm just afraid we won't be able to hold him once he starts walking. He's going to tire us out."

You giggled. "I agree." You said you had a hard time trying to sit up in bed. Marcus got up from his desk and came over to help you. "And I am certain."

“Hm?"

You grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. "You asked me if I was certain. So, yes I am. I would like to give birth to our child as soon as possible so that I can be able to touch you in the way that I desire."

He swallowed, his heart starting to race. He then lowered his head and whispered into your ear. "I must say, my lady, you try my patience too much. Be sure my revenge will be great.’

‘'I am eagerly awaiting." You giggled.

"You are quite mischievous." He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek.

After breakfast, you accompanied Marcus to the stables to visit Unio and Dromos. Once you had finished feeding them, Marcus proposed that he teach you how to groom. First, he made sure Unio stayed still then he handed you the brush. Unio sniffed the brush, her hot breath made you giggle.

"I think she wants to eat this. I believe you've already eaten quite a lot, have you not?"

Marcus laughed. "Start with her withers, right up here," he guided your arm to the top of her.

"I haven't seen Mau since we returned," you murmured as you brushed Unio's mane. Marcus put his hand on yours, and the other hand on your waist. Unio let out a soft whinny, it seemed that your movements were helping to relax her.

"I didn't see her either."

"I asked everyone but no one saw her," you said, pursing your lips. You missed her as much as everyone and everything else. She was one of the things that reminded you of your days in Egypt, after all. Marcus noticed your sad expression.

"It's possible she went elsewhere when the villa was abandoned. I think she'll be back."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do." He touched your cheek. "Listen, I really don't want to see you upset about it. You've been feeling a bit worried about everything lately, which is a concern for me.”

Well, he was right, but there was nothing you could do. "I have to admit that I'm feeling a little nervous as the big day approaches, but it's been worse since you went off to war. Those days were pretty tough for me." He could hear worry in your voice. "I'm scared, Marcus. I'm scared that at if something might happen and we'll be separated again."

He put his arm around you. "We don't know what the future holds, but I'll do what I have to do. If I have to fight, I will." You bowed your head he put his hand under your chin, lifting your face up. "To fulfill our dreams. For our child." His gaze fell to your stomach. "Or should I say, for our children, dozens of them," he said with a grin.

You giggled at him and then nodded. "We'll have a bright future, Marcus. You'll be winning victories, and I'll be raising our children."

"My beautiful Aurelia," he cupped your face gently. "As the Gods are my witnesses, to have won you is my greatest, most glorious victory."

You smiled and he kissed your lips passionately, lovingly. You put your arms around his neck and he put his around your waist, but your belly prevented him.

"It looks like I'll have to wait a little longer to wrap you in my arms the way I did before." He said with a laugh. You place your hands on your waist. "I suppose I'll have to wait until I get my waist back, too."

He laughed again, and you joined in. Unio also let out a whine, as if they wanted to share in your joy.

In the evening, Marcus wore his white tunic and red shawl just as he did on other evenings and left the villa. You found yourself grappling with the same feelings of unease as you had the day before. You needed to put an end to it, and tonight was the night. That's why you sent one of the slaves and asked Cato to come to the villa. Norell spotted you and Decima on your way to him, but you made an excuse and avoided her. You were sure she'd tell Tullia everything, which would make things more complicated. Cato was in the stables and greeted you when he saw you.

"My lady, may I ask why you sent for me? Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I hope no one realized you coming here."

"No, they didn't. The training was over anyway. It's usually quiet in the evenings."

"Not for your general, apparently," you said, squinting. "Cato, I'm going to ask you a question and I need you to be honest with me, alright?”

He opened his eyes as wide as he could. "How could I possibly deceive you, my lady? Or  maybe I have made a mistake?"

"No, this has nothing to do with you. It's about the General, my husband."

Cato looked at Decima and then back at you, surprised.

"I'm all ears."

"General Acacius... he... at night…" You took a deep breath to continue. "I want to know where he spends the whole night.'"

He scratched his head, looking thoroughly confused. ‘'You mean, somewhere other than the barracks? He does meet with the legates from time to time. And then..." he said, "And…" You got the feeling he wasn't being entirely truthful when he suddenly averted his eyes.

"And what else?"

He took a deep breath.

"Tell me," you demanded.

"He doesn't usually tell me where he's going, but over the last few days, he's been leaving in the middle of the night with Sir Octavius in an incognito outfit. And the other night I heard them talking..." He shook his head. "Maybe I misheard."

"You said with Octavius?" Decima enquired.

Now she looked as concerned as you were.

"Tell us what you heard.”

He took a moment to swallow. "Once I'd helped him take off his armour and closed the door on my way out, Sir Octavius asked if they were heading somewhere. The general said to him that they need to get going..." Cato bowed his head. Was he embarrassed?

Your heart started to beat faster. "And where is that place they're heading to?"

"Tell us quickly, Cato." Decima was annoyed.

Cato answered without looking up. "Um... Whore house. Forgive me, but they said they were going there."

Hearing those words again made your body tremble with anger.

There was silence for a short time. It was only when Decima touched your cheek that you realised you were crying.

"Are you alright?"

You looked at her, unable to speak.

"Forgive me. It's a stupid question, isn't it?"

You wiped your tears. "He..." Your voice was a little shaky. "And where are he and Octavius now?"

Cato lifted his head, but he still couldn't meet your gaze. "They left just before I did, my lady, but I really don't know where they went this time.”

"Go and let them know I need the carriage to be ready."

They looked at you with their eyes wide open.

"My lady, but..."

"Or did you not hear what I said?"

Cato swallowed. "I'll get it ready, my lady."

"One more thing. I want you to keep this between us. This conversation never happened. Do you understand?"

He nodded and strode purposefully towards the courtyard to find the coachman. "What are you thinking?" Decima asked.

"We're going there. I need to see for myself."

"You are mad. How are you going to go there like this?" she asked, looking at your big belly. "What if something happens?  They might not even be there..."

"Decima. I have to get rid of this suspicion that torments me. You understand me, don't you?

She let out a sigh. "I understand you perfectly. Alright, I'm coming with you to make sure Octavius isn't betraying me."

"We need to change our outfits though. If I come in, the others might get suspicious, so you go and bring cloaks for both of us."

"I hope we're not doing anything wrong, my lady."

You crossed your arms. "We'll see soon who's doing the wrong thing."

"Still, I really hope it's a misunderstanding." She said with a sad tone.

"I do hope so, dear.”

At your own request, Coachman took you to a location that was a considerable distance from the whore house. You told him to wait for your return and proceeded to head towards the street.  You were waiting at the corner, which afforded you a clear view of the entrance.

"This is rather absurd, don't you think?" Decima whinnied.

"There's no need to be concerned. We'll simply observe from a distance."

This street, which was quite lively at this time of night, was much the same tonight. The sounds of people laughing and walking by could be heard echoing throughout the street. Given the lack of light, it was unlikely that you would attract attention, although it was possible that the guards at the door might notice you.

"I'm sorry," you murmured as you gazed at the gate, hoping against hope that you would not see the face you expected to see, every time someone new came in or out. "I can imagine it must be hard for you to come here again."

Decima shook her head. "What happened in the past is not something that affects me any more. I suppose that everything changed for me after I met Octavius.

"Decima," you smiled at her, but your expression changed as you remembered why you were there.

"Ah, there they are." She said, pointing forward.

You looked over and saw Marcus and Octavius, wearing their black cloaks, coming out. You turned on your heel and leaned against the wall, not because you wanted to hide but because you were pretty shaken. Decima kept her eyes on them.

"I can't believe it, Decima. They were right. How could he do this to me? Am I not attractive anymore? Am I ugly? Does he no longer love me?"

"Aurelia-"

"Couldn't he have waited a little longer? I just don't understand why he did this to me. What am I going to do now?"

"Aurelia-"

"No, don't say anything. There's nothing more to say-"

"Aurelia, shut up for a minute, please." She shushed you.

You looked at her in surprise.

"Forgive me, but you'd better take a look at this.'‘

"I've seen enough." You said, shrugging your shoulders.

"Actually, you haven't. Please, take a look."

You did as she said and took another look, and you were just as surprised as before. Right next to them was a blond-haired man wearing a cloak, just like them.

“Geta!?”

Decima covered your mouth and pulled you behind the wall. "Shhh. You'll get us caught."

You kept your voice low. "But I don't understand. Geta is here too? I am greatly disappointed to find that all the men in my life are so unreliable."

"Gods! Aurelia, try to stay calm for a minute." Her voice was almost pleading. "I don't think the situation is as it seems."

"How do you mean?"

"That's Felix and Aris over there. And those are the Praetorians with Emperor Geta."

You peeked and saw that she was right.

"I think it's like a secret mission or something." She looked at you nervously. "We came here for nothing."

You bit your lower lip. "So.. We've got it all wrong."

Suddenly, they all looked in your direction, and you felt your heart racing as you stepped back behind the wall. "Decima, we have to get out of here now."

"Indeed."

You had just stepped into the street when a familiar voice called out from behind you making you freeze.

"You two! Stop right there!" Octavius’ voice was sharp.

Decima looked at you with concern from under the hood, but you took her arm and guided her forward. Aris and Felix stepped in front of you. Someone drew their sword, and the sound of it ringing out echoed through the street. It was Marcus. He tilted his head to look at you, reached out, and pushed back your hood, a playful look on his face as he did so. He'd already figured out who you were.

The others looked at you in surprise and bowed their heads.

"My lady, no matter how much you try to hide your pretty face, your belly gives you away." 

You averted your eyes, and he sheathed his sword.

"I really wonder what you are doing here."

You looked at Decima and saw that Octavius had come to her side. You then looked back at Marcus with a hesitant look. He was waiting for your answer, raising his eyebrows.

"I have the same question for you, General." You said stubbornly.

Marcus ordered the others to go to Geta's side, then turned to you again.

"You never cease to surprise me, Aurelia. How could you come here like this?"

"I had to," you snapped.

"Did someone mention they saw me here? And instead of trusting me, you came here to check on me?"

"Those women are shameless. They were being pretty mean, laughing and joking. I didn't want to believe it, but you were being so mysterious. I thought maybe you wanted to come here because you've stopped touching me. I thought... maybe... you don't love me anymore."

Suddenly he grabbed your shoulders, his expression was stern. "You silly woman." He gave your cheek a little nudge with his nose, looking at you quite tenderly now. "All those wretch women would drown in a single drop of my love for you. Don't ever believe them." He took your face in his hands. "Don't you know that my days and nights all belong to you? My moon, my sun, my spring... Don't you know how much I love you?" He bent down and kissed your temple, his beard tickling a little, making you smile.

"Marcus, I love you too. You are the breath I take, without you I am incomplete, wounded. But suspicion has driven me mad. Forgive me.”

He smiled and then grabbed your arm. "We'll talk about this when we return home. Now I have to complete my mission."

"What mission is that?"

"I came here because your brother asked me to keep an eye on his cousin. He has been meeting secretly with members of the Senate. It's a bit of a long story."

"Sister?" Geta laughed. "Acacius, it's pretty amazing you could recognise your wife from that distance. Remarkable!" He gave a little grin and turned up his thumb like when he does at the Colosseum, which you found a bit annoying.

"So my husband had to come here because of you?" You asked, frowning.

"It was meant to be a secret meeting, so he hid from you. I mean, I know how stubborn you are, but I didn't expect you to do this."

"Secret?" You laughed hysterically. "You caught by Horatia's husband."

Marcus crossed his arms squinting at Geta. "See? I warned you, but you were insistent."

"I couldn't trust anyone else but you, Acacius. Besides, It only made it easier for them to think you were unfaithful."

"How could you say that so easily? He would never do such a thing, I trust him, but you made him look like he did!" You barked.

Marcus smirked.

"Hah but yet you are here, sister."

"Your mother made me!" You took a step towards him, Marcus grabbed your hand. "That shameless woman accused my husband!" Suddenly warm water ran down your legs, you looked down with wide eyes and saw your legs all soaked including your sandals.

You froze.

"Gods!" Decima cried out.

It took the men around you a bit longer to figure out what had happened.

"Sister, did you just… pee on yourself?"

You grabbed his collar angrily. "The baby's coming!" You yelled.

Then they all froze.

A strong contraction in your womb made you groan in pain. Marcus was unsure of what to do for a moment, but when he heard you moan, he came round and wrapped his arms around you.

"Aurelia! My love, are you alright?"

You shook your head and you grabbed his collar this time. "Marcus, I can't give birth here. Please take me home now, please!"

He nodded, "You're right," he said before taking you in his arms in a hurry.

Another contraction hit you. "Aah! Marcus, please!" You begged.

"What if she gives birth before you get to the villa?" Geta asked, sounding anxious. "Maybe here," he said, glancing behind him.

"I won't give birth to my child in a whore house!" You yelled at the top of your lungs. The whole street was looking at you, but you ignored them.

"Sir, we need the midwife," Decima said.

"I'll get there before you," said Octavius.

You were having lower back pain along with contractions making you writhe.

"Acacius! Palatine Hill is closer to here than the villa. You would not want her to give birth on the street, are you?"

You moaned loudly in pain. Marcus frowned, thinking.

You clenched your jaw and tried to speak. "No, Marcus, I want to go home, please. Ow!"

"There's no time for a discussion, Aurelia! Octavius, go to the villa and speak with the midwife. Then bring her to Palatine Hill."

"Yes, sir!" He said and rushed towards his horse.

"Damn Palatine Hill!" You shouted.

Marcus grinned nervously, whispering into your ear. "Just hold on, love."

"The carriage is just over there," Decima said, pointing ahead.

Marcus ran over and helped you into the carriage, carrying you in his arms. You held his other hand tightly the whole way, and he held yours back just as tight. He was kissing your fingertips one by one, trying to soothe you as you groaned in pain.

"Breathe in, my love, take deep breaths."

You did as he said, but when the carriage reached Palatine Hill, you started to feel a bit scared. Marcus hurried down from the carriage, holding you tightly. Decima got off right after you. The guards at the entrance to the grand gate looked at you with surprise.

"Open the gate now!" Marcus yelled at them.

"General. Princess," they greeted you as you continued to moan. Then they opened the gate for you to enter, looking worried for you.

Soon Geta arrived with the other guards. He immediately dismounted his horse and ran after Marcus. The guards struggled to keep up with him. Julia heard the voices from the other courtyard, heading there. She realised Geta first.

"Your Majesty! Where have you been? Elagabalus is nowhere to be seen and- What is this?”

Marcus ignored her and headed for the stairs to your chambers, your moans and screams accompanying him all the way.

Julia was left gaping after you two, while Geta followed at a brisk pace.

"Not now, mother! Aurelia is in labor! My nephew is coming!"

Julia ran to catch up with him. "But why is she giving birth here instead of her house?"

You could hear them talking as Marcus carried you upstairs with you in his arms, but you didn't care.

"If you're going to keep complaining, please stay here!"  Geta shouted at her which made Julia give up climbing the stairs. She smiled as she looked at the slaves hurrying upstairs. "Since your midwife isn't here, you might even die, Aurelia," she muttered to herself.

As soon as he got into the room, Marcus put you on the bed and put lots of pillows behind you.

"Marcus, please don't leave me."

He grabbed your hand again. "Never, my love, I'm here.”

Decima helped you take off your sandals while Marcus held your hand tightly.

Geta came over to you. "How are you holding up, sister?"

"The contractions aren't that frequent, but I can feel the baby's coming."

"Octavius will fetch her right away, just hang in there, please." Marcus kissed your hand.

You smiled at him. "Decima, you know what's needed. Make sure everything's ready for the midwife when she arrives."

Decima nodded and stepped towards the slaves. "Bring warm clean water, oil, a basin, and lots of clean clothes!"

"You heard her! Move! Quick, quick!" Geta gestured for them to leave the room.

Marcus stood up took off his black cloak and sat next to you on the bed and put his arm around. You rested your head on his chest. The contractions were becoming more frequent and painful, but Marcus holding his hand helped you to stay strong.

"It seems you two have somehow ended up here again," Geta said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You gave a forced smile. "That may be true, but let's not forget this is all because of you."

He frowned. "Am I the one who told you to spy on your husband in the middle of the night with your big belly? Even a place like that…"

"Don't even think about mentioning that place!" You barked. Your voice was louder than you intended because of the pain.

Marcus pressed his lips to the top of your head, you could feel him smiling.

"However. My nephew wants to be born here so he can meet his uncle first. I like him already." His famous smug smile appeared all over his face.

After a few pretty intense contractions and the pain they caused, you were relieved to hear that the midwife had finally arrived at the palace. Marcus stood up when the midwife came in the room. 

The midwife greeted you both and asked permission to lift the hem of your tunic. Marcus made Geta out of the room and then himself. The Midwife examined you vaginally to see how your opening was and how close it was to your cervix. She knew you were a medicus, of course, so she asked.

"My lady. How far apart are the contractions?"

"Five minutes apart." You replied.

"A walk will do you good, my lady. I'll prepare what you need."

You nodded and got up with Decima's help. Marcus came in to talk to the midwife through the door.

"There was still time. But it looks like our child will be born early. Has something happened to him?" He kept his tone low and gave you a quick look.

"Keep your heart at ease, general. Your child is fine, thank the Gods. Something seems to have triggered the labour. I hope your child will be born in good health. I'll make sure Lady Auelia has everything she needs for labour, if I may."

"I hope so."

She nodded and headed for the stairs accompanied with the slaves.

"Don't worry, Acacius," Geta said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "You know how strong and stubborn she is. I'm sure everything will be fine."

They were looking at you, both concerned about you and excited for the baby. And you looked at them both and smiled, maybe for the last time before the birth.

After walking around the room with Marcus for a while, you started to feel too much pain making you unable to stand up.

"The contractions are a minute apart now," you told the midwife.

"Please sit on the bed, my lady." She glanced at the slaves. "Could you pour the water?" She washed her hands while Marcus helped you to get settled on the bed. The midwife then looked at the men in the room, her gaze timid. "General, labour has now begun. Rest assured, I'll do everything I can for our princess."

Marcus nodded, stroked your head, and kissed the top of it. "Be strong my love. I'll be right outside the door."

You would have liked him to stay with you, but you had never seen or heard of a man doing that. So you didn't ask him for it.

"You won't believe it, but I'll pray for you and my nephew, sister," Geta said with a smile. Then they left the room together.

You let out a scream as Marcus left the room and the contraction intensified. Your chest felt tight and you got a sharp pain from your tailbone to your lower back.

With the help of the slaves, the midwife rubbed olive oil on her hands and pressed them on your belly. The baby was running out of time, as your waters had broken hours ago. The pain was getting worse by the minute. Decima was wiping the sweat from your forehead and giving you soothing and encouragement. As your screams echoed throughout the Domus Severiana, Marcus realised he'd never felt so scared and helpless in his life. Octavius watched his friend anxiously as Marcus balled his hands into fists and paced back and forth. Geta was just as wound up as well. Your screams, which were getting louder and louder by the minute, were making them things worse for them. At last, Marcus could bear it no longer.

"That's enough," he hissed and stormed into the room. Geta was going to stop him but his expression made him give up.

Marcus closed the door behind him. When he turned round, he was taken aback to see the slaves soaking cloths in water and handing them to the midwife. They were in such a hurry that they didn't even notice he'd entered the room.

“My lady, push a little more,” the midwife said in a pleading voice.

"Marcus! It hurts! Please make it stop! Please!"

He wrapped his arm tightly around you. "I know, love. I know. I'm here. You can do it. You're the strongest woman I know.’"

Another push and another scream. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" You asked the midwife.

"The baby's not in the right position for labour." I feel a foot. I'll have to turn him. "Just hang in there and push when I tell you to."

When the next contraction hit, you screamed with the most horrible sound Marcus has ever heard. Then you leaned against him you cried out in horrible, broken sobs, your whole body trembling with the effort.

"You're doing so well," Marcus whispers into your sweaty hair, "So well, my love, just a little more."

Once the midwife had managed to turn the baby, you could feel her fingers inside you. Your uterine walls were now ready to push the baby out. You grabbed Marcus's hand and squeezed it, then started pushing with all your might. But it didn't work. The baby wasn't cooperating. Something was wrong, and everyone in the room knew it. But that wasn't the worst of it. You were running out of strength. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold on.

"Bring some more hot water," said the midwife. Decima wiped the sweat from your forehead, Marcus gathered up your sweat-soaked hair, pushed it behind your neck and kissed your forehead.

"Deep breaths. Come on, my love." You breathed in and out with him.

"Could you get our princess some water and honey?" The midwife asked one of the slaves.

The midwife smiled at you as Decima helped you drink water. "Your child is going to be very stubborn, my lady. He insists on not coming."

You and Marcus looked at each other and smiled. But the pain returned and took your breath away. You gripped Marcus' and Decima's hands tightly and took a deep breath. The midwife checked between your legs under the covers and her eyes lit up.

"My lady. Now, push with all your strength. I can see the head is crowning!"

For some reason – maybe because of the unbearable pain – you couldn't help but get annoyed at her cheerfulness and want to choke her. But Marcus's kiss gave you the courage you needed, and you took a deep breath and pushed with all your strength. Then you turned your face away from his and screamed again, hoarse from the effort of so many hours. You screamed and screamed, feeling his cheek against your racing pulse, his lips on your cheek. And finally, your screams were replaced by a high-pitched wail, and…

The midwife stood up with the most beautiful little thing in her arms. "A healthy boy." She said cheerfully, holding the baby out for you to see. Then she gave the baby a little shake which helped him to take his first breath, and he let out a loud cry that filled the room with joy. "You did it, my lady!"

Marcus kissed your temple. "You are marvelous, my love. I’m very proud of you."

“My lady! He’s beautiful!” Decima squeezed your hand.

You smiled at them, feeling exhausted. Your legs were shaking and aching, and you could barely feel your body, but at least now you were no longer in pain.

Geta came bursting into the room. "Has it been born? Has my nephew been born?" He was looking for the child who had just been crying. He stopped suddenly when he saw that the bed was wet with your blood. The midwife carefully cut the baby's cord and wrapped it in a cloth with Decima's help. She placed the baby in Marcus's arms, and he smiled at him. You started to cry as you watched them. You'd never seen anything so beautiful in your life and you were pretty sure you never would. Marcus came over to you with your son in his arms. You looked at the little one who had just caused you hours of pain and were amazed at how beautiful he was.

The beautiful infant who had given them all such a scare was big in size, adorably chubby, and had a sprinkle of brown hair covering his crown. He was extremely healthy-looking... and had a cry very similar to yours.

He was perfect…

“Gods!” Geta clasped his hands. “Look how tiny he is!”

You were weeping with joy, and relief, too, that the ordeal was finally over.

From the moment you laid eyes on his sweet little face, all your tiredness just melted away. You reached out, and Marcus gently placed the baby in your arms. This feeling... It was the most amazing thing you could ever imagine. When you first felt that magical moment of motherhood, everything around you disappeared for a moment. It was just you and your baby. Then you looked at Marcus, who was sitting next to you. The baby grabbed his father's finger and held on tight, and a big smile appeared on Marcus's face. Everything was just perfect, beyond amazing, and you felt like you were finally complete.

‘"Thank you," he whispered in your ear.

It took you a moment to look up and realise what he was saying, as you were so overwhelmed by the baby's beauty that you couldn't take your eyes off him.

"For what?" you asked, your voice clearly showing how tired you were.

"For giving me a family, one I could never have dreamed of."

You looked at him and smiled. He kissed you on the lips, but your kiss was interrupted by a throat-clearing sound coming from someone else.

"I want to hold my nephew too." Geta held out his arms.

You looked at Marcus, after receiving your approval, gently took the baby from you and carefully placed him in his uncle's arms.

"He looks just like you, Acacius! I'd like to congratulate you both. Thank you for making me an uncle."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Marcus said sincerely.

"Your Majesty, general, if you could excuse us, we need to clean up Lady Aurelia. And the baby needs to be breastfed."

Geta gave the baby to you and rubbed your head. "Rest now. You must be tired from all that screaming, you noisy."

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled. Marcus came over and kissed your cheek. "I will be back, my love."

You nodded and watched them leave the room. With the help of the midwife and Decima, you removed your bloodied tunic and they cleaned you up and quickly put you into a new one. The slaves were changing the bed sheets at the same time. Then you lay down on the bed to breastfeed the baby for the first time. He was already hungry and opened his little mouth wide, easily grasping the nipple. You were both very tired, so you fell asleep together. Decima gently laid the baby down next to you and covered you with the bedcover.

Marcus and Geta left the room together and went downstairs. When Octavius and the others saw them, they nodded.

"Congratulations, sir."

"Thank you, brother."

They embraced each other. The others also offered their congratulations to him and Geta.

Geta smiled at them and turned to Marcus. "I know it's not the right time, but... Elagabalus... Tomorrow, I will exile that bastard from Rome. I have a good reason to stand my ground against the Senate too. I owe you all one, Acacius. I shall reward you. Whatever you want is yours."

"Your Majesty, I already have everything I want. You simply need to be an emperor who keeps his word to his people."

"I'll make sure I do." He promised and then left his side.

As he walked toward his chambers, he noticed his mother sitting in the courtyard.

"So it's a boy." She gave the wine glass a little shake.

"I can hear the sadness in your voice, mother."

She stood up. "Apologies! I'm not as pleased as you are! Your throne is under threat. You must wed. Refuse no longer.”

"I'd love to be here listening to your nonsense, but I'm really tired." He said and turned away.

"You'll have to get rid of him sooner or later."

Geta stopped and turned around, looking annoyed.

"Are you out of your mind? I've already got enough on my plate, and now you're telling me to kill a little baby, my nephew? The real threat is Elagabulus, thanks to your false wisdom.”

She folded his arms. "We overcame Macrinus' dominance in the Senate thanks to him, but I was unaware of his true intentions. Fortunately for us, you caught him in the act."

"Thanks to Acacius, mother!" Geta snapped. "You may have forgotten or ignored his sacrifices and heroism, but I will be grateful to that man for the rest of my life. Also, I care deeply for Aurelia and my nephew." He looked at his mother with a cold, threatening gaze. "I am warning you. If you ever say anything mean or do anything to upset her, I will exile you from Rome like my brother Caracalla did. Don't think I can't."

Julia froze. She was taken aback by his reaction. She watched him walk towards the stairs, her anger evident in her trembling body. She then threw her cup forward in a gesture of frustration. As soon as it hit the marble floor, it made a loud clatter, wine spilling over the surface. Geta looked down from the balustrade. Before going into his room, he called one of the guards over. "Keep an eye on Lady Domna. I want to know every step she takes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness.”

You opened your eyes in a state of panic, gasping for breath. When you realised the baby wasn't with you, it felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest.

"Marcus!"

You sat up in bed but groaned as a sharp pain shot through your womb.

Marcus turned towards you in shock, and you took a deep breath when you saw the baby in his arms.

Decima rushed in to check on you.

"Forgive me. I heard your voice..."

"It's alright," Marcus said. When she left the room, he approached you. "Are you all right, my love?"

"I had a nightmare," you said, your heart still pounding in your throat.

"They were taking him away from me, Marcus." Your eyes filled with tears.

In your dream, you saw someone taking the baby away. Your legs were a little shaky, still affected by the dream.

Marcus looked concerned and handed you the baby. "As long as I'm here, no one can take him or hurt him."

"I can't stay here. Not when Julia is around." You brought the baby to the breast, with your nipple aimed at the roof of his mouth. Marcus sat on the end of the bed next to you.

"My love, you've lost a lot of blood and you're battered. You need to recover your strength. Let's stay here tonight. We'll return tomorrow if you feel better.”

"Is it not still morning?"

"I suppose you didn't realise how the day went by because you slept in. The little one looks hungry too." He said with a grin. The sounds he made while sucking were so beautiful that Marcus couldn't help but sigh. "I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life." He stroked the baby's head gently with his hand.

"That's what you said about my beauty once." You teased.

He looked at you. "That's because he has some of his mother's beauty in him." He smirked. "Speaking of beauty." He stood up and walked over to the table. He took something out of the leather bag.

You were curious about what it was. The baby seemed to be full, so you pulled your nipple back and made your baby's back lie along your arm. Marcus sat back down on the bed and handed you something wrapped in a fancy cloth.

"I brought this for you from Aleppo. I had intended to give it to you earlier, but unfortunately, it fell and broke along with other items during the return journey by ship. I had it repaired and I thought it would be nice to give it to you after the birth."

"What is this?"

"Let me hold the child. You open it."

With great care, you placed the baby in his arms and opened your gift which was wrapped in a bluish cloth. It was a circular object, crafted from silver and featuring a flower-shaped relief. You turned it over and were somewhat taken aback to see your own reflection on its shiny surface.

"Much better than the bronze mirrors. I wanted you to see the beauty I see. Are you pleased?"

You looked at him. "Marcus, this is beautiful."

He smiled and carefully placed the baby next to you. Then he sat down next to you again and kissed you on the lips. "It pales in comparison to your beauty, my love." And he kissed you again, passionately, with love and a little longing. "You know, you're much more beautiful now. Your breasts have grown a lot." He swallowed hard. "They keep coming to mind, making me want you even more."

Your cheeks flushed. "Like you said before, we'll have to be patient a little longer, General." Your fingers ran along his collarbone.

"But I really want to return home tomorrow."

He nodded and kissed your hand. "As you wish, my lady."

@orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury @shinymusicpanda @somedayheaven @ivoryandflame @negrita2345 @music-lover09 @javiismyhsbnd @idontcareihavenoidea @jisungandpedrolover @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk @bonadeamo @heramj @blushingwueen @smoochispoof @littlemisspascal @kirashess @okaaaadereeee @this--is--music @mmkkzz @ro-nahime-things @indiegirlunited @kluvspedro @movievillainess721 @berriesarepunk @bonadeamo @heramj @blushingwueen @smoochispoof @littlemisspascal @kirashess @melsunshine @meetmeatyourworst @footballfangirl94 @daejangandimja @ariesandwolves @hooomansstuff @vlonerv @chewie-bars

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[rootedinrevisions]

Welcome Back Kisses

SUMMARY: Glen's been gone for almost three months filming his latest project, but he's home now, and seeing you is the first thing on his to-do list.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this earlier tonight but it's not really a full fic, more like a scene. However, I don't have a story or series that it fits into well so going to post it as just a little drabble of what that first kiss with Glen would be like after being apart for a while.

WORD COUNT: 645

It had been 82 long days since you’d seen Glen, not that you were counting. Every moment had felt stretched, each passing hour marked by the absence of his laughter and the warmth of his presence. But today, that was all about to change. As you stood in your living room, glancing at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time, a wave of anticipation washed over you.

When Glen had texted you earlier, asking if he could come over to your place as soon as he landed, you’d immediately replied, “I'll have the front door unlocked” your heart racing at the thought of finally being in his arms again.

Just as you took a deep breath to steady your nerves, you heard the familiar sound of the doorknob turning. Your heart raced, and the door swung open, revealing Glen. He looked slightly disheveled from the long flight back home, but the moment your eyes met, everything else faded away.

In an instant, he was across the threshold, arms enveloping you in a strong embrace. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if he was trying to absorb every inch of you after being apart for so long. 

You closed your eyes, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His hands tightened around you, grounding you both in this moment.

“I'm so happy to see you, honey,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he pressed soft kisses along your neck, each one igniting a spark of electricity along your skin. It felt so right, so perfect, to finally have him back.

After what felt like an eternity, he gently pulled away, his hands resting on your waist. The air around you crackled with an undeniable tension as he backed you against the wall of the entryway. The cool surface contrasted with the warmth of his body, making you acutely aware of every breath you took.

You could smell him—his cologne, musky and comforting, mixed with something uniquely his that sent your heart racing.

With one fluid motion, he grabbed your wrists and held them above your head, pinning you gently against the wall. His other hand brushed back your hair, his fingers lingering on your cheek. You felt your breath hitch as he lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. The intensity of his gaze made your pulse quicken.

“I missed you, so much,” he said again softly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile that made your stomach flutter. You nod, breathless, the world around you fading into a haze of longing and anticipation. As he leaned in closer, you could feel the heat radiating from him, enveloping you in a cocoon of desire.

He waited patiently, his face inches from yours, until you closed your eyes, surrendering to the moment. That’s when his lips brushed against yours—soft, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then, without hesitation, he deepened the kiss, his tongue finding yours with a hunger that made your heart race even faster.

Time seemed to stand still as he lost himself in you, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body. You felt alive, electrified, caught in a whirlwind of passion that left you breathless. Glen’s hands gripped your wrists tighter, his body pressing you against the wall, yet you felt safe and cherished in his embrace.

You reveled in the moment, knowing that if it were up to him, he would kiss you for hours. And as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the kiss, you wondered if you could ever get enough of him.

[dollfacefantasy]

If you still write for jjk you should write for nanami blindfolding you with his tie :3

kento nanami x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, blindfold, daddy kink/ddlg, brat taming, overstimulation a/n: i totally still write for jjk <3

"ken..." you whimper as your bottom lip juts out into a wobbly pout.

he hums in acknowledgement. a short, low sound that doesn't offer much sympathy or relief to your problem. you're sure his face reflects the same mood. you can imagine it now - that flat line his lips settle into, the unyielding nature of his eyes. if only his stupid tie wasn't wrapped around your head, then you'd actually be able to see it.

"what is it, sweetheart?" he asks, as if he doesn't know. as if he's not the one who tied the knot at the back of your skull.

"i wanna- wanna see you," you plead. your voice breaks between words. it's hard to get out a coherent sentence while he's teasing you down below.

every few seconds, he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds. the leaky head nudges your sensitive little clit, drawing more whines from you. he won't stop, but he also won't slip it in. and you're pretty sure your lack of sight only makes the feeling more severe.

you're already all twitchy. the aftershocks of overstimulation still fizzle around in your tummy. he'd spent the last however-long devouring you, lapping at your cunt until you were begging for mercy. now he has you spread out before him. a pile of pillows supports your upper-half while his body between your legs keeps them nice and wide for him.

"i told you what the price would be if you acted up," he says coolly. "you know not to bother me when i'm working."

"but they already make you work so much. why do you gotta do work at home?" you say.

"it doesn't matter why. the reason why doesn't change the fact that i told you i needed some time to finish things up," he says.

"i'm sorry," you whimper. you want to squirm so bad, but you know it'll only get you in deeper trouble. "i just missed you."

"hmm. well, what else did i tell you?" he asks, leading you into answering away your chances at redemption.

"that you would spend the rest of the night with me when you were done..." you respond. the will to argue fades with every word.

"that's right. i told you that you would have all my attention as soon as i finished. but you couldn't be patient, so now as soon as i'm done with you, i'll have to go back in there and stay up for another hour to get it done."

not seeing kento's eyes right now is killer. you can't plead your case as well without your vision. you can't gauge his reactions or predict his next move. and without eye contact, his tone is so much more biting. it actually puts some shame into you. maybe that's why he's doing it...

"i'm sorry," you say for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight. "i know i should've left you alone. i just really missed you. you've been gone so much this week. you know i get a little stupid without you looking out for me..."

"don't give me that. don't try and blame your bad behavior on stupidity," he scolds. "you're a smart girl. you don't get stupid. you get bratty."

and with that, he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock into you.

your back arches off the mattress, and you gasp at the unexpected intrusion. he pushes all the way inside in one go, not being gentle or giving you time to adjust to his size like he usually does. you whine at first, but the sound melts down into a pitiful symphony of whimpers. your body is on fire, burning in the best possible way. you're aching with sensitivity yet yearning for more all at the same time.

"mhm. my sweet, bratty girl. you're not dumb. you just choose not to think. you want what you want, and you believe you deserve it whenever it is that you want it," kento continues to lecture.

you feel the pressure of his palms dipping the mattress on either side of your head. your wish for the blindfold to come off gets even more intense as images of his flexing biceps and strong forearms fill your head.

"you don't care about my time or what i'm doing," he says with a particularly deep thrust.

you moan and grab at his shoulders. even though you can't see, you know exactly where they are and what they feel like.

"i- i do care. i-" you try to defend yourself. but he cuts you off with a sharp tug of your hips, spearing you further on his length and making you yelp.

"shhh, shhh. no more excuses," he hushes. his pelvis rolls against you rhythmically, thrusting his cock nice and deep every time. "you were a bad girl earlier, and nothing you say will change that."

a little cry escapes you upon hearing that. nothing you say? nothing can make it better?! so you're just supposed to accept the eternal damnation that is him considering you a bad girl? you can't. your eyes water under the silky fabric of the blindfold.

"but daddy," you whine, the title slipping out under the pressure of both your emotions and physical pleasure, "i don't want you to be mad at me."

"i'm not mad at you," he says simply. "i just want you to understand the consequences of your actions."

kento always wins at this game. it's just not fair. you got all whiny and needy so he'd do this, but of course, he had to do it in a way to make you genuinely regret it.

"you miss me, and you feel neglected, don't you? but instead of talking that out with me like a big girl, you get so fussy and throw a fit. and that never works out for you, does it?" he continues.

you shake your head, lip quivering. your too spun out of place for words.

"mhm, so next time, what are you gonna do?" he asks.

"use my words," you whimper.

"that's my good girl," he praises.

his thrusts are still deep and evenly-paced, but he's starting to pick up some speed now. you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down close as can be. he reciprocates your desire for closeness with a tight hold on your waist.

he lays some kisses on your face. you feel his lips pepper over your cheeks and jaw, past the strap of silk and up to your hairline. every touch lets you know without words that he still loves you and you're still his even when you act up.

it's easy for you to fall over the edge. you were already half way there at the start from the overstimulation. but kento cums too after a few more breathless pumps. he grips you tight and buries his face in your neck, letting out a deep groan against your skin.

you feel his warmth flood you, and your eyes flutter. he fucks the ropes of cum into you, thrusting erratically against your center.

when he's all spent, he stays on top of you for a few moments, just basking in the afterglow. but once he's come down enough, he starts peeling himself off of your body. he pulls out and sits up beside you.

the first thing he does is pull his tie of your head. he unties the knot with his nimble fingers and then lays it on the nightstand. after that he gets up and goes through the normal routine - puts some clothes on, cleans you up, gets you tucked in.

only this time, he doesn't join you in bed. he stands at the edge, petting your head. you look up at him with guilty eyes.

"do you really have to do it tonight?" you ask.

he nods. "i want you to get some rest. i'll be back by the time you wake up. think about this before you try distracting me again," he murmurs.

he kisses your forehead once more before shutting off the light and slipping out of your bedroom to head down the hall towards his office.