#at the end of the day it’s just up to taste and such

[sugusatosluut]

Overworked and Overstimulated

Synopsis: You take on every job Cecil hands you as his overachieving daughter, but what could be more relaxing after work than getting high with your friends?

Warnings: Edibles, smut, threesome! MDNI💓

You returned back to the guardian’s hq, exhaustedly ripping your mask off of your head. Your father called you on four missions back to back because he had already sent the new guardians and invincible to space. You wanted to go sooooo bad, but he found it better for you to sit this one out. Coincidentally upon returning back, you had found out that they all made it back a few days ago and Cecil wanted you to handle everything until most of them recovered. Easier said than done. Usually it was about six life threatening issues a day, but to tackle four of the worst ones in one day was just a little too much.

You showered, then went up to your room. Dimming the lights, you changed and turned on your music as you took out a pot brownie. You deserved this, you worked too damn hard not to. Stupid GDA invested father using you as a machine.. but he was your dad and sometimes it was your fault for biting off more than you could chew. Typical of you to not say something yet act out when you’re overstimulated. Just typical.

As you got comfortable in your little room, Mark and Rex knocked at your door. What a surprise, they never approach you unless they need help, so maybe now’s not a good time to get high.

“Yo, y/n! Good job holding down the fort until we came back. I see the world’s got a new favorite nepo baby.” Rex chuckled as he grabbed a chair.

��C’mon Rex you know she doesn’t like that.” Mark nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry.. sometimes the social awareness just doesn’t que up fast enough in my brain. Anyways, whatcha doin? Taking the night off?” Rex asked as he played with the items on your desk.

“Yeah, my dad gave me four of the worst missions today. Just figured I’d mellow out in my room for the rest of the day.” You sighed.

“With a pot brownie?” Mark asked sitting in the edge of your bed and holding the ziploc bag containing your brownies.

“Uh-y-yeah. Well I was gonna wait til you guys left in case you didn’t need me for anything but this seemed important so I couldn’t eat one right this second.” You said nervously.

“Fuck that, this is your free time.. Mark and I have been off for a while. Let’s say we make this a group trip huh? I’ll pay you back for it later.” Rex said taking the brownies from Mark.

“I’m down, you don’t have to pay me back though Sloan. I’m content with this. Just quality time with my friends.” You said relaxing back in your bed.

You, Mark and Rex all ate a brownie, waiting for the effects to kick in.

About an hour later you were all feeling the effects. You had put some dumb chick flick on and both men were entertained. It was quiet. Mark was shirtless, with an arm wrapped around you and Rex was also shirtless laying on your chest. Before the high had kicked in you guys gave mark money to get snacks and he delivered. As you guys watched the movie, all that could be heard was the crunching of chips. Both of their bodies were keeping you extremely warm. The movie ended and all three of you were wondering what to do next.

“Basketball?” Rex offered.

“Let’s go. Me and you Rex.” Mark smirked at him.

The three of you went down into the HQ training center. Both boys were shooting hoops.

“This is boring, can we find a way to make it interesting?” Mark asked.

“Ask and you shall recieve. First one to score five shots wins a kiss from the pretty lady over there— and don’t tell me you’re not dying for a taste of that. The best things in life are things that you aren’t allowed to have.” Rex winked.

“I can reason with that as long as it’s okay with y/n.” Mark asked.

“We’ll— I don’t wanna sound desperate but I mean it’s perfectly fine with me.” You blushed. You were in fact the most desperate for this. The past flirtations between you and Mark and then you and Rex throughout your time at the GDA always got to you. Your dad always steered them both away.. well not just them, everyone—away. Mark and Rex didn’t really care, they were friends to the end. They stood up to Cecil which finally allowed you to go on missions, but Cecil drew the line at space. The old man knew better than to get between you and your friends. Yes, you loved your dad but there’s always a battle to be fought with him.

“You’re on.” Mark smirked.

Both boys played away and suddenly the score went from one to four. It was the final point for each of them.

“This one’s for you!” They both shouted together. The anticipation guided you to insanity. If Rex scored and mark felt jealous? It would ruin you. If Mark scored and Rex feel jealous? God.. it’s too much to handle. It’s okay to change your mind and everything, the boys would understand. You don’t want one without the other.

“Well looks like we’re both getting kissed. Both our baskets were made.” Mark smiled smugly.

How did you miss it? Oh well. You weren’t kissing them in the middle of the guardians hq, that would be an awkward moment you couldn’t come back from. The boys held their excitement until you all made it back to your room. Now it was really awkward for you.

“I know I’ve only gotten high with you guys once before but holy shit you look like you’re in a real predicament right now y/n.” Mark laughed.

Rex joined in on laughing, both of them were laughing a bit too hard, it was a little too contagious.

“You’re right, she’s as red as a fucking ripe ass tomato!” Rex was wheezing at this point. The laughter coming from your room was intense and anybody coming by your room could tell you were having a fun time.

You started laughing along with them and soon the laughing turned to joyous tears from your stomachs hurting so bad. After all the laughing, you rested your head on Mark’s shoulder again as you all made it back to laying on your giant bed that took up most of the room in your little box. Mark scooted you, letting you in between his legs as your back touched his chest. Mark played with your hair and Rex was up to something mischevious. Rex snuck himself under the covers, pulling down your lace panties and your pajama pants. You would have been way more alarmed in any other circumstance but for this one? You felt so at peace with both of them doing what they wanted to you. It was the best stress relief you had in a while.

Mark’s hands reached for your shirt, lifting it up off your body and kissing the back of your neck. As Rex started to eat you out your body started to tingle with numbness. The high was really intensifying all your senses. Rex’s tongue lapped and licked your little bud under the covers. To ease you, Mark grabbed onto your breasts, kneading them and kissing your neck. Rex’s grip on your hips stayed firm.

“I thought you both wanted a kiss.” You whined.

“We did, the high just feels too nice to waste on a little kiss. You getting overstimulated? I can tell by the way you’re squirming. Quit acting out.” Mark said firmly as his hands shifted positions, as one arm was now around your neck.

You whined and groaned until you started getting close, both boys were naked at this point, the temperature in the room getting hotter, the feelings more intense.. both boys were slipping in and out of you roughly as you were still whining, eventually the three of you would finish at the same time. You all hit the showers and you went back to your room in silence. Your body was now tired.

“Hey- uh.. thanks for that. If you ever wanna use me I left my number on your board.” Rex winked at you before deciding to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” You asked.

“Yeah.. unfortunately you’re not the only girl on my roster sweet cheeks.” He whistled.

“Alright, see you around.” You waved.

Well at least Rex admitted to wanting a late night booty call.

Mark walked into your room timidly.

“You leaving too?” You pouted.

“Oh stop pouting. I got you flowers. I wanna stay and cuddle. I was in space for five days I thought you’d miss me a little more.” He said.

“Now look who’s pouting.” You smirked.

Mark came into your room placing the flowers on your nightstand and laying down on top of you, his body weight giving you the utmost relief.

“I don’t want to share you again. That was a one time deal.” He complained.

“I understand, thank you for letting me experience that.” You smiled at him.

The room seemed to go quiet, you eyes started to shut and mark had one last thing on his mind.

“When are you gonna tell your dad about us?”

“Mark— go to sleep.”

[siryouarebeingmocked]

"Well, I care because it could normalize--", NOPE, STOP RIGHT THERE. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 This is a big red flag: You (much like the Anon) are exhibiting some early warning signs of Fascism, and that is not something to take lightly in the current political climate.

See, this is ironic, because you just used the term "fascism" as a generic Bad Thing. Personally, I think muh Normalization discourse is bad all on it's own, without any association with Bad Things.

I'm struggling to think of a single time it wasn't someone rationalizing their own tastes to justify censorship and/or shaming.

It's also ironic because "we need to suppress X to prevent (normalization of) Y, even if X doesn't directly cause Y" has also been the logic of many left-wing states, historically. Not to mention much support of "hate speech" laws.

And occasionally terrorists. Left or right.

If the only way you can explain how this is wrong is linking it to The Other™, you need a better argument. Because if you say a bad person is doing a thing the person you're speaking to considers good, then might end up looking less bad.

Heck, it may even weaken your position for other criticisms of the bad people. Look how many people mistrust the accusation of "Nazi" these days.

(Hint: If the answer you come up with is "Because they are moral degenerates" or anything in that neighborhood, you are unfortunately still doing fascism. Try again.

Again, this is ironic, because you are treating "fascist" as a synonym for "moral degenerate". You are literally using it as a label for crimethinkers.

Also, moral degenerates actually exist, but simply acknowledging that fact isn't the same as justifying censorship and silencing and shaming.

Buuuut if someone sounds like anon I'm going to watch what they say very closely. Balance of probabilities.

Also, 1984 was heavily about communism, not so much fascism. Turns out totalitarian regimes and their tactics and rhetoric look very similar if you take a few steps back and squint.

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[dailymanners]

With April Fool's day approaching, here are some basic prank guidelines if you want to be sure your prank isn't going too far and actually being a jerk instead of being funny:

First and foremost, definitely avoid anything that could result in bodily harm to the prankee and/or yourself.

Anything that causes severe emotional distress, like faking what would be a traumatic event if it was real. "___ died, April fool's no they didn't" or "I am divorcing you or breaking up with you, April fool's no I'm not." are cruel and going too far. If it could make them cry it's going too far.

Speaking of causing severe emotional distress, triggering phobias isn't funny. What's the difference between jumping around a corner and shouting "boo!" at your friend (who you know well enough that they'd be okay with this) vs. shoving a real live spider in the face of your arachnophobic friend while they cry and plead with you to get it away from them? With hopping around a corner and shouting "boo!" there is a second of their startle reflex being triggered, but then after a brief second of experiencing a startle reflex they quickly realize there's not actually anything to be afraid of, it's just their pal jumping and saying "boo!". With a spider in their face, that is something ongoing that is bringing them distress and alarm, if they have aracnophobia there is no "aha okay so there really is no danger" no, even if they logically know that a house spider can't actually hurt them their brain is still flooding them with "danger!! danger!!" signals and seriously distressing them, which isn't funny, and just makes you cruel and sadistic.

And speaking of "startle reflex" jokes and pranks, such as jumping out from around a corner and shouting "boo!", be careful with who you do this to. Not only do some people involuntarily hit people who startle them (so you could get yourself hurt from this), but not everyone finds these funny and in good taste. Especially if someone might have a heart condition or certain types of trauma. Sometimes close friends and family members are okay with doing these kinds of pranks to each other, but a lot of people don't like them and find them to be rude or even cruel. It would certainly be rude to do this to a stranger for the reasons listed above (potential heart conditions and/or PTSD)

Do not disrupt people trying to do their job and/or tamper with their ability to do their job. Do not call emergency services and try to prank emergency services, this could actually cost lives. Do not be mean to service workers and/or create messes and other unnecessary extra work for them. That is rude. They already have to deal with constant verbal abuse from customers all day every day and are not being paid enough to deal with that + you throwing a drink at them through the drive through window that they have to clean up now. I'm not going to say that pranking someone on the clock is always wrong/rude 100% of the time, I think there is some nuance here, especially between co-workers who are aware of each other's workload and what would be too disruptive. But you should never create extra unnecessary work for someone (such as cleaning up a mess you made) and you should never disrupt or tamper with their ability to carry out their job. And most of all, never be mean in your "pranking".

In general, a good rule of thumb for a good prank is that both the prankster and the prankee should be laughing and amused after the prank is completed and revealed. If the prank ends in only the prankster laughing and feeling amused while the prankee is upset / distressed / angry after the fact, I would personally categorize this more as bullying than pranking.

Please feel free to add on if anyone can thank of other guidelines for April Fool's pranks.

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for Vamp

A/N: You can read the rest of Ambrose story here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here.

Craving you

Minotaur [Ambrose] x fem!reader || predator/prey (light), dirty talk, edging (kinda), choking, anal fingering, degradation (light)

You’ve been craving your boyfriend’s attention.

You two have been so busy the past few days that you barely touched. Don’t get it wrong, you loved to cuddle with him, you loved how his body curled around you when at the end of the day and you spooned in bed. You loved all the affection… but you also wanted all the sex.

And you have been so fucking tired you have barely touched each other. And you were just human, okay? You didn’t ask for much, just a few (dozen) orgasms and to be fucked until your brain melted completely and you could lay there just… being.

But today is your free day, and Ambrose isn’t home. You are missing him dearly, and what does a brat when they want attention? They test it. In the form of a bunch of sexy pics in a few different lingerie sets, taking especial attention to display your… assets in every pic.

You start casually, sending him a pic of you smiling over a cup of coffee at breakfast. Then a mirror selfie without your pajama bottoms… And before you realize it’s barely noon and you are sending him topless pics with a dildo between your boobs.

He sees all your messages, but at some point he starts leaving you on read. Which can only mean two things: either he’s REALLY busy, or you are teasing his patience so much he can’t even talk to you.

And you hope it’s both.

You hope he’s aching and hard, thinking about you at home playing with yourself and how he can’t do anything about it. You want him as desperate for you as you are for him. You want him panting in need by the time he gets home. And as the hour approaches, you get bolder and bolder, sending a pic of a dildo pressing against your panties, a pic of the dildo fully inside of you, a tiny clip of you turning on the vibration and moaning… Maybe you are being a bit brattier than usual, sending the images and clips and adding messages gloating about it, like “warming your dinner” or “your dick feels a lot better than this plastic”.

But, truth be told, you are teasing yourself as much as you are teasing him, and you are eager for him to get home.

By the time he answers with a short “I’m on my way,” your insides are twisting and you can feel a spark of anxiety inside of you, but it’s rapidly overthrown by pent up excitement and anticipation. And then you have an idea. A great idea. A wonderful idea.

You take all the dirty clothes from the basket and start hiding some of them around the house, and then you find a spot where he couldn’t find you, and sit there, your body tense and your heartbeat bunny-fast. You listen carefully, your hand over your mouth, as Ambrose opens the front door and walks around the house looking for you.

You can’t see him, but you can almost taste his frustration in the air. “Sunshine… where are you?” You bite your lip not to giggle. You hear him walking around for a bit, your heart going faster and faster. “This is not funny, come out or you’ll regret it.” Yeah, right.

With each passing second you can feel the built up inside your body, and you can hear him getting more and more frustrated. It’s delicious. He grunts, surely finding another piece of dirty clothes, but not you. You can hear him getting closer, and your heartbeat is going haywire inside your chest. You feel like a prey, and you can just guess how mad he would be when he finds you.

You are so focused on being quiet that you don’t realize he’s close, and when the door of the cabinet opens you let out a high pitched screech. “You’ve been playing with fire, sunshine,” he says as he grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, your stomach pressing against his shoulder as all the air leaves your body.

He walks to the bedroom as you try to kick his chest, but he’s holding you too tight, and your face is focused on the way his ass-cheeks move. Dang, that’s a fine ass. You slap it as hard as you can, and he roars. Literally roars. You have to swallow fast before you let out a huge moan. He walks faster, your body flying through the air before you land on the bed.

He’s on top of you instantly, breathing hard. His body is almost trembling, and you can feel the energy sparkling between you two. His hand finds your neck, and he presses you down softly, careful not to make it painful, but making sure you know who’s in charge.

“You know how much I’ve been craving you? You know how hard has it been to spend all day working knowing you were home? And on top of that, you have to be a brat and send me all those pictures without a fucking care in the world. You are such a tease,” he almost spits the words out. “You don’t know what’s good. You don’t know what that does to me.”

You whimper, opening your mouth to speak, but his hand doesn’t leave your neck, not pressing, not moving, just a weight against it that makes you want to rub your thighs together.

“No, you don’t get to talk, yet. You don’t know how hard I’ve been all fucking day?” He presses his clothed dick against your panties and you whimper. “I’ve been so angry and on edge because of you that they send me home early.” He licks a stripe down your neck, next to his fingers, and your eyes roll back into your head. “And now I finally can have you,” it sounds like a threat and a promise.

He manhandles you until your knees are next to your ears and you are exposed and vulnerable, his hand never leaving your neck. “Look at that, you’ve been teasing so much all day… but you have been good, haven’t you? You didn’t come because you know it’s better when I do it, right puppy?” You whimper, nodding rapidly. “Good girl,” he praises. His finger rubs up and down your pussy, gathering some of your juices and bringing his fingers to your mouth. “Suck.” You can’t obey fast enough. “Better get them nice and sloppy, sunshine. I’m going to use them to fuck your pretty asshole until you are begging me to fuck your needy pussy.” You whimper around the fingers, pressing your tongue around them until they are wet with saliva.

He does as he promised, traveling down your body and pressing two huge fingers against your tight hole. It takes a bit for him to be able to fit inside, but when he finally pushes in… You let out a long scream that pretends to sound like his name, but is barely an incoherent moan.

“Just like that, sunshine. You take me so well, I love that you are always this desperate for me, so needy and pretty with tears running down your face. Are you going to come for me like this? Are you close?” You nod again, your eyes closing as he fucks your asshole faster. And when you are about to lose it… He stops. “Not so fast, sunshine. You’ve been teasing me all day, now it’s my turn.”

You let out a cry when he pulls his fingers out. He gets on his knees between your legs and rubs the tip of his leaking cock against your clenching center.

“Look at that, your pussy is asking for me, isn’t it? Awww, how cute!” He flicks your clit and you let out a scream of his name. He releases the hold on your neck, his hands holding your legs far apart.

“Ambrose, please…” You try to beg, your eyes teary.

He chuckles without humor. “Now you beg? After spending a whole day teasing me you want me to give in so easily? Aww, sunshine… I thought you knew better.”

He pushes his dick inside of you in one fast thrust, and if you weren’t so desperate and ready before him, it would have been painful. But it’s not, it’s just perfect, and full, and incredible. And you can’t hold yourself back from coming as soon as he starts thrusting.

But he’s beyond punishments, he’s beyond anything he said before that moment, because the second his hips start moving, he’s just a monster fucking his girlfriend. His eyes are unfocused, and you can almost taste the desperation on his lips as you devour his mouth. Is messy and fast, and completely incredible.

He fucks you like a machine, spilling his load into you after a couple thrust, but not stopping. He fucks you so full and so fast you can barely see him moving, but good damn it if you can’t feel him with every fiber of your being. He’s possessing you, he’s fucking you like his soul is being ripped away, and you can’t get enough.

Your nails digging in his back as he pushes further, deeper… He’s holding the headboard with a hand so you don’t move with his thrust, and you can’t fucking stop moaning. He’s an unrelenting beast, and you love it.

Orgasm after orgasm rip through your body, your pussy getting messier and messier with each one of your combined releases, but you don’t care. You need more. You crave more.

By the time he’s done with you, your pussy is leaking so much of his come you can feel a puddle forming under you and both of you are breathing hard. “Worth it,” you let out in a breath against his chest, where your head is resting after bouncing on his dick for what felt like an eternity in the last round.

“What would I do with you?” He chuckles, caressing your hair.

“Love me,” you whisper before your eyes close and you fall into deep slumber.

You don’t hear him whisper your name like a plea, or the way he looks down at you with adoration.

[deikshen]

The Shen Qingqiu who is kidnapped by Bingge in the post Bingge vs. Bingmei, then Shen Qingqiu decides: "oh, okay. You want me, you'll have me, you little shit."

And he turns into the absolute troll. He takes all he can out of being little shit on the internet, his spoiled rich kid days, scathing criticism. He even abandons the appearance of an elegant immortal master, he turns into chaos and a pain in the ass for Luo Bingge.

He gives women's liberation speeches to the harem wives, and more than half of them file for divorce, convinced that their marriages were a legal sham. He brings chaotic monsters to the inner garden saying they are harmless puppies (for Shen Qingqiu they are!!!) and spends coffers and coffers of gold paying servants to do things like learn modern songs and play them randomly in the demon court, or just spending it on little things that he's clearly getting ripped off on purpose.

He even argues with Bingge himself !! about his marital decisions, how disgusting Xin Mo is, his horrible taste in decorations, that can't solve everything with sex and blood. Strategy!!! Wasn't he at the peak of strategists for a reason!??

He also turns into a spoiled bitch. He demands extremely specific meals that must be made by Bingge, takes two bites, and (lies) that his Bingmei's meals are better. He demands to have fans made of a specific, very expensive material only to beat Bingge with them until they are ruined every time he does something Shen Qingqiu doesn't like. The finest silks in his robes, which also end up ruined when he runs through the gardens after short-haired beasts. The best jewels of the crown arrangement... For Shen Qingqiu to use to break the beads and play with them inside a cloth bag as a "stress reliever".

He intervenes in sessions of the demonic court, devastates everyone with hostile comments, humiliates and insults everyone. He's more of a bitch than cruel, slightly sinister, excessively spoiled. Ha!! As if Bingge could stand that. He'll give it back as soon as he loses enough patience!!

...

... Contrary to Shen Qingqiu's plans to completely scare away Luo Bingge, everything he does, the chaos he becomes, the headache he definitely is, only makes Luo Bingge wants him more.

When Bingmei comes to rescue him with a reforged Xin Mo and a lot of anger, Bingge comes to him and says: "How do you deal with all his whims? How do you keep him entertained without him getting bored and causing chaos? You can't really do it alone!!! I'll come with you and help to please Shizun!!!"

Bingmei has no idea what whims thing his counterpart is talking about. As Bingge further begins to tell him (with absolute fascination) all the things that kind Shizun has done, how he has behaved... Oh boy, Bingmei is SO jealous!!

How come he hasn't had the chance to see him like this!? How his Shizun, his beloved, doesn't allow him to see that side of him!?

And Bingge, that awful, shitty imposter!!! That enormous privilege of spoiled Shizun only should be his!!! Bingmei takes a deep breath, and, determined to make a deal with the devil if necessary, decides he needs to see his Shizun be a brat.

... Then maybe he can act a little like... Bingge. Just for a little while. Just to watch Shizun like this until he realizes he would come to rescue him. Bingge allows him to pretend to be himself on the condition that Bingmei allows him to visit their Shizun in their own world... Just to spoil him.

Bingmei chews over the option and reluctantly accepts it, as long as he doesn't try to kiss or touch his Shizun ("without his consent" Bingge insists. "If Shizun asks for it, this one will do it.")

So, Bingmei just... behaves like Bingge. He wears half gloves to hide the scar on his hand, and approaches Shizun only to be treated like a little shit, mocked, criticized and watch Shizun run after a wild thunder bird of prey, offering... Rats? Shizun is holding dead rats with his bare hands!? Walking barefoot on the grass!? And he is so free, so loose, so little from the distant immortal master that Bingmei has to escape so as not to fall on his knees, hug him and cry.

He'll definitely make his Shizun feel that free with him too, damn imposter who somehow got there first!!! And Bingge just watches him collapse, gives him a pat on the back and a look that is, simply and foolishly, his own.

Obsessed with Shizun. Adoring him. Wanting to please him. Wanting to fulfill his whims, allowing him everything, accepting everything for him. His word is law and his decision is truth. If Shizun strikes, it's a pleasure; if Shizun insults, it's a gift. Because Shizun also can't help being sweet, kind, concerned, and because they've both fallen so hard that Bingmei can't even get angry. Which version of him wouldn't fall to his Shizun, is the real question?

They'll spoil Shizun. And Bingmei will find a way for his Shizun to be that free even with him. And he will get that!! No matter what he has to do about it! Even if he has to keep pretending to be the imposter Bingge until he learn what made Shizun break free so much, he'll have the freedom from Shizun to be as critical and spoiled as he deserves!!!

[crushpunky]

kook!reader walks rafe like a dog

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

based on this ask :)

The music blared from the oversized speakers, the sea of teenagers and young adults scattered across the Boneyard moving along with each pound of the base. Y/n hadn’t really wanted to go to this party tonight, having already spent the whole day helping her mother plan her upcoming garden parties. After running to about five flower shops to see if they carried the exact flowers her mother wanted, searching downtown for a dress that fit the extremely specific dress code, and spending an hour tasting scones and tea cakes she could barely tell the difference between, the last thing y/n wanted to do was go to some loud, crowded party with a bunch of drunk kids.

However, after about an hour of Rafe’s insistent nagging (which showed no signs of slowing down), she relented. So, y/n, Rafe, Topper, and Kelce crowded into Topper’s Jeep before setting off for the Boneyard. Luckily, Topper had drawn the short straw as DD, so y/n could at least drink her worries about garden parties or, god forbid, college applications away.

Y/n found herself chatting with some girl from high school she hadn’t seen in a while (her name was Rachel, she thought), the two of them falling into a casual conversation as they swayed to the music. Y/n adjusted her bikini top, the fabric digging harshly into her skin as she took a sip of the drink Rafe had made her (he was the only one who could make her drinks, he insisted), finishing off the alcoholic concoction before dumping the ice into the sand.

“You want a refill?” Rafe said, suddenly appearing next to y/n in the sea of people. He wore an unbuttoned shirt, the fabric falling open to expose his muscled torso as he threw his arm over her shoulders in the crowded space. Y/n peered up at him, her eyes lingering on the slight flush in his cheeks and cheesy grin on his lips, evidence of the alcohol in his system.

“Sure. Thank you, boy.” Y/n grinned, handing Rafe her cup. He took it, pressing a kiss to the top of y/n’s head before disappearing into the crowd. Y/n giggled, shaking her head slightly. Rafe was naturally a very touchy person, but when he got drunk he tended to be a bit more affectionate, always hugging, pressing kisses to cheeks, or grabbing at hands. It was just how he was, even if y/n wished deep down it meant something more than drunken touches. So, brushed it off before returning her attention back to Rachel.

“So… how long have you guys been together?” Rachel asked, taking a sip of her drink with a raise of her brows. 

“Oh, haha, we’re not together.” Y/n said, fiddling with a strand of her hair as she peered out into the crowd. She rose up onto her tiptoes, hoping to see Rafe’s buzzed head that usually stood a measured distance above everyone else.

“Really?” Rachel said. “I mean— I probably shouldn’t say this— but like everyone in high school was just waiting for the two of you to finally get together.”

Y/n chuckled nervously. She wasn’t completely oblivious to the whispers and rumors that floated around their high school and the rest of Kildare. I mean, hell, they even existed in her own house, her mother occasionally asking questions about her romantic life that usually ended up being about Rafe.

“Well, we’re just friends.” Y/n nodded, gnawing on her bottom lip. The two girls fell into silence, awkwardly swaying to the music until multiple shouts pierced through the air. Y/n’s head, along with everyone else's, immediately whipped around to the circle forming within the crowd of people. Y/n didn’t have to see who was involved, she felt it in her stomach as she began shoving through teenagers. As she pushed back Topper and Kelce, the two of them exchanged glances, but ultimately let her through.

“Nah, what the fuck did you say?!” Rafe shouted, grasping onto the front of some dude's shirt. The guy's eyes were wide, the color completely drained from his face as he held his hands up.

“I– I didn’t– it was just—” The boy stammered, Rafe staring sharply at him, his jaw clenched as he shook the boy harshly.

“Rafe Cameron!” Y/n snapped as she finally broke through the crowd of people. Rafe’s head whipped to the side, immediately releasing his grip on the boy's collar, but not before shoving him to the ground. The boy hit the sand with a groan, his back hitting the sand merely inches from where Topper and Kelce stood with scared expressions on their faces.

“Y/n, what—” Rafe started, wiping his hands on his shorts as y/n scowled at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Y/n said harshly, the crowd of people letting out a chorus of murmurs and chuckles as she scolded Rafe. Rafe opened his mouth to speak, his eyes darting around at the sea of onlookers, before he looked back at y/n.

“I wasn’t— he fuckin’ deserved it!” Rafe scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he let out a shrug. Y/n’s eyes narrowed further, her jaw clenching. It looked like she was going to say something back, some snappy retort about Rafe being a meathead or that he deserved to be slapped, but she didn’t. Without another word, y/n turned on her heels with a huff. She dove back into the crowd, pushing her way through.

“Y/n, what— where the fuck are you going?!” Rafe shouted, immediately moving to follow her. He shoved through the crowd, ignoring the snickers and muttered comments as he ran after y/n’s departing form.

“Where is she going?” Topper murmured, following Rafe and y/n, Kelce on his heels.

Once y/n broke free from the crowd, she kept walking away from the sand where the partygoers' cars lined the road. However, instead of going to Topper’s car (or anyone else’s for that matter), she just walked out onto the road and kept walking, arms crossed across her chest.

“Y/n, hey, stop!” Rafe said, finally catching up to y/n. She continued walking down the road, eyes fixed squarely on the road ahead of her.

“Hey, hey! Where the fuck are you going?” Rafe said, grasping onto her forearm. He attempted to stop her, but she quickly jerked free from his hold.

“I’m going home!” Y/n snapped.

“You’re walking the wrong fuckin way.” Rafe sighed. Y/n stopped for a second, Rafe letting out a snicker before she turned around, continuing her angry walk in the opposite direction.

“Seriously? You don’t even know what happened back there.” Rafe said, falling into step with her as the two of them walked along the road. Y/n rolled her eyes.

“Well, I know that you started another fight after you promised me you’d cut that shit out.” Y/n snapped, scowling at Rafe as he ran hand down his face with a scoff.

“I didn’t start shit, a’ight?” Rafe said, pointing at y/n harshly. “That guy was talking shit about you and I stepped in, ok? I did. I stepped in and put an end to that shit.”

Y/n blinked harshly, her eyes darting to meet Rafe’s as he raised his eyebrows with a cocky nod.

“You shouldn’t be getting into fights over me, no matter what people say.” Y/n shrugged, snapping her eyes forward.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Rafe said, grabbing onto y/n’s arm and turning her to stop and face him. His other hand grasped her opposite arm as he crouched down to meet her eyes. Y/n tried to avoid his stern gaze, but eventually relented, meeting his eyes with a sigh.

“That’s my job, ok? It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re ok, and I’m more than happy to do it because I care about you.” Rafe said, shaking y/n’s arms lightly as he spoke.

“It’s— it’s not your job, Rafe, I can take care of myself.” Y/n murmured, to which Rafe let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah but you don’t have to do it by yourself, a’ight? That’s what friends are for… and I’m one hell of a friend.” Rafe sighed, straightening out as he relinquished his grasp on y/n’s arms. He flung his arm over her shoulders, bringing her into his side. With a sigh, y/n snaked her arm around his torso. The two of them walked back down the road side by side in silence for a moment.

“So, you’ve given up on walking back, then?” Rafe smirked, causing y/n to shove him away playfully.

“Only because these shoes are uncomfortable and I don’t want blisters.” Y/n said as a pair of headlights appeared. The familiar screech of Topper’s tires skidded across the pavement as he came to a stop next to y/n and Rafe.

“You gonna come with us willingly or will we have to kidnap you?” Kelce said, leaning out from the passenger seat of Topper’s Jeep. Y/n groaned as she and Rafe approached the car, the boys letting out a round of chuckles as she willfully climbed in.

[hazbinhotei]

curing a hangover.

read part one here

warnings/tags: reader is hungover, alastor being a little shit, cunnilingus, P-in-V penetration, minor olfactophilia and dacryphilia if you look hard enough

word count: 6292

summary: The aftermath of one drunken night leaves you reeling—and Alastor surprisingly eager to help you recover in the most intimate way imaginable.

alastor x f!reader. my first ever smut fic, so please be gentle with me, my darlings. i did not expect this fic to end up so long but i really just had such a hard time diving straight into smut without some more interactions between reader and alastor—i love me some character building! i've always been a MDNI account, but especially in this instance—minors kindly go away!

It wasn’t just the hangover.

Though to be fair, the hangover was its own personal Hell—screaming behind your eyes like a banshee with a megaphone, and your stomach doing acrobatics that defied several laws of physics. Your mouth tasted like someone had poured sand into a blender with regret and served it lukewarm. Your soul felt wrinkled.

Even the walls of the hotel seemed to wince when you staggered into the kitchen, hoodie up, sunglasses on, and death in your eyes.

(The sunglasses indoors was definitely an active choice, a mental wave of a white flag as you hoped and prayed no one in this damned hotel would bring up the fact that you were so publicly caught snogging the Radio Demon less than 24 hours ago. At least, not bring it up while the tempest in your head demanded you rip apart the first demon who dared to piss you off this morning.)

No one dared speak to you. Husk took one look and slid the coffee pot across the counter like a peace offering before vanishing away down the hall. Niffty, bless her overly cheery heart, started to chirp a greeting—saw your face—and made a hard left turn, muttering something about reorganizing the mold drawer. Even Angel Dust tiptoed around you. Angel. A man who routinely did lines of coke on the lobby dining table at 2AM. He gave you a once-over and simply nodded in solemn solidarity.

But of course—it wasn’t just the hangover.

Of course.

The one person immune to your carefully cultivated aura of “speak and perish” was him.

Smug. Pristine. Radiant. Like he hadn't spent last night flirting with alcohol poisoning just to egotistically one-up you in a drinking game that he proposed you two play. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in sight. Wearing that damn bowtie like he’d earned it.

He didn’t just walk into the kitchen. No—he waltzed in, humming a cheery little tune and radiating danger in four-part harmony. You ignored him, continuing to stir your coffee, hoping he would show you some pity to at least not bother you for the first few hours of the day. But of course he wouldn’t. He was Alastor, of course.

You felt him before you saw him. That chilling presence sliding in behind you, brushing too close, violating several unspoken rules about personal space and hangover protocol. You felt your bloodshot eyes twitch, whether that be from the hangover or the Sinner standing right behind you, you weren’t sure. Inhaling slowly, you continued to look at the caramel-colored beverage in front of you, once more praying to any deity out there that perhaps you were just imagining his presence.

"Good morning, darling!" he purred, like your skull wasn't splitting open. "Sleep well?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Not when your entire existence was currently held together with willpower and lukewarm coffee. You weren’t planning to reply at all until he cleared his throat—clearly waiting.

You swore the mug cracked in your hand. “…I had a dream that I died. Peacefully. In my sleep. You ruined it.” 

He chuckled, that low, musical hum that scraped up your spine and took residence in your brain like a catchy song you couldn’t get rid of. "Such vivid dreams. I do hope I was in them."

Despite your irritation, your stomach fluttered at his soft tone, the vocal static accompaniment absent as sincerity intertwined with his usual mirth. You turned slowly, craning your neck to look at him through your sunglasses. Pursing your lips, you watched him through the tinted lenses. “You know, I think I like this color palette of you more.”

Alastor’s eyes seemed to narrow when you lifted your chin up defiantly, a deep rumble of satisfaction emitting from his chest. “Ah, but chère, now I can’t see those lovely eyes of yours!”

He leaned down to remove the sunglasses, his long fingers brushing against your temple a bit too gently for your liking. You were about to protest before Alastor ripped the glasses off your face, your frown twisting to hiss like a vampire as you shut your eyes tightly in a failed attempt to shield yourself from the light. “Alastor! What the fuck!”

He only laughed at your pain, dropping the sunglasses on the counter behind you and covering your upper face with his large palms. You continued to shut your eyes after the light behind your eyelids disappeared, not daring to open them and face the sadistic asshole in front of you. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Open your eyes, chère.” You shivered at the sudden proximity of his voice, his breath tickling your right ear as you involuntarily swallowed. You weren’t sure why you necessarily listened to Alastor, but as your eyes hesitantly fluttered open, you realized you weren’t in the headache-inducing bright lights of the hotel kitchen. No, you were suddenly greeted by plush red cotton sheets, pupils adjusting to the dim glow of soft green lights littering the walls. 

You glanced around, realizing quickly you were in a hotel room. Not any hotel room—Alastor’s. You jolted up from the bed, wincing as you moved a little too fast for your hangover’s liking. “Alastor, why exactly am I in your bed?”

Your eyes landed on Alastor standing by his desk, coat discarded on the loveseat next to him, fingers starting to undo his bowtie. You practically short-circuited at the scene, your cheeks turning a bright red as you blinked in surprise. “Al, what is going on?”

“Why, I’m here to cure your hangover, dearest,” he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused, trying to make sense of the current situation you were in—which was not giving you much to work with. Your brows furrowed. “And exactly how do you plan on helping?”

He hummed softly, placing his bowtie on the table as he approached your spot on the bed. “By getting in bed with you.” 

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing up air as you gave him an incredulous look. “What?!”

“Oh please, nothing will come of this encounter if you don’t wish for anything to happen. I’m simply trying to help in any way I can.” He sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you as he waved his hand over the other, a tall glass of water appearing in it.

You were too surprised by the turn of events to comprehend his statement, throat suddenly dry by the glorious cup of water practically dangling in front of you. He sighed once more, rolling his eyes as he handed you the glass. “Drink up.”

You snatched the cup with both hands and downed it, gulping so fast it nearly splashed back up your nose. Your eyes closed as you sigh in relief, your body an ounce better than it was before as you passed him the glass. Though you still had a raging headache, your eyes weren’t throbbing from any bright lights nor were you unknowingly suffering from dehydration now. 

“Would you like another one?” Alastor hums softly, watching your pacified expression. You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at Alastor. He was watching you with surprising patience, his smile small but genuine. You pause a moment to observe him, him merely doing the same as you meet his glowing stare. Those damn eyes—blood-red, always gleaming with mischief. But now, as he stared at you with uncharacteristic softness, you couldn’t help but get flashbacks from the way he watched you the entire time last night.

You inhaled through your nose, groaning as your moment of peace is suddenly interrupted by the remembrance of last night’s affairs. "...Are we going to bring it up or not?"

Alastor took a second to think, brow raising in confusion when he didn’t understand what you were talking about. "Bring what up, dear?"

You stared, huffing at him in exasperation. "The kiss, Alastor. Are we just gonna pretend that didn’t happen?"

His smile froze, ears twitching faintly—as if caught off by the thought of it as well. Then, just as quickly, he lit up like you’d handed him a fresh corpse wrapped in a bow and sealed with a kiss.

“Oh, that!” he chirped. “Heavens, no. I’d never forget something so…” He paused, his eyes dragging slowly—lazily—down your face. “…tantalizing!”

A sharp inhale slipped through your nostrils. You visibly recoiled, your face now a dangerous shade of crimson. “Tantalizing?!” you sputtered.

His smile turned downright wicked, lips curling upward. He leaned forward to set the empty glass on the bedside table, the movement smooth, casual. But your eyes betrayed you—snagging mid-motion, drawn down to the curve of his back, the subtle shift of fabric over lean muscle.

And then you saw it.

Somehow—somehow—you had missed it before. Blame the hangover. Blame the shock. Blame the fact that your brain was probably still rebooting from the whole appearing-in-Alastor’s-bed thing. But now that your gaze had landed on it, there was no un-seeing it.

The harness.

A jet-black leather harness wrapped around his broad chest, completely visible now that he was sans his usual red coat. Despite just drinking water, your throat suddenly felt extremely dry. You tore your staring upward like a Sinner yanking their hand from a Bible.

Too late.

He was already watching you. And oh, he was delighted.

His smile widened by degrees. His eyelids dipped into a half-lidded stare, slow and heavy with implication. There was no point pretending. Between your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes had lingered a millisecond too long, you may as well have been holding a neon sign that read: I JUST OGLED THE RADIO DEMON.

He savored your expression. A content hum rumbled in his chest, not quite a purr—but close.

“I do wonder, though,” he mused, voice dropping to a velvety murmur, “was it only the liquor?” His head tilted again, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “Or...”—He leaned in slightly, just enough to send your pulse scattering—“would you still taste as sweet sober?”

Your eyes widened by the shift in his attitude, clearly feeling confident from your little staring mishap. Swallowing, you folded your arms, trying not to give into his very tempting flirting. “Alastor,” you warned, your tone brittle, “I’m five seconds away from tearing that smug expression off your face.”

“If that’ll help your hangover, by all means.”

You paused, confused if his words were another jest or genuine. “What?”

“I told you,” he said, gesturing innocently, “I’m here to cure your hangover. Whichever way you find fit.”

You blinked at him. Hard. The silence stretched. Finally, you squinted, hugging your crossed arms harder against your body with a slow, suspicious edge. “You’re messing with me.”

His brows raised in mock innocence. “Moi? Never. In fact…” he paused, his tone shifting just slightly—less cheek, more earnest, like the static had dialed down a notch. “I realize I’ve put you in quite the precarious situation. One that now, unfortunately, involves the rest of the hotel bearing witness. And for that”—He gave a faint, ironic bow of his head—“I do apologize.”

The cogs in your head churned in overtime to try and understand the current situation. 

You somehow were sitting in the middle of the Radio Demon’s bed, being pampered by that very demon himself, because he wanted to apologize? The very concept was laughable, and you especially found this whole thing unnecessary when it was simply a drunken mistake.

(Not to mention that you enjoyed every second of being in Alastor’s lap. How were you ever going to forget that intoxicating smell of cedarwood and death?)

You forced away your drifting thoughts, looking at him with a raised brow. “You’re doing all this to apologize? Really? All you did was kiss me.”

Alastor’s lips twitched, like he was resisting the urge to grin wider. It was a losing battle.

“Correction, dear,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “You kissed me first.”

Your jaw dropped at how he completely ignored your question, instead focusing on your word choice. You scoffed, once again scandalized. “While wasted! That doesn’t count!”

“Ah,” he mused, tapping his chin as though pondering the secrets of the universe. “Then perhaps we should try again.”

You stiffened, throat catching at how he spoke so easily. His voice still held that familiar playful edge—but beneath it, something was shifting. The air thickened. His grin didn't widen this time. Instead, it softened, just a touch. Like he was testing the waters. 

His eyes flicked across your face—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. When he spoke next, the room felt smaller somehow. Quieter. You could hear the gentle hum of the fire in the hearth, blending seamlessly with the low radio static emitting off Alastor, the mattress creaking as he leaned a fraction closer.

“Why, I don’t do this often, you know,” he murmured, the static in his voice dimmed as he almost gave you a bashful look.

Your brows furrowed.

“And I realize,” he continued slowly, almost cautiously, “our unfortunate interruption last night may have left… desires unfinished for you.”

His eyes searched yours, expression unreadable. But his voice—oh, his voice—held the kind of vulnerability that cracked through your defenses like light under a locked door.

“I’m here to help.”

You blinked at him, stunned. The words didn’t even register at first—not fully. Not until they echoed in your chest a second time.

“…Wow,” you managed, trying to keep your tone light, deflecting with a slight teasing huff. “How noble, Alastor.” You bit your lip at how Alastor’s gaze studied every detail of your expression like a hunter, his lips thinning as if he was waiting for more from you—a challenge wrapped in silk.

You swallowed down your nerves, catching on the way his intertwined fingers twitched in his lap. “...Did it leave unfinished desires… for you?”

He stilled, his eyelids dropping as he took in a deep inhale at your words. And when he looked at you again, there was no mask. His smile had turned into something so hesitant—so faint that it barely registered in your mind as a smile at all, the corners of his mouth barely upturned. A long, soft silence filled the room as he looked at you with such intensity, you forgot how to breathe.

“I’d be lying,” he said, voice suddenly deep and sure, “if I said I am not undoubtedly yours, ma chère.”

The world stopped. Your breath caught. The heat that had been simmering under your skin now rushed to the surface, electric and dizzying. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled. You hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

The man sitting in front of you was one of Hell’s most feared Overlords, a man who had crumbled the strongest of demons. And yet, he was also a man who had just confessed his feelings for you, just hours after french kissing you in a drunken stupor. Sure, Alastor had always seemed to be kinder to you than to anyone else in the hotel, but you had always just brushed that off to be mere acceptance of your presence—not a fondness for it.

Alastor simply waited patiently for your reply, legs crossed politely over the edge of the bed as he twisted his body to face you. His ears were flat against his head, his thumb tapping against his skin in a small display of nerves. And Satan help you, your heart surged at the sight like a moth to a flame.

“I—” you started, voice breathy. But as your brain failed to come up with a response, you didn’t try to say anything else.

You just leaned in, cupping his cheeks with your palms as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. The gesture was familiar. But this time—unlike the inebriated mess of a kiss you’d given him last night—you had the decency to pull back. The radio static in the room swelled, the old radio on one of Alastor’s shelves crackling to life, playing a charming jazz melody.

“Dare I presume that’s your way of telling me you share the same sentiments toward me, darling?” Alastor chuckled, pulling his hands away from his lap to lean in closer to you.

Before you could react, Alastor had leaned in close once more, stealing another kiss from your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle in response, “Yes, you ass.” You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, your eyes twinkling with joy. “I’d hope you’d think I’m better than to just snog any demon in the lobby, drunk or not.”

Alastor’s grin turned sly, humming in satisfaction at your words. You gasped as he pushed you down onto the bed, your body bouncing gently as you found yourself now facing upwards. Your mind blanked at the sight of Alastor popping off his shoes, rolling off the leather harness with practiced ease. He climbed onto the bed alongside you, draping a casual arm around your body as he laid beside you. 

“Oh, I knew your kiss seemed too passionate for me to be just a passing fancy,” Alastor teased, “Good news is that I’ve found a lasting obsession with having your lips on mine.”

He didn’t wait for you to react as he leaned in to kiss you once more, this time harder. You sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer. His hand found the side of your waist, firm but not forceful, fingers splaying like he was grounding himself in the moment. His lips were warm, steady, moving against yours with a relaxed confidence that stood in sharp contrast to the rushed, sloppy kisses from the night before.

And oh, the effect it had on you.

You shifted instinctively, hand coming up to bury your fingers into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. He hummed at the contact, the sound reverberating against your lips—low and pleased, a static buzz of delight that thrummed in your chest.

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, nose brushing yours, and for a fleeting second you forgot what air was. His lips parted slightly, inviting you to meet him halfway, and when your tongues brushed, your breath hitched. That was all he needed to hear.

“Mmm… positively divine,” Alastor murmured as he pulled away just enough to catch your dazed expression. His smile was lazy now, lopsided and glowing with something deeper than amusement. “You make the air taste sweeter, chérie.”

“Flatter me more, why don’t you,” you teased breathlessly, though your voice came out more of a whimper than anything else. He chuckled, deep and velvety, as he leaned in again—no room left for anything between you now but fabric and heat.

This time, it was slower. 

Less fire, more honey. His kisses dragged along your lips like he had all the time in Hell to savor you—and damn, it felt like he would. He brushed his nose along your cheekbone, feathered kisses down to your jaw, then up again as you curled into his touch, the edge of your thigh sliding along his leg. His velveteen hand traced gentle circles at your hip, occasionally slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie just far enough to let you feel the scalding contact of skin against skin. But he never pushed. Never rushed.

Instead, he lingered like a melody stuck on a loop, exploring the shape of your lips with his own, pressing kisses that grew longer, needier, then softer again. He was addicted, drunk on your taste, his usual collected composure starting to become carnally hungry as he continued his kisses.

“You’re… you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” you asked, giggling between kisses as you tried to catch your breath.

Alastor nipped at your lower lip, grinning devilishly. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a fond growl, “not unless you ask me to. But I do hope you won’t, because I am utterly enchanted.”

Again and again, he kissed you, each one a little different than the last—some chaste, some daring, all brimming with a dangerous kind of tenderness that made your body warm up. And in between those kisses, he whispered little nothings: praises, teases, threats of affection so sweet they made your toes curl.

By the time he finally pulled away, just barely, your lips were swollen, your face flushed, and your heart? Utterly, stupidly his.

“Stars above,” you mumbled, dazed and breathless. “You really do like kissing me.”

He laughed, brushing his nose against yours once more, eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

You were going to fire back something clever—something cocky, maybe flirty—but the words fizzled out the moment his hand slipped beneath your hoodie.

Fingertips ghosted over your waist, your body shivering at how soft his hands were. The contrast of his sharp claws against your delicate skin made your spine tense, a soft gasp slipping from your parted lips—and Alastor felt it. He smirked against your mouth, already chasing another kiss before you could even process the last one. He shifted beside you, rolling slowly until he was caging you in from above with his large frame.

Teeth grazed your bottom lip, not rough—teasing. His tongue slipped past your lips, curling against yours with surprising precision, like he was memorizing the shape of your hunger. You moaned before you could stop yourself, thighs instinctively shifting beneath him. He groaned in response, low and guttural, barely restrained, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like thunder waiting to crack open the sky.

“Dearest,” he purred, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to your chin, then your throat, then just above your collarbone. “Those little noises of yours are going to drive me mad very easily.” He pulled away for a second, looking down at you as his red locks surrounded your peripheral vision—it was just you and him in this moment. 

“Is… is this something you want?”

You felt his hand rub circles into your stomach soothingly, his eyes searching yours to make sure every bit of your being wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You can’t help but laugh at the uncharacteristic sweetness of it all, shaking your head gently beneath him. “Who would have thought the Radio Demon was so respectful in bed?”

“Why, I am a Southern gentleman after all, sweetheart!” He drawled, his smile widening at your teasing remark. “But tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop immediately. No matter how hard it’ll be to—quell my hunger.” He finished his sentence with a sharp nip at your neck, making you involuntarily squeak at the pinch.

You hummed, intertwining your hands into his hair. “Thank you for the concerns, but I promise this is everything I want.” 

He groaned at the way you scratched his scalp, his ears twitching from the feeling. You smirked at the starry look he gave you, his lips once more meeting yours. Your eyelids shut as you mewled into the kiss, Alastor’s hands returning to underneath your hoodie with more need. Your breath started to shorten as his hands hesitantly reached higher and higher, your chest rising and lowering faster.

His hands cupped your breasts, your thighs instinctively pushing together as you felt your head spin from the contact. You had to withdraw from the kiss, gasping for air as Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes. He leaned down to kiss your neck instead, his fangs nibbling softly as he fondled your chest with such tenderness. You gasped when his thumbs rubbed against your nipples, and you felt Alastor grin against your skin as they peaked under his touch. 

Every caress of his sent a jolt of fire straight to your core, the heat between your legs growing. You were sure you were starting to seep through your panties, the room a thousand degrees hotter with how Alastor was groping your body. 

“You feel like sin,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I could get drunk off the heat of you alone.”

Before you could reply, Alastor removed his hands from your breasts, leaning back on his knees to pull you forward in a searing kiss. You were temporarily winded from the sudden movement, sitting up as you desperately tried to match his pace. His hands gripped the hem of your hoodie, lifting it up over your head as goosebumps littered your skin from the sudden exposure. He discarded the material somewhere off the bed, pushing you down once more as his hungry mouth met the skin of your chest.

You moaned out his name, your hands carding through his locks again as his tongue swirled around your left nipple. His thumb stimulated your right nipple in similar fashion, your eyes glazing over as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His mouth detached from your mound, going lower and lower as he continued to fondle your breasts. Wet kisses were placed in a trail down your stomach, his mouth hesitating right at the top of your shorts. He glanced up at you, your core clenching at the way he locked eyes with you before pulling down your shorts and panties in one steady go.

Alastor wasted no time pulling your thighs apart, your cheeks suddenly warm at being completely exposed to him. He had you spread out like a decadent offering, laid bare before him, your body instinctively trying to fight the vulnerable position. You struggled in his grip, his strong hands holding the bottom of your thighs steady as you tried to push them together once more. Your stomach coiled in embarrassment when he took a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal. “Alastor—”

Your complaint was lodged in your throat as your eyes landed on his expression. His pupils were blown wide, grin parted, as though the image of you—dripping, glistening with need—was something sacred. One of his hands moved to gently spread your lips, and his thumb ghosted over your clit with maddening care, pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“My, my…” he breathed. “So wet already. And all for me.”

And then, without further warning—he devoured you.

His mouth latched onto you with terrifying precision, tongue flicking in fast, deliberate strokes against your clit while his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed. The sensation was immediate—sharp, electric, almost as if a wire had been connected straight from your core to your spine. You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you, kept you right where he wanted you.

“Easy now,” he murmured against you, voice muffled but amused. “Let me take my time.”

You were soaked—and he seemed to love it, moaning softly as his tongue dipped down to taste everything. He licked up your arousal like it was nectar, slow and indulgent, before circling back to your clit and sucking, gently at first—then harder. The lewd sounds of Alastor’s mouth mixed with the faint love song crackling from the radio, your eyes rolling to the back of your head from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Your back arched. Your hands tugged on hair behind his ears, desperate for more. He groaned when you pulled on him—deep and vibrating against your sensitive flesh. The sensation made you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“Th-that—Alastor—fuck—” You lifted one of your arms to cover your eyes, your face burning hot from the shameful sounds Alastor was eliciting from you. 

A shadowy tendril wrapped around your wrist, pulling your forearm off of your eyes. He pulled away only briefly, his mouth slick with your juices, a feral grin splitting his lips.

“Oh darling,” he purred, voice thick, eyes gleaming. “Don’t shy away from me.”

Then he buried himself in you once more.

His tongue moved with devilish skill—flicking, circling, pressing in just the right rhythm, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing at your entrance before easing inside you. One. Then two. Slow, curling motions that had your entire body clenching around him. You felt Alastor finger you with precision, the faint reminder of his pointed nails against your walls made your head spin. He could tear you apart in an instant, and yet here he was, devoting himself to giving you nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He fucked you with his fingers and licked you like a man starved—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. He’d groan when you moaned. Chuckle darkly when you cursed. Murmur “that’s it, my sweet, give in” when your hips started grinding against his mouth.

You were unraveling—gasping, writhing, begging for something you couldn’t name. The pressure was building exponentially, and you could barely form a thought beyond more more please don’t stop—

And he didn’t.

He knew. He felt the way your body tensed, the way your cries grew higher, the way your legs tried to close around his head—he pressed his free hand to your stomach, grounding you, keeping you open and his.

“Come for me, chère,” he whispered into your skin, voice thick and reverent. “Let me taste it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, snapping the invisible rubber band inside your stomach. You shattered with a cry, your orgasm hitting you like a storm, thighs trembling violently as your entire body curved off the bed. Alastor held you through it, lapping up every drop, groaning with delight as he worked you through the high with soft, slow licks until you were twitching, sensitive, your hands weakly trying to push him away. 

“Al—Alastor, too much,” You whimpered pathetically, your hands softly pushing him away from your overstimulated core. He finally pulled back, chin dripping with a mix of his saliva and your wetness, eyes black and gleaming.

And he smiled.

That big, sharp, genuine smile.

“So sweet,” he sighed, voice dreamy as he kissed your trembling thigh. “I could gorge myself on you for hours and still crave more, dearest.”

You were too blissed out to answer—just a panting, whimpering mess beneath him.

He crawled up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your chest. And when he finally reached your lips again, he kissed you with the same mouth that had just ruined you—and you didn’t even hesitate to return it.

You could taste yourself on him.

Alastor cradled your face in his hand, brushing your sweaty hair back gently, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Still with me, ma douce?” 

His voice vibrated against your lips, his hands coming up to his neck to quickly unbutton his shirt. His hands moved with practiced accuracy, your body still regaining strength from your orgasm. You glanced down at the strain in his slacks, your mouth watering at the sight of just how badly he needed relief. Withdrawing only enough to stand at the foot of the bed, he dragged his belt open with a snap that made your stomach flip.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” he asked, even as he slid his trousers down his hips, freeing himself.

You nodded instantly, but your breath caught in your throat once your gaze landed on his member. He was long. Thick. Already dripping at the tip from how hard he was, how worked up you’d made him just from tasting you. His cock curved slightly upward, pulsing with anticipation as he crawled back over you, guiding himself to your entrance with one slow, grinding drag of his tip along your still-sensitive folds.

“Alastor, stop teasing.” You hissed as he continued brushing the head of his cock against your wet slit. A deep hum of amusement escaped his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he relished the way your lips invited him in.

When he pushed in—it was slow. Torturously slow. Stretching you inch by inch, making your mouth fall open with a sound that bordered on a sob. You were still so aroused, your walls fluttering, clenching down on him as he eased deeper.

“Ohhh, fuck—” you gasped, legs trembling.

Alastor groaned—really groaned—his voice breaking for just a moment as your warmth enveloped him fully. You clenched around him as he hissed out your name like a prayer.

“You feel—divine,” he growled, his composure splintering as his hips finally pressed flush against yours. “Like you were made to take me.”

He stayed there for a moment buried to the hilt, before pulling back and thrusting in again with a force that made your body jolt up the bed. The rhythm started hard and deep—slow but intentional, like he was trying to imprint himself into every inch of you. There was no frantic rutting, no careless pace. Every thrust was a symphony of tension and release. Your moans came unbidden, rising with every grind of his hips, every brush of his pelvis against your overstimulated clit.

And Alastor loved it.

He drank up your reactions as if it were ambrosia, glowing red eyes fixed on your face, on the way you gasped and cried out, on the way your nails clawed at his back. Your sounds were music to his ears, your blissed out expression making his dick twitch. You looked thoroughly fucked, Alastor’s chest swelling with pride as he felt his antlers start to grow ever so slowly. You bucked beneath him, hips grinding up to meet his thrusts, and he groaned again—sharper this time. The sound shot straight through you, and your hands flew to his hair, yanking him down into another kiss that had your teeth clashing, your tongues tangling.

“This pussy—fuck,” he mewled into your mouth, “this perfect little pussy—clinging to me like she doesn’t want me to leave.”

His voice was fraying now, strained, unraveling at the edges. “Is that it, darling?” he rasped, still kissing you between words. “You want me to stay right here? Fill you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yes—please, don’t stop, Alastor—”

One hand suddenly snaked beneath your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. The angle changed—oh God, the angle changed!—and you cried out, your back arching as he hit deeper, harder, grinding against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“There,” he smirked, voice low and breathless. “There it is.”

He continued to pound into you until you were sobbing his name, clutching the sheets, tears brimming in your lashes from the sheer overwhelm of it. Alastor's smile turned feral as he saw your tears, his pace faltering as he kissed your tears as they fell.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, soft between the pounding thrusts. “So good for me. Taking me so well. You were meant for this. Meant for me.”

You whimpered at his praises, cumming again without warning—your body locking up, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave breaking against stone. Alastor groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, pulsing, twitching, milking him as he drove in deep one final time.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a growl—deep, guttural, almost animalistic—his cock twitching as he filled you, spilling inside you with a heat that made your thighs quiver. You felt him pulse inside you, bury himself deeper, hips twitching with the last few, slow thrusts.

Alastor collapsed beside you with a sigh that was more satisfied than smug for once, his arm immediately curling around your waist to tug you flush against him. His skin was slick with sweat, his breath still uneven, but his smile—that damned smile—was gentler now. Calmer. Like some longing ache inside him had finally eased.

The two of you lay there in silence for a moment, your body still twitching with the occasional aftershock as your breath steadied. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, warm and safe as your hands gently played with the soft fur of his chest. He sighed at the feeling, inhaling deeply as he relaxed.

Then, with absolutely zero shame in his tone, he spoke.

“So,” he drawled lazily, voice low and playful, “did I cure your hangover?”

You tensed, lifting your head just enough to blink at him, eyes wide and incredulous. You paused for a moment to focus on your head, realizing your headache was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, laughter flowed out of you, your head thrown back as you giggled at his question—of course he still remembered.

“You know what…” you breathed, grinning at him like he’d just said the funniest thing. “Surprisingly, you did.”

Alastor chuckled, eyes glittering with delight. He merely leaned down to kiss your forehead, brushing away the hair stuck to your forehead. Cuddling closer, you dropped your head once more to the crook of his neck, his fingers stroking lazy circles on your back, and the silence that followed was heavy with comfort. After a pause, you tilted your head to glance up at him again.

“...Did you get me drunk because you knew I’d kiss you?”

Alastor gasped dramatically at your questioning. Hand pressed to his chest, all mock offense and theatrical flourish. “Oh contraire, chérie!” he insisted. “I was trying to get us both drunk so I could confess my affections for you—never did I expect you to do something so scandalous.” 

He paused, grin widening into its usual smirk. “But alas, it ended in my favor… so I must thank you for it.”

You groaned into his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed—a full, rich sound that rumbled against your cheek as he kissed the top of your head once more.

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “But I’m your idiot now.”

tag list: @railgunuzi @frompiscium @rose-in-blue @catticora @milkissesx + @lovingyeet @flannychan @ari-hatake24 [want to join/be removed from the tag list? check my pinned post!]

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 40 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Work is finally peaceful for Bradley. While it seems like everyone around him is moving to a new stage of life, he knows he is, too. He's surrounded by so much love already, and more will be blooming soon as he counts down to the end of your pregnancy.

Warnings: Adult language, DILF Roo, pregnancy, smut, lactation kink

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Work was an adjustment. In a good way. It took Bradley a few days to remember he didn't have to look over his shoulder for Indigo. He didn't have to keep his head on a swivel, wondering if she was giving you a hard time somewhere on base. He could just get his work done without interference.

When he eyed the burrito bowls in the cafeteria at lunchtime, he checked his phone, wondering what was taking you so long to come down. "You okay, Soul Sister?" Nat asked, squeezing his shoulder. "Want to sit with Bob, Maria and me?"

Bradley grunted, and shook his head. "I'll wait for my wife."

"I don't think she's coming," Nat replied casually, bypassing the burrito bowls in favor of the baked pasta.

"How do you know that?" Bradley asked, double checking to see if he'd missed a text from you while he was in his classroom all morning. But there was nothing.

"I was talking to her when her boss tracked her down. He looked flustered, telling her he needed her in his office."

Bradley's brow creased as he picked up just one burrito bowl instead of two. He eyed the green hot sauce you were obsessed with, but it wouldn't taste as good without you sitting next to him. "Did Bickel seem upset with her?" Bradley knew how much you loved working for your commanding officer, and that feeling seemed to go both ways.

Nat shrugged. "Less upset and more concerned. I'm sure she's fine."

Bradley settled in next to his best friend and across the table from Maria and Bob, but he barely got one bite of food in his mouth before Maverick was standing next to him.

"I'd eat that as quickly as possible. Cyclone wants to see us."

"Now?" he asked his godfather, wondering why his day kept getting more annoying since parting ways with you. Maybe he should just cancel his afternoon flight.

"I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes," Maverick said, leaving him to practically inhale his food while the others conversed. 

Apparently Bob and Maria were giving up their lease to move into a nicer one-bedroom place together. While that information wasn't surprising, it made Bradley a little sad. You'd been the one living in that apartment with Maria when Bradley fell in love with you. Your little bedroom was where he'd poured his heart out to you in the early days. It was where he made love to you for the first time.

"I'll help you move," Bradley immediately offered, getting a nod in return from Bob. He really wanted the opportunity to be in that sacred space one last time while he had the chance. And getting brownie points with one of your best friends was never a bad move.

"Thanks, Rooster," Bob replied as Bradley shoveled the last of his burrito bowl into his mouth and got up to leave again. Whatever Cyclone wanted, it was best not to keep the man waiting. But honestly, Bradley couldn't understand how his perfectly good morning was deteriorating so quickly. Waking up with his hand on your belly felt like days ago, and what if Admiral Simpson wanted him for something annoying? Fuck, what if he was about to get deployed even though he'd been promised those would become few and far between? What if he wasn't even home for your due date?

He was counting how many weeks were left in your pregnancy while he knocked on the office door. If he had to spend the anniversary weekend he'd planned at the cabin telling you he was leaving, you would be so upset. You and he needed a break together.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. Have a seat." Bradley met Cyclone's eyes where he stood next to his desk with Maverick. He hated to be the only one in the room sitting, but he was left with little choice. Bradley sank into the chair while Cyclone cleared his throat. "I wanted to take a few minutes to wrap up your complaints against Lieutenant Jeffries."

Bradley cringed, and Maverick crossed his arms over his chest like he was fighting to stand still. "Yes, Sir," Bradley agreed with a nod, hoping he wouldn't have to rehash anything that had already happened.

"I was notified of her separation this morning. An admiral in Texas called me first thing." Bradley sat up straighter in his chair as Cyclone said, "Lieutenant Jeffries has been formally discharged."

Now Bradley had to fight a smile as he replied. "Thank you for letting me know, Sir."

It was obvious Maverick had something to add. "Bradley. Uh, Rooster," he corrected quickly. "During some of our discussions, you voiced concerns about staying in your current role." Bradley swore his heart stopped as Mav added, "Do you still feel that way?"

Bradley stayed silent. For weeks and months he'd been wondering if he was in the right place. Wondering if he was effective as a teacher rather than just another body in another Super Hornet in the air making decisions without considering the consequences. But the main reason he had been second guessing himself was Indigo. He'd keep his head on a swivel from now on. He'd never let something like that happen again. It was easy to reconsider things without her on base. His classes were fun again. He enjoyed teaching. He loved watching his students take what they learned to the air.

But the best part was being at home with you every night. At home with Rosie. At home enjoying the countdown to the arrival of his second daughter.

"No, I don't feel that way now," Bradley rasped as he shook his head. "I'm where I belong."

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

When you realized you'd inadvertently bailed on your husband, you felt bad, but that feeling didn't last for long. When you got to Bickel's office at the same time as Cat, you and she shared a brief look before he ushered you inside. Once you were all seated, your boss broke out into a smile.

"I don't know how you manage to do it, but you two always surpass my expectations."

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself quiet, because you had no idea what he could be talking about. The baby was squirming around and thumping on your ribs as you tried to remain chill without looking at Cat. You adjusted your maternity tent and let your boss continue.

"The quick work you put in to test the new software updates ahead of schedule was so successful, your efforts are being recognized."

Now you were shaking from holding back your laughter, and Cat cleared her throat awkwardly three times. "Thank you, Sir," she said calmly with a smirk. "We try our best."

The look on her face made you start coughing. Was she hoping to make you pee your pants? You thought you might as you took a deep breath and listened to Bickel lay out an upcoming timeline for the continued software testing. It wasn't like you didn't know the updates would be successful; you and Cat worked too hard for anything otherwise. But Indigo was the reason you wanted to ground an aircraft ahead of schedule.

When you were finally dismissed, you rushed toward the bathroom with Cat on your heels. "Are you still nauseous?" she asked as you headed for the first stall. "You're awfully late in your pregnancy to still be so nauseous."

"No! I have to pee! I don't know how you stayed so calm throughout that meeting. I thought I was going to explode with laughter."

She was still smirking when you washed your hands. "Remember all those promises you made about watching Jer for me if I was willing to finish the code in a hurry?"

"I do," you replied easily. "Want to drop him off at my house after work one day this week so you and Jake can get into some nasty shit for a few hours?"

Cat's laughter echoed throughout the space as she doubled over, cackling. "I guess that depends upon your definition of nasty.... we're trying to figure out which day we can go apply for our marriage license." You screamed before she clapped her hand over your mouth. "Shh! Are you out of your mind?"

"Marriage license!" you screeched when she freed you. "Jake is such a fuckboy, and you're so in love with him!"

"You're the one who told me he's a good guy in the first place!"

"He is!" you insisted, beaming at her. "And he'll be the best dad for Jer."

Instead of returning to your office or the lab, you dashed toward the elevators and went downstairs. As soon as the November sun hit your face, you felt like this day couldn't get any better. The walk to the tower was filled with the distant sound of jet wash and a breeze that gave you goosebumps. When you reached the aviator's lounge, the first person you saw when you opened the door was your husband holding a disposable coffee cup and chatting with Natasha, but you rushed past them.

"Hi, Roo," you offered, patting him quickly on his flat belly as you headed for Jake who was sweaty and unzipping the top of his flight suit. You flung your arms around him, and he held you awkwardly with your bump pressed against him.

"Whoa, Angel. What's got you throwing yourself at me?" he asked with a laugh. "Not that I mind..." he added, winking at Bradley as you pulled away.

"You didn't tell me you're getting married," you hissed quietly so the others couldn't hear over their conversation. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Jake's cheeks paled as he wrapped his fingers gently around your bicep, guiding you toward the window. "Damn, Cat can't keep her mouth shut," he muttered, glancing outside. "We don't actually have anything planned yet, but I convinced her to get the marriage license. That'll give us ninety days to make it happen." He turned his green eyes your way and added, "My lawyer said Jeremiah's biological father stands less of a chance of locating him if I adopt him. Make him a Seresin," he grunted softly. "It's just Cat's name listed on Jer's birth certificate, and I'd really like to change that as soon as possible."

"Jake," you gasped, tears filling your eyes. "You're so in love with them."

He nodded. "I am. And I told Cat she'd have a spectacular wedding in ninety days or less if she promised to get the marriage license now. She told me she doesn't want to spend any money. Claims I've spent enough to help her get free from her ex. But I want her to have whatever she wants-"

"She wants you. You're already Jer's dad. Just marry her. Keep it simple."

"Are you ever going to give me a hug?" Bradley called from across the room. "It's been like two minutes, Sweetheart."

Jake smirked and nudged your shoulder with his bicep. "Get over there so he stops whining."

"I'm not whining," Bradley whined. "I just want a hug from my wife and daughter." He tossed his empty cup into the trash when you slotted yourself into his arms. "That's better," he murmured, lips meeting your forehead as you let your cheek rest against his chest.

"He whined when you missed lunch, too," Natasha said casually as you laughed.

Bradley huffed. "Is it really such a bad thing that I like being around my family?"

"Not at all." You glanced up at him. "And I think it's kind of cute when you whine about it." He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as his fingers crept around to your hip, holding you tight. "Guess what Bickel told me earlier."

"That you're the best officer he's ever worked with and he wants you to take over his lab when he retires?"

Your heart fluttered at your husband's words; he was your biggest fan. "Not quite. But Cat and I are being recognized for our work on the Super Hornet comms. And I kind of have Indigo to thank for it in a very twisted way."

"Oh! She's out of the Navy, Baby Girl."

You blinked up at him. "She is?" you whispered, mind swirling with the image of Indigo storming away from you in a rage the last time you saw her.

"Yeah, she's toast," he replied, lips meeting your forehead again as Natasha and Jake headed out. "I had a meeting with Mav and Cyclone."

"When were you going to tell me?"

Bradley's lips curled into a smile as he took your hand and kissed along your knuckles. "I'd have remembered later at some point, but Indigo is the farthest thing from my mind now. I'm more intersted in going home and packing for our trip and fucking you."

You glanced around to make sure everyone else had cleared out. "Okay, that does sound fun, but we have to babysit Jeremiah one evening this week."

"Can't it wait until next week after we get back from the mountains?" he whispered. "I'm in family mode, looking forward to our anniversary."

"Nope. We absolutely have to watch Jer for them. It's a necessity, Roo."

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

"Jesus," Bradley groaned, kicking your maternity uniform across the bedroom floor before it could trip him up. Dinner was in the oven, Rose was napping, and you were easing yourself back on the bed, nearly naked. He watched you pull your sensible underwear down until he could see your rooster tattoo, and then he pounced.

"Roo!" you squealed, wrapping your leg around his hip as he held himself over your body, his hands planted on either side of your head. "You have to make it quick. And you're never quick."

"I know," he grunted, biting his lip as you rubbed yourself against the fly of his khakis. All he wanted at the moment was to take his time licking that bead of milk from your nipple before treating his mouth to your entire body. But there wasn't time. Jake Seresin would be here shortly to ruin his fun.

Your hand on his zipper prompted him to savor that bit of your milk as you pulled him free of his pants. Then you guided him right where he belonged, and he sank inch by inch into your pussy until you moaned his name.

"That's fucking beautiful." He kissed away all the little sounds you made as he fucked you slowly; they could just wait out on the porch with Jeremiah until Bradley was done with you for all he cared.

But something about having you naked and beneath him while he was still fully clothed in his uniform made Bradley realize he wasn't going to last too long. The bounce of your tits as your fingers dug into his hair. The scrape of your nails along his scalp as your pupils grew wide. The way your growing belly took up more space than usual. It was all designed to make him insane. He knew it. He wasn't going to fight it. You'd win every time anyway.

"How do you do this to me?" murmured against your neck, inhaling your scent with a gasping breath as your pussy pulsed around him. "How do you fuck me up like this?"

Your answer was your lips on his jaw as Bradley swallowed hard, fucking you as his body tensed above yours. "Roo," you gasped, lips parting, rolling your hips. He couldn't hang on when it was this good. When your voice was in his ear, coaxing him along. 

"God, Roo. Daddy!"

That did it. His thrusts grew shorter as he came, pushing himself deep, filling you with his cum until he let his weight settle halfway on top of you. He was never done until you got what you deserved, but as soon as he dragged his fingers along your tattoo and let them settle on your clit, Tramp started barking.

"They're here," you moaned, starting to sit up with Bradley's cock still buried deep.

"But I'm not done with you," he whispered, keeping you in place while Tramp howled. But it was useless. "Fuck!" He pulled himself free, forfeiting the opportunity to watch his cum leak out of you as he stood. Bradley tucked himself back into his pants and did up the zipper, scowling. "Hangman ruins everything, I swear to god." He pulled one of his old undershirts and some gym shorts from his drawer as you laughed and stood. "I'll finish you off later," he promised with a kiss, pressing his clothing into your hand.

"I know you will."

Bradley was in no mood for company, but when he opened the front door, Jer clapped his hands with a big smile on his face. "Hey, Buddy," he said, smiling reluctantly as Jeremiah climbed from Cat's arms into his. "Tramp is so excited to play with you."

"Tramp!" Jeremiah reached down trying to pet the dog while he went wild.

"Thanks for babysitting," Jake said as he strolled in from the porch earning an eye roll from Bradley.

"It's no big deal," Bradley replied through clenched teeth, trying not to glare. It wasn't like Jake and Cat had any idea what they'd interrupted. Or at least they didn't until you came rushing down the hallway into the living room with Bradley's undershirt on backward. Cat didn't seem to notice, but Jake stifled his laughter behind his hand.

"Hi, Jeremiah!" you crooned, running your fingers along his cheek. "We're going to have so much fun. Rose will be awake soon, and we can go out back to the playset."

"Sorry about the timing," Jake muttered.

"No, you're not," Bradley whispered. "Now get out of here."

Jake laced his fingers with Cat's as she said, "We'll be back in less than two hours."

"Take your time," you said, waving her off. "We'll have so much fun while you're gone." You took Jeremiah's hand and led him to the couch where you'd left a stack of Rose's books, ready for the occasion. 

When Bradley closed the front door, he heard his daughter's cries coming from the nursery. He rushed in to scoop her up, kissing her fuzzy hair and changing her diaper before carrying her to the living room where you were reading Jeremiah the silly goose book.

"Whoa, Baby Girl. You need to start over. Rosie and I love this book."

"Love!" Jer cheered as Bradley settled down on the couch next to him. The little boy suddenly seemed more interested in Rose than in the book, but you obliged everyone by starting the story at the beginning.

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

The sun was setting after dinner as you nursed Rose on the patio wearing Bradley's clothes and your boat shoes. You hadn't taken the time to turn his shirt the other way, too busy bustling around with the two, well, three kids.

"Higher?" Bradley asked.

"Higher!" Jeremiah replied, and you watched your husband push his swing harder. Peels of laugher filled the backyard, and now Rose was crying for a different reason. She seemed to want to join in the fun as Tramp ran around the playset in circles.

"Jake needs to get this kid a puppy," Bradley eventually said as Jeremiah reached for the dog again. Really, the only thing that seemed more interesting to him was Rose, and he shifted his focus as you walked their way, Tramp immediately forgotten.

"Can you say Rose?" you asked Jeremiah as his swing came to a stop in front of Bradley. "Rose."

He tried his best but struggled with the R sound as Rose reached for his hair. "Be nice, Rosie," Bradley scolded, scooping up Jeremiah at the same time he took Rose from your arms. The sight of him holding both kids was almost too much, and you reached for one of the wooden playset posts to keep yourself standing. He kissed your daughter's cheek and said, "It's getting dark out here. How about a snack and one more round of the silly goose book?"

"We could do that," you whispered, letting your hand rest on your belly. For the briefest second, you started rethinking your threat about the vasectomy.

"You have to read it again," Bradley murmured, leading the way to the sliding glass door with his arms full. "The kids love your voice, and so do I."

By the time you finished the book, Rose was falling asleep and Jeremiah was yawning. But Bradley looked attentive, eyes calculating. At the sound of a knock on the door, he was up from the couch with Jeremiah in his arms. "Well, it's been fun, little man, but it's time for you to leave."

"I didn't even get to say goodbye!" you complained, holding Rose. 

Bradley turned around so you could kiss Jeremiah on the cheek, and then he thrust the child into Cat's arms and closed the door as soon as she said thank you.

"That wasn't very nice," you said with a laugh.

"I disagree, Sweetheart," he told you as he reached for Rose. "I thought that was pretty fucking nice considering what they interrupted earlier. Now say goodnight to your daughter and go get undressed."

"Stop swearing in front of the baby," you scolded half-heartedly before he kissed your lips. God, he was doing numbers on you right now. He was in his demanding 'dad' mode while still wearing his uniform, and you moaned out loud. "Okay, fine. I'll go get undressed."

Everything felt so good tonight. You could hear Bradley singing to Rose as you went to the bathroom and did your bedtime routine. You didn't have to wait long after you tugged his undershirt over your head before he appeared in the bedroom doorway. His brown eyes were playful, but his gaze was glued to your body. "Now, where were we?"

You trailed your hand down your side, along your swollen belly, and let your fingertips graze your tattoo. "Right about here, Roo."

He nodded in agreement, closing the distance with three long strides before kneeling in front of you. His hands wrapped around your thighs as his lips and mustache met your rooster tattoo before skimming along your belly. "Yeah. Right about here."

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

Well, I was wrong... there will be one more part after this! Stay tuned for an anniversary trip. And don't forget to send me your thoughts about hcs and blurbs! Thanks for reading!

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[wanders-in-wonderland]

Match My Freak

She’s been my roommate for over three months now and I’m nearing the end of my patience. Everything about her drives me insane, from the smell of her shampoo permeating through the bathroom after her long showers to the way she prances around the living room and kitchen wearing her tiny little pajamas. I’ve learned every single detail about her since she moved in and every day I fall in love with her a little more but she has no idea. She’s been etched into every atom of my soul and I need her to be mine.

She’d moved into my place after responding to an ad I’d placed about needing a roommate. She told me she’d broken up with her boyfriend and moved out of their shared apartment so it never felt right for me to make a move. I didn’t want her to treat me like a rebound, not when I have every intention of making her mine forever. But, last week, she’d put on a fucking red dress and heels fully done up to go on a date with some loser. I almost lost my mind when I saw her on her way out the door. How dare she go spend time with some loser guy when I’m right here for her?

That night, while I waited up all night for her to come home (she didn’t and I almost left the house to hunt her down and drag her back here), I made up my mind. If she can’t see what’s right in front of her, I’ll make her see. I’ll force her to. Plus, she deserves a punishment for whoring herself out to some random guy and I plan to teach her a hard-earned lesson.

It wasn’t very difficult to get my hands on what I needed, the internet really does provide all. A few searches, a couple hundred dollars, and a week’s wait for expedited shipping later, I was equipped with a fast-acting roofie and a powerful aphrodisiac, both of which dissolved nicely and undetectably into any beverage of choice.

It’s Friday night now and I’m jittery with a combination of nerves, excitement, and a feeling of finality. I’m finally getting a taste of what I want. She’ll wake up the next morning, maybe a little sore and tired but none the wiser of the events of tonight. And once I clear my head a little, I’ll figure out a long term plan to make her mine forever.

Really, I’m doing her a favor. I could be rough, be violent, hold a knife to her throat and force her to take my cock. Make her cry and scream and traumatize her to really punish her. But no, I’m too good to her to put her through that. Instead, she gets the easy way out, the nice drugs that make her pliant, relaxed, and needy. She gets to wake up the next morning and still feel safe around me, because she is. And eventually, she’ll learn to love me.

She’s curled up on the couch when I come out of my room, dressed in another one of her tiny pajama sets, her eyes leaving her Kindle to meet mine before she shoots me a beautiful smile. “Hey you! Where’ve you been? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you all week?”

I flash her a grin, “Been busy with work, I took on a new project and there’s been a lot of prep work involved.”

She nods, “Well I hope it goes well, I can’t imagine it not, you seem really good at your job!” If only she knew.

I smile at her before heading into the kitchen, calling out behind me, “You want something to drink?”

“Yes please! Can you grab me a can of seltzer, please?”

My smile widens when I hear that and I grab a can of her favorite flavor from the fridge before cracking it open and pouring the fizzy water into a cup. Both drugs dissolve immediately into the drink and I smirk before grabbing a can for myself.

I step back into the living room and settle onto the other side of the couch, handing over her drink. She smiles in thanks before taking a long sip. I hide my smile behind a drink of my own.

“Whatcha up to?” I ask, nodding towards her Kindle.

She shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo wafting into my face. My fist clenches. Fuck, she smells so good. “I’m just reading, nothing exciting,” she says. “What about you? Any fun plans tonight?”

I can’t hold back the smirk that lights up my face, “Nah, just spending a night in.”

She takes another sip of her drink and blinks her eyes tiredly. “Mhm, that sounds nice, getting to bed early sounds like a good plan.”

I nod, eyes fixed on her drink as she takes another swallow. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I try to restrain myself from showing my dark excitement for where tonight is headed.

I watch as she sets her Kindle down on the coffee table and rubs her eyes. “I think I’m going to head into my room…” her voice is softer now, slower as the drugs start to take effect. I nod at her drink, “You should finish that before you head in.”

She nods a little and drinks the last little bit, setting her cup onto the table and moving to stand. She barely manages to get herself up before she stumbles and her knees buckle, her body folding like a puppet.

I’m ready for her and I pull her into my lap, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, you okay?” My voice betrays my excitement but she’s too far gone to notice. Her body melts into mine as she lets out a soft whine, “Mm really tired… and everything feels so hot…”

She leans her head against my shoulder and I let out a groan, the feeling of her soft body in my lap is almost enough to make me lose control. I laugh incredulously, “Fuck, those drugs really do work fast.”

I tap her cheek gently and look into her dazed eyes, “Hey. Hey, focus on me. You still with me?”

Her eyes blink slowly at me but she’s too delirious to respond. I’m so fucking hard now, the reality of what’s going to happen fully hitting me. I cup her cheek and lean my forehead against hers, groaning with desire.

“You’re all mine now, huh? Drugged out of your mind and completely vulnerable. You look so pretty like this, not a single thought in that gorgeous head of yours, isn’t that right?”

My lips meet hers and I moan into her mouth as I claim our first kiss. First of many. She’s soft and pliant underneath me, her lips clumsily moving against mine. I run my hand through her soft hair as my lips work feverishly against hers. My breath comes out in harsh pants when I finally pull away, the taste of her lips making my head spin.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect like this. So obedient, so good for me. Not like last week, when you whored yourself out to some fucking guy, huh?” My voice turns mean as I recall the red hot fury that governed my every thought the night she went out. My hands get rougher as I move her around in my lap, pulling her back to my chest and spreading her legs so they splayed open for me.

“If you’d just been a good girl, tonight wouldn’t have needed to happen like this. But no, you betrayed me. You went and fucked some other guy and now I need to cleanse him from you before I can make you mine. Because that’s what you are, my perfect girl, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes have fluttered shut now but it doesn’t matter to me because when my hand trails down her stomach to her clothed pussy, I can feel the burning heat. The aphrodisiac’s doing its job too.

I chuckle and grab a fistful of her pathetically tiny shorts and jerk them hard off her legs. She lets out a soft whimper from my harsh treatment and I coo softly at her, “It’s okay, darling, this is what you want.”

My fingers press against her bare cunt and she’s soaked.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping. Look at you, drugged out of your mind and this pretty pussy is weeping for me.”

I run my fingers gently across her pulsing clit and her legs twitch, a soft whine escaping from her lips. I start to rub her sensitive little clit in circles, spreading her own wetness all over her pussy.

“So messy for me, huh? I know you like this, I can feel your cunt pulsing. Only I can make you feel this way, you’ll learn that soon.”

She’s letting out little desperate whimpers and a glance at her face tells me she’s so out of it that I have nothing to worry about. I slide a finger into her pussy and groan at how tight she is.

“Fuck, your pretty pussy feels so good wrapped around my finger. God, you’re so nasty, getting all drugged up and turning into a little mindless toy. You’re leaking all over my lap and I’ve barely done anything. What a filthy little whore.”

I thrust my fingers into her and curl them upwards, letting my thumb keep rubbing her little clit. I almost wish she were more lucid so she could hear all the dirty things I’m telling her.

“Fuck, I can tell you’re close, huh? You gonna cum for me, all drugged up and making a mess all over my fingers?”

Her soft whimpers have turned into louder moans and I can tell by her little hip thrusts that she’s close. My fingers don’t stop and I feel her shudder in my arms, a soft mewling cry erupting from her as she cums for me. I groan softly and work her through her orgasm, my fingers rubbing mercilessly against her little clit as she trembles.

“That’s it, baby, feel good for me. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, isn’t that right? You’re fucking mine.” I pull my fingers away from her and taste her wetness, moaning at how good she is.

I scoop her up and carry her into my room, laying her gently down on my bed, her head lolling in her drugged state of semi-consciousness. I brush her hair away from her pretty face, admiring her.

“I love you, pretty girl, do you know that? I love you so much and I’ll prove that to you. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow, but I promise you’ll never doubt how much I love you for the rest of our lives.”

I crawl over her, pining her body down onto the bed with my own, my hands running everywhere over her body. I trail soft kisses over her skin, licking gently down her neck and into the valley of her pretty, pretty tits. Her nipples are so hard and a gentle flick from my fingers makes her let out a soft, sleepy whine.

I draw a hard peak into my mouth and let my tongue play with her sensitive flesh, scrapping my teeth gently against her. Another whimper from her. I want nothing more than to leave love bites and marks all over her skin, proving that she belongs to me for anyone to see but I control myself. Leaving marks would mean leaving evidence and I can’t have that, not yet.

I spend another few moments gently playing with her sensitive tits before I get too impatient to wait any longer. My cock has been straining against my sweatpants since I saw her take her first sip of her drugged drink and I can’t hold back anymore. I make quick work of my own clothes before I finally press my naked body against hers, every single bit of her form fitting perfectly against mine, like we were made for each other.

Her pretty cunt is still weeping, making a mess all over my bed. “I wish you were awake for this so you could see how fucking perfect we are for each other. But it’s okay, your mind might not remember this but your body well. Your body will know it belongs to me.” I groan as I swipe a finger through her wetness, making sure to nudge her little clit, savoring the hitch in her breathing that follows.

I smirk as I grip my throbbing cock and run the head gently across her dripping folds, moaning at the feel of her. “Fuck, such a desperate little cunt for me. You like this, huh? Like the feeling of my cock rubbing your cunt? Fuck, you’re so good like this.”

I slowly start to press into her, the tight, wet heat of her pussy making my head spin from pleasure. She lets out tiny little moans as I bottom out inside of her, her cunt clenching around me so tightly I would’ve thought she was awake if I didn’t know better.

“Fuck, that’s right. I own this pussy, this tight fucking cunt gripping my cock. Fuck, you’re all mine.” I’m panting as I start to thrust into her, every single movement making her limp body jerk.

She’s so good for me, so obedient as I take exactly what I want from her. Her eyes are still shut but the sounds she makes while unconscious are almost enough to make me worry she’s actually awake. I thrust deep and she lets out a delicious little whine.

“Fuck yes, you’re so sensitive like this, huh? The drugs making you so needy for me and my cock. Is that little clitty feeling neglected?” I groan as my fingers rub harshly against her clit, the movement making her cunt tighten even further around me. It doesn’t take long before I hear her little whimpers escalate and her hips jerk. Her soft, relaxed body is driving me insane and I start to loose my rhythm as she milks me.

“You getting close again, love? All drugged up, stuffed full, and about to cum again for me? There you go, you like that huh? I know you can’t answer me but your body tells me enough.” I rub her clit faster and shudder when I feel her orgasm hit her hard. Her pussy milks me hard and it pushes me over the edge.

I fuck her through both our orgasms and I collapse onto the bed next to her, taking care not to crush her underneath me. My heart is pounding as the pleasure ebbs out of my body, leaving me satiated and content. I pull her into my arms and press my lips to her temple, my eyes taking in her flushed face, closed eyes, and trembling body. My pretty girl is all tired out from tonight’s activities.

“You did so good, love. I’m so fucking good to you, aren’t I? I made sure you’d enjoy this, made sure you would cum over and over again. I treated you so well, I didn’t leave a single bruise on your soft skin. You should be so grateful, baby. I made sure to be gentle, to be so good to you. Made sure to buy you the good drugs so you wake up tomorrow nice and easy. You won’t remember any of this but it’s okay. I’ll remember and I’ll know that our first time together was perfect.”

I press my lips to her skin again and pull her tighter into my grasp, my own eyes closing as I drift off to sleep with her.

I wake up several hours later, her body still tucked into my own, her soft breaths tickling my skin. I take in the vision of her curled up in my bed and it almost makes me want to fuck her again. But I can’t, her drugs are going to wear off soon and I need to make sure she opens her eyes in her own room, dressed in her pajamas so she has no clue what happened.

I groan softly as I extricate myself from the bed, my body already missing hers. It’s easy enough to redress her in her pajamas and carry her into her room. I tuck her into bed and press a soft kiss to her forehead before heading out of her bedroom.

I’m too restless to go back to sleep so I throw on a pair of sweatpants and go to sit out in the living room, replaying the events of last night in my head. As time passes, there’s a sinking feeling of dread building in my stomach. What if the drugs didn’t work as expected and she wakes up remembering everything that happened? If that happens, everything falls apart. I’m wracking my brain to come up with a contingency plan and wanting to punch myself for not thinking this through earlier when I hear the door of her bedroom open.

My eyes immediately find hers and part of my relaxes when I see no anger, fear, or revulsion in her face. Just sleepiness and a look of contentment.

“Hey, how’d you sleep?” My voice sounds thick and croaky and I cough awkwardly to cover it up. She smiles at me and walks in my direction.

“Good, really good.”

She comes to the couch and settles next to me. Closer than normal. A lot closer, she’s basically pressed right up against me. I blink at her.

She smirks and her hand comes to rest against my chest. My bare chest. My breath stutters and I look at her with wide eyes. “What- what are you doing?”

She giggles, “What? You spend all night doing unspeakable things to me and now a little hand on your chest has you freaking out?”

My mind short-circuits as my stomach drops. “What?” My voice comes out in a croak and panic seizes my entire body.

I hear her laugh again but everything feels like a haze. I watch, frozen, as she tucks herself against me and leans into my chest.

I clear my throat and stutter a little when I speak again, “What- what do you think happened last night?”

She smiles at me. “You mean before or after you drugged me?”

Fuck, I’m screwed. I fucked up. It’s over. My heart is pounding as I struggle to process what’s happening. “What?” If I had higher brain capacity right now, I’d be desperately coming up with some excuse but nothing comes to mind. She laughs again and cups my cheek in one hand.

“Stop freaking out, you didn’t do anything that I didn’t already want,” her voice punches through the confusion in my head and I stare at her.

“What?” That seems to be my favorite word right now.

She pats my cheek. “Okay, fine, I’ll explain, I’m done messing with you. I’ve been into you since I moved in. And I know you’ve been into me too. It’s really hard to miss all the signs, you’re always doing little things for me, buying me the snacks I like, making excuses to spend weekends together, staring at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

I blush a little at that, I guess I haven’t been subtle.

“I kept waiting for you to do something about it but you never did. So I ‘went on a date’ last week to try to provoke something out of you.” I blink dumbly at her air quotes.

“What? It wasn’t a real date?” There’s so much for my brain to work through right now and I can’t focus properly because she keeps stroking my chest.

She laughs and rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “No, it wasn’t a real date, I got dressed up and went to a friend’s place to stay over to make you jealous so you’d do something. And you did. Only I thought you’d ask me out finally, not concoct this insane plan of yours.”

I blink slowly at her, she continues, seeing that I’m incapable of stringing together coherent words right now.

“You left your laptop out last week and I saw the shipping confirmation of the drugs in your email. It wasn’t hard to put together what you intended to do. I didn’t think you had it in you,” she teased. I’m still dumbfounded.

“It wasn’t that hard to get to the packages before you when they came in,” she shrugs. “The roofie I swapped for a sugar pill but I kept the aphrodisiac intact because it sounded fun. And when you drugged me last night, I just pretended that the roofie worked. Honestly, it was so much harder than I thought it would be to stay still through everything but so fucking worth it.” She smiles at me before kissing my cheek.

My mind is racing as I put all the pieces together and all the panic and fear from earlier is replaced with awe. I let out a choked, incredulous laugh. “What the fuck? You’re fucking crazy,” my voice is reverential as I grab her and pull her onto my lap. My lips find hers and I feel her melt into the kiss, every single fiber of my being relaxing with her.

I pull away and look into her eyes, “I love you, you’re perfect.”

She smiles, “I love you too.” She winks at me, “I can match your freak.”

Note: Hi friends, I'm baaack! I'm so into the "crazy obsessed lover x willing recipient" dynamic so hope y'all enjoyed this one!

[asxgard]

Heartbeat | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Summary: You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

Note: episode 13 hurt a lot so I wrote this to cope. Likely will write more specific stuff after I’ve fully processed.

Word Count: 4.4k+

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (16ish years, I have a problem okay? The age gap trope feeds me), hospital/medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, panic attack, foul language, angst (it’s who I am), gore/gun violence (Pittfest), vague details from ep. 11-13, pet names (baby, my love), non-graphic shower scene, fluff at the end because we deserve it after that episode???

not beta read

You had met Dr. Robinavitch when you started in the ED as an attending. While your love blossomed slowly, it bloomed into so much more than you were expecting. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, from dating secretly to Dana and Jack finding out only a month after, to getting engaged just a year later.

You had done what you could to keep it from the hospital administration, but the time came where you got married and paperwork needed to be filed. You kept your maiden name to ensure there was no confusion, plus it added to your privacy. Everyone you worked with knew you were married, just not to each other, but it was more of an open secret to some of the nurses and other attendings.

Gloria nearly moved you to a different department. She tried separating you by shifts, maybe hoping you would leave and find work in a different hospital. Michael was technically your boss, after all. In her reports, however, she found that when you two were on shift together, it was seamless. Like you two operated on a frequency that no one else was even aware of.

Despite the bumps in the road, and Michael’s aversion for talking about his feelings, you made it work. Some shifts could be frustrating, and that sometimes got carried home, but you respected each other immensely. Michael was not keen on letting such a good thing in his life go that easily, and eventually opened up about Adamson and the toll the pandemic had taken on him.

After that hurdle, everything else was easy. Eventually, you decided to grow your family, and you got pregnant not even five months later.

—

On the fourth year anniversary of Adamson’s death, you were surprised to find Michael preparing for a shift.

“Didn’t you take off?” You asked, watching him dress into his scrubs.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Peterson had a family thing, and I know they’re short staffed.”

You frowned, “You could’ve asked me.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, turning to look at you and his heart swelled at the sight. “I don’t want you to cancel your appointment.”

You sat on that for a moment. For as busy as you both were, Michael had made time for every appointment you had after finding out you were pregnant.

“I know, I know. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

That satisfied you. For all Michael was, someone to break his promise was not one of them.

“I was hoping to find out the gender today,” you said with a tiny smile. “But a little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

He looked grateful at your words, moving to kiss you. He tasted like mint, holding your head so gently in his hands. Your hands moved to his chest, wanting to hold him against you, but you released him.

“Jake know yet?”

He smiled, “Yeah. He asked to take his girlfriend instead.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned, “Oh?”

You and Jake had gotten close slowly, him being like a step-son to Michael, but now you loved the kid.

“If you need anything, just call, alright?”

He nodded, grabbing his coffee, giving you one last lingering kiss before heading out the door.

—

Your day was mildly uneventful, taking your time with a handful of chores before sitting out on the balcony to have lunch. Your OB appointment had gone well, and you got a recording of the heartbeat, knowing Michael might need to hear it after his shift.

As time moved, you missed that Michael had not been able to be there with you. You missed his touch and his presence beside you. Dinner came with a takeout box of your latest craving, before your phone rang.

Jack Abbott’s name flashed on your screen. You still worked a few shifts with him from time-to-time, but Michael had you mostly scheduled for days, with him.

“Hey,” you said when you answered.

“Did you hear?”

“That’s so specific, Jack,” you said, opening the fridge to scan your snack options.

“There was a shooting at Pittfest, unknown number of casualties. Closest trauma center is PTMC.”

Your heart stuttered to a stop, “What?”

“Heard it on the scanner. You’ll likely get an alert that it’s all hands on deck, but I wanted to give you a heads up before traffic got too bad.”

Despite not being super close with Jack, you were still friends and you knew he had your back. While you hated being treated with careful hands at work now that you were pregnant, part of you still appreciated the gesture of it. It was like something unspoken had happened between Michael and Jack months ago, both of them moving to take the more combative patients whenever you were around.

“Shit, Jack.” You breathed out, rushing into your bedroom to grab your scrubs. “Fuck, Jake is at Pittfest. Let me try to reach him.” You fumbled through your drawers, taking a deep breath through your nose. “I’ll be in. See you soon.”

“Drive safe!” He said before the call disconnected.

After changing, you moved to grab a few odd snacks and water bottles, stuffing them into your lunch bag, along with your cell phone charger. Who knew how long this was going to take, or if Michael had had the chance at any point today to eat. He hadn’t texted or called, but that was not uncommon. The Pitt never made it easy, which was why you were grateful that you worked most of your shifts with your husband.

You tried reaching Jake, leaving a voicemail and a text message before reaching out to his mother. You briefly explained the situation and asked for an update as soon as she heard anything, before you promised the same.

When you got into your car, you took a deep breath to steady your heart before beginning your way to PTMC.

Michael called you, your phone ringing through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hey, don’t have much time, but I need you.” He told you, his voice quiet but full of so much emotion.

“I’m already on my way. Abbott called ten minutes ago. Tried calling out to Jake, too, he didn’t answer. Told his mom to reach out to either of us if she heard anything.” You said in a rush, coming to a stop at a light. Almost there.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The mass alert came through your phone as soon as he hung up. Thank fuck for Jack.

You made it into the parking garage, waving at the security guard now posted at the entrance. You sat in your car for just a minute to get your bearings, knowing tonight was going to be a shitshow.

As you entered the Emergency Department, you saw patients leaving, escorted by nurses and admin staff — and you moved quickly into the back. It was a circus, but you spotted Michael and Jack and beelined for them.

Michael’s brown eyes caught you as you approached and his face relaxed, though his shoulders were still tense. Dana was beside them, and her usual quip of “Oh I get Dr. R squared today?” did not fall from her lips, but she was sporting a black eye. You looked at her in alarm, but she waved it off.

“Just another happy customer.” She said, but you only frowned at her.

Michael spoke next, introducing you, and then quickly running down the new faces to you: Dr. Mel King, an R2, Dennis Whittaker, an M4, Victoria Javadi, an M3, and Dr. Trinity Santos, an intern. You tried to remember their names, but knew you would not likely remember them in the chaos.

You went to quickly put your stuff down, and when you turned around, Michael was standing there. To everyone else, he appeared neutral, controlled, normal. To you? He was wearing his shift all over his face and you could see plainly that it had not been a good one.

“This is going to be stressful, I should’ve let you stay home—”

While you appreciated his concern, you would have come anyway. “I promise, if I get too stressed out, I’ll let myself take a few minutes. But you have me. What can I do to help?”

“I need you in pink zone.” He told you, moving right back to business. “You’ll be with McKay and Javadi, and incoming night shift. But I need you at the head of it.”

“You got it.” You said, honored he was trusting you to run point on your zone.

—

While the victims did not stop coming, you found yourself moving mostly on instinct. Assessing, treating, moving along — trying to do your best to teach when you came across any of the new faces. You flitted into red zone when there was a particularly bad patient and then moved to triage so Dr. Shen could take a quick bathroom break.

When you assisted Michael, you moved together like a well oiled machine — and despite the tragedy, it came to you both naturally. You only barely registered the tension between Michael and Dr. Frank Langdon — a senior resident, and someone Michael had taken under his wing. You would have to remember to ask about it.

Time moved by in a blur, but you were painfully aware of every minute, every patient that came under your care. All the blood, all the death, all the tragedy.

It only got worse when Jake arrived, thought were thankful he was alive. He was asking about his girlfriend when you approached.

“Jake?” You got his attention as you began to take in his appearance. Jesus Christ, he was covered in blood.

“It’s mostly her blood,” he told you blankly, eyes moving around the room at the carnage. “It’s mostly her blood.”

You called for a wheelchair, your gaze searching for Michael. He was working on a patient, giving CPR from the look of it, the patient blocked from your view by the charge desk.

“Take a seat, Jake.” You told him softly, gently touching his shoulder. “Let me take a look at you, yeah?”

He sat down, his head swiveling around to locate his girlfriend. “I think—I think I got hit in the leg.”

You nodded, moving him into the yellow zone so you could bandage him up. You were not related and there were no official familial ties, so there were no problems of ethics — at least that was what you told yourself.

He moved to stand, and you pushed his shoulder back down.

“Let me assess you and then I promise I’ll go check on your girlfriend, okay?”

Jake nodded numbly and moved onto the gurney so you could look at his leg. His injury was not as bad as you had feared, and while you knew he would need stitches, you made do with some bandages for the time being.

“What’s her name?” You asked, trying to bring his attention back to you.

“Leah,” he told you, voice heavy with emotion. “I need to see her.”

While you did not understand the full panic he was experiencing, you knew Leah was in good hands.

“She’s with Robby, Jake. Leah is getting the best care.”

He was still not looking at you, and you got him set up with an IV antibiotic drip.

“Jake? Jake, can you call your mom for me? Cell service might not be great right now, but can you try? She’s worried about you.”

He took that information in slowly, before nodding.

The call did not go through, but you made him promise to keep trying while you assured him you were going to check on his girlfriend.

By the time you reached Michael, he was calling time of death and your heart constricted. You wanted to scream. By the look in his eyes, you can see he wanted to as well. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you and when you turned, he simply shook his head at you. You easily translated that to ‘your husband is not doing good’.

“I couldn’t save her.” Michael whispered, and only you caught it.

You gave his hand a subtle squeeze.

Jack was there then, reading the situation perfectly, “No one could have saved her. Maybe if this was a normal day, but it tore right through her heart. There was not much we could do.”

Fuck, you thought, she’s so young. You hoped she did not suffer.

Michael moved to find Jake and you followed him, but he stopped you.

“Can you take over for me in red so I can let Jake know?”

Every part of you screamed to go with him, but you nodded, turning to step back into pace with the work. You tried to push away your emotions, packaging them away to deal with later, but compartmentalizing was tough. You felt guilty for never meeting this girl, someone Jake had so obviously cared a lot about.

You attempted to get lost in the work, but you caught sight of Michael wheeling Jake out of Peds — the current place they have been putting the deceased — and the look on your husband’s face made your heart plummet. He had moved back into the room, leaving Jake just outside and you quickly gestured to a passing nurse to get him back to yellow.

The security guard did not make any comment when you walked into Peds, and you were devastated at what you found. Aside from the deceased, the number of them slowly ticking upwards, it was the sight of Michael on the floor in tears that truly struck you.

After ripping the curtain closed behind you, to block the view into the hall, and give you both just a small amount of privacy, you moved back toward Michael. It had been a long time since you had seen him like this. He had broken down when he told you about Adamson and the weight of his choice, and once he had even broken down after a particularly bad argument, but nothing like this.

“Baby, baby, hey,” you crouched down beside him, but you did not move to touch him.

His breath caught in his throat, but his sobs continued, hyperventilating with his arms pulled across his bent knees.

“Michael,” you tried, a name you had never called him when within the walls of the hospital.

His watery gaze met yours for just a moment, before his eyes were back in his lap, face scrunched. His ears were red, as well as his face, with red rimmed eyes that broke something in you.

“Michael.” You stressed again, moving so your hands hovered just above his arms. “Can you look at me?”

“I—I—I couldn’t—fuck—I didn’t save her.” His breaths came in short bursts, in in in out, in in out, tears coming down his face, his cheeks red.

You found yourself at a loss on how to help him — you knew none of his thoughts were rational at the moment, and anguish rushed through your veins, feeling so helpless. So useless.

An odd idea struck you, and you pulled out your phone before you could doubt yourself. You flipped through a few of your apps before settling on the one you had used to record your baby’s heartbeat.

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” You asked gently. You took a deep breath in through your nose and then out through your mouth.

You didn’t give him time to respond before you were pressing play on the recording. The sound of it filled the room with something other than Michael’s panic, and he quieted just enough to listen to it.

“That’s our baby.” You told him, though the sound of it was obvious enough, racing steadily like hoof beats.

His eyes found yours, and while he was still breathing quickly, he seemed to have returned to the reality around you, rather than stuck in his head. Relief took a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

“Can you breathe with me?” You asked again, finally touching his arm.

His hand found yours immediately and squeezed, but he nodded. You took a few more deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching as he mirrored you.

Aside from the quick beats of your baby’s heart, the deep breaths you both took filled the room. You desperately tried to ignore the dead around you, trying to solely focus on the man in front of you. When the recording came to a stop, Michael’s hand twitched toward your phone.

“Can you play it again?”

You nodded, pressing play and handing him your phone. The fast heartbeat filled the space again, and he cradled your phone like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

“Very active today.” You told him. “Wouldn’t sit still.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but it was gone in a moment.

“I have a video file that they sent me from today, but I didn’t want to look at it without you. Figured if either of us looked long enough, we’d be able to tell the gender ourselves.”

“Can we?” He asked, looking at you with tears still in his eyes.

You smiled, moving to sit next to him. You did not know how long the moment was going to last — sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for either of you. You tried to ignore it, trying to center yourself in this moment with Michael, forgetting about the outside world for just a moment.

Clicking on the video you had saved, you both sat quietly watching your baby move. Michael grabbed your hand in his and held it close to his chest. This was only going to be a bandaid, but any distraction was a welcomed one in that moment.

“They’re healthy. Measured 6.6 inches, 11 ounces.” You rattled off, moving your other hand to his head and running your nails along his scalp and through his hair. Any time in the past that he had had a panic attack in your company, you found that at the tail end of it, he enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. Like it was grounding.

Michael’s hyperventilating had fully stopped, though a handful of tears still slipped through. His face was still scrunched in pain, but he watched the video attentively.

“You did all you could, my love,” you whispered. “No one could have saved her. Not even if it was all of us and just her. I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

You hushed him, “Jake is still in shock. He’s grieving. Whatever he said to you, he didn't mean it.”

“No, no, he does. I didn’t save her. I told him I would. I told him.”

You brought your lips to his temple, closing your eyes and willing no tears to come. You couldn’t, not now.

Michael tapped on the video again, watching as your baby moved, kicking against your womb like it was their job.

“It’s not your fault.” You told him, moving across the floor until you met his gaze. “I would never lie to you, you know that. I promise. If anyone could have saved her, it would have been you.”

His face scrunched again like he was going to cry.

You held him in your arms, squeezing him tight to your chest, hoping perhaps the more you squeezed, the more he would believe you.

You held his face in your hands, and willed him to look at you. “I love you so much, Michael. This was not your fault. Blame the shooter, they caused this whole thing. Jake will see that eventually, you haven’t lost him.”

Brown eyes held steady on yours, searching them with a gaze that nearly made you shy away. But you hold strong, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Robby! Robby!” Dana’s voice came through the curtain, before it was pushed aside.

Dana only blinked at the sight of you, you knelt in front of your husband, both of your faces twisted and pained.

You found your voice, “Just two minutes, Dana. Please.”

She only nodded, closing the curtain again and disappearing.

“I can’t promise the rest of this is going to be any easier, but,” You paused. “Fuck it, if you want to leave, we can blame me right now. Say I have high blood pressure and you want to make sure I get home safe. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

You remembered all the times he covered for you when your morning sickness made you late, or when he had taken time away from the hectic flow to talk you through a bad case, or a death. When he shouldered the weight of an abrasive family member or aggressive patient, even before you were married. The times he let you leave early when you were having a bad day, or encouraged you to take breaks even when he didn’t.

“Let me try to take care of you right now. Please. Whatever you need.”

Michael took a long breath, rubbing his eyes. “Let me just splash some water on my face. After…stay by my side?”

“Done. If you need a minute, tell me to take a break and come with me. I can shoulder that right now.”

You did not say it because you thought he was weak, but simply because you felt you had the capacity to bear the brunt of the remainder of this shift. People knew he was going to worry about you regardless of the situation, so him ‘checking in’ would not phase them.

“Michael,” you started as you both moved to stand, him offering a hand to help you, “You’ve always been so great with Jake, just give him some time.” You paused, “You’re going to be an amazing father to our child.”

Tears flooded his eyes again and you felt like you had just made it worse while trying to make it better.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. How on earth did I—”

You cupped his cheek and hushed him again, bringing his face to yours until your foreheads touched. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you softly, before bringing you into a hug, careful of your growing bump.

When you parted, he took one last deep breath before facing the chaos that awaited you both out in the ED. You knew the heavier parts of your conversation were going to have to be shelved until you got home.

Michael moved toward the closest bathroom and you rushed back to red zone. There were no words to exchange with Jack, but with a knowing glance at him, he seemed to understand.

“Robby’s moving me to red. Bilal’s got pink covered.” You told him, referencing the night attending.

Abbott only nodded.

When Michael returned only a minute later, you watched him — had you not known him that well, you might not have been able to guess what had just transpired. You were thankful no one else in the hospital knew him as well as you did.

You got back to work, busying your hands to try to stop your mind from worrying too much. Whatever he had done in the bathroom, he had clearly thrown his panic attack into a bag and stuffed it deep inside his mind. It made your heart ache, but you would help him unpack it once you were both in the safety of your home.

Michael still made sound decisions, and not once did you feel the need to question his judgement. Jack was steadfast with you both, and you were grateful for him.

—

It was 10pm by the time the dust began to settle and the situation finally simmered to a more controllable level. You were beat and you had only been there a few hours, Michael encouraging you to take a seat and have some water while he checked on a handful of things. You took that moment to find Jake — who now had been stitched up and was with his mom.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really wish I could have met her.”

He nodded numbly, “You would’ve really liked her.”

A sad smile formed on your lips, “I’m sure I would have.”

You wanted to tell him to go easy on Robby, but the words did not form on your tongue. It was still too soon, and while you did not want Jake to blame him, you knew it wasn’t the time or place.

You parted from them sadly, before going to check on the med students and finally finding Michael with Jack.

It was a half hour later that you both finally left, Michael following you silently to your car. You were still digesting it all, wondering how the hell you were even going to begin processing it.

At home, you both quickly discarded your scrubs to the floor and made your way to the bathroom. It went unsaid that you both needed to wash this shift off, more so mentally than physically, but being clean would certainly make you feel better.

It was amazing how well you had learned to read each other, and you held onto him under the warm water for a long moment. He kissed the side of your head before grabbing the soap, sudsing up his hands and gently cleaning your skin. You relished in the feeling of him.

Once you rinsed off, you returned the favor. You moved your hands over his arms, his chest and then his back. You added a kiss here and there, knowing he enjoyed your touch just as much. He held your belly in his hands, eyes faraway again — but you brought your hand to his face to get his attention.

You kissed him, holding onto him and trying to translate all the things you felt into it. He returned the kiss and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

It was quiet, but cathartic.

You both dried off, and changed before collapsing into your bed, Michael immediately pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the calming sound of his heart.

Moving off his chest, you pulled him close to you and let him rest his head on you, his hand going to your belly. His breathing was slow and controlled, but you knew his mind was racing. You held him tight, your fingers going to his hair.

“I’d like to talk about today.” You said. “Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow, or this week. But eventually.”

He was quiet, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes on your stomach. “We can do that.”

“I’m here when you’re ready.” You told him.

He moved to press his lips to yours, peppering your face with kisses, before bringing you back to his chest. He held you for a long time and you did not even dare let go.

“I saw what it was.” He said.

“Oh?” You questioned against his chest, leaning your head back to look at him.

“Our baby.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

He grinned and kissed you deeply. Truth was, it didn’t matter. And as you held each other, you knew it was all going to be okay.

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready

I need to give him a hug

[stellamarielu]

late night visits

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, mutual pining, oral f!receiving, mention of an age gap because i can’t help myself, just dr robby having a realization of feelings while going down on you

author’s note: told y’all i was gonna write some dr robby smut!! like usual, it didn’t feel right to jump right in with nasty jaw dropping smut so here’s a little fluffy— but still saucy, hookup drabble with the hunkiest emergency doctor i know

Michael Robinavitch was your neighbor. 

Your apartment doors faced each other which lead to many casual exchanges and brief interactions.

They started off innocent; shy waves and polite smiles.

Then, they turned into conversations about what each of you did for a living and how long you’d lived in the city— just a culmination of small talk and harmless banter that took place in the little hallway of your apartment building.

But then, after weeks of coy chitchatting outside of your front doors, your exchanges escalated.

Your conversations with Robby had turned into hushed moans and deep throaty groans as his hands gripped furiously at your hips while he thrusted into you after an exhausting day at work. 

The first time you tested the waters of shared desire was a little over a month ago. You spontaneously invited him over to join you for dinner as he was getting home from work. Neither of you thought much about it. It felt like a simple invitation to get to know a new-ish neighbor. Just a friendly meeting over a quick meal, but it turned out to be something entirely different. 

That evening ended with his calloused hands greedily sliding up your body with your back pressed against a wall.

Both of you were stewing with pent-up frustration and using the other for an easy thoughtless release. 

The next time you found yourself underneath his body was just as unexpected but far more impassioned.

He had knocked on your door, his expression unsure yet somehow laced with anticipation when you answered. 

He started trying to make up some excuse as to why he was interrupting your nighttime routine until you pulled him into your apartment, meeting his lips with your own in a hurried and desperate kiss. 

It continued like that for weeks, late night visits full of eager touches and sinful craving.

The exact nature of your relationship was unclear. You just found one another for physical connection, never getting in too deep or finding meaning in your dubiously satisfying meetings. 

But, of course you had feelings for the guy, he had his dick buried in you on a nightly basis. You just weren’t sure if he felt the same way. 

You couldn’t help but assume he saw you as a quick fuck— an easy way to detach from his day in a bout of vulgar connection.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Sure, the first time had been because Robby needed a distraction. You were just stood there, cooking a meal for him and listening intently as he told you about his profession. You were completely enthralled with him, your lips turning up into a cute little smile, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that; let alone a beautiful woman nearly half his age. It was almost criminal how fast he gave into temptation, letting himself get a taste of you through hungry kisses and tainted intentions.

After that he became addicted to you.

He even found himself thinking about you at work— a place that didn’t allow more than a sliver of space in his mind to think about anything other than the task at hand, yet you occupied nearly every corner of it. 

So he kept showing up— kept seeking you out in hopes that he could stay high on your presence long enough to stay satisfied before getting the next inevitable taste.

You seemed to enjoy the unspoken arrangement. He didn’t want to ruin anything with the complication feelings and exclusivity. Plus, he was a busy man, relationships never seemed to work well for him, so maybe this situation was for the best. 

But now, his face was buried between your legs, and he peered up to find your head thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen something so picturesque. So undeniably perfect. 

“God, You’re beautiful.” His voice was a hum against your skin as he stopped to place a sloppy kiss on the inside of your thigh along with his words. 

Your fingers tightened into his hair as his mouth hungrily worked at your core. 

You opened your eyes to glance down at him, unsure of how to take his compliment while he was busy doing such lewd things to you. 

He caught the silly grin on your lips at his words— so pure and gentle. The innocent curve of your mouth only made him want more. He gently grabbed at your thighs, spreading them even further.

The soft moan of approval slipping from your tongue had an involuntary groan breaking from his chest. 

With every sweet sound off your lips he dived deeper into you. His mouth was expertly working you toward your release, and just as you felt the pressure getting ready to snap, he pulled away.

He rested between your legs, his torso propped up just enough to get a good look at you.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat after this.” His statement came out in a breathless whisper. It seemed more like a question with the way his eyes were looking up, watching intently. 

You tried to hide the giggle that at your lips as a small smile took over your expression.

What on earth prompted him to bring this up while he had you on the verge of coming undone on his tongue?

But also, why was it so sweet? The way his words held such sincerity felt extremely intimate.

“Just- I want to take you out somewhere.” His grin was wide as he watched you react to his ill-timed inquiry.  

He knew it was late and maybe you wouldn’t be interested, but he couldn’t help but ask. 

Watching your back arch under his touch and hearing your sweet whimpers fill his ears had him losing his patience.

He needed more of you.

Needed it so badly that he was stopping himself from tasting your sweet release just to ask for more of your time. The two of you were only ever together in a dimly lit apartments under bed sheets, he wanted to go out with you; somewhere different, somewhere new. He wanted to take you to grab a coffee down the street at that place that stays open until 2am. He wanted to ask you questions about yourself and watch you smile while you talked— to see the sweet curve of your lips that he'd grown so attached to. 

Maybe he wasn’t much of a relationship guy, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he harbored for you. 

“Like a date?” You were leaning back on your elbows with your eyebrows raised subtly at his suggestion. 

“Yeah, a date.” 

“Ok Robby. I’ll go on a date with you.” Your smirk met his idiotic grin as he dove back down, satisfied by your answer.

He resumed his previous actions with a fervor of victory.

“Perfect.” The word was messy as it left his lips and landed directly on your core. 

It wasn’t long before your body was tensing, and mumbled profanities filled the room at your release. Even though you had just finished on his tongue, you weren’t done. You wanted to let him fuck you into the sheets, to repay him for getting you off, but he refused. No— he was determined to follow through on his promise.

The two of you walked side by side to grab a coffee at nearly midnight; you laughing and him watching, as he got to know you outside of the walls of your apartment.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.

TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere

You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.

It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.

So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.

You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure. 

The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.

You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes. 

Come outside. Stop trying to resist.

Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.

The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.

“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.

“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words. 

“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”

There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors. 

“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.

“Do you really mean that?”

The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting. 

“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you. 

The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy. 

From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.

“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”

You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness. 

You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence. 

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer reid tries to focus on work, but keeps getting distracted. first by an unexpected phone call. then by the way you start flirting with another agent right across from his desk. but in the end, why does it even bother him?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spender reid x diva!chemist reader, reader kinda threatens to poison him, but its not a threat, just their silly way of showing mutual affection <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request. heyyy wonderful people, just letting you know that your request was the second-to-last in my inbox, so im opening them again! feel free to send me your ideas for the diva reader series, im already grateful in advance :>

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

"We met last night, don’t know if you remember," the man continued after a brief silence, caused entirely by Spencer’s confusion. "I hope you do. Because I sure do. Hard to forget a face like yours. You still there, sweetheart?"

In case anyone had any doubts—Spencer was not the intended recipient of this conversation.

He hadn’t gone out the night before, let alone given his number to a stranger. In fact, he had been in an entirely different state.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me mad now. Or maybe you’re staying quiet because you’re curious how much I remember about you? Want me to remind you what you were wearing?"

Suddenly, it clicked.

After a brief second of pure disbelief, Spencer rolled his eyes upward, staring straight into the glare of the overhead lights. He blinked slowly.

His brain was exceptionally sharp that day. Even more so than usual.

Which meant it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. A quick mental chain reaction, linking scattered fragments of information into a single, clear conclusion. 

The man on the other end of the line thought Spencer was the woman he had met the night before.

Spencer had a few female friends, but everything—literally everything—pointed to her.

First of all, he was nearly certain none of the others had gone out last night. They had all been working together, after all.

Second, and somehow more importantly—none of them, except her, would have found it remotely funny to give his number to a random guy.

As a joke? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that,” Spencer cut in sharply, before the man on the other end could start poetically or less poetically describing her outfit.

This time, the silence came from the other side, laced with clear confusion.

Spencer couldn’t stop the faint crease forming on his forehead, nor the subtle tension drawing his shoulder blades together. The entire conversation left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just because the guy was wasting his time.

It was his voice.

Self-important. Smug. Wet in a way that made simply listening to him an unpleasant experience. The kind of voice that could turn an otherwise neutral or even affectionate word sweetheart into something damn near degrading.

Years of experience profiling people meant Spencer had no trouble picturing exactly the kind of man he was dealing with. And the distaste coiling in his gut only sharpened.

“For future reference,” he said, barely pausing for breath, his grip tightening on the phone, “I’d suggest double-checking the numbers women give you when they’re trying to get rid of you. Because this isn’t your sweetheart. This is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which, for your information, is part of the FBI. And your utterly pointless, time-wasting phone call could be considered obstruction of justice, which, surprise, can land you several years in prison.

A loud silence followed—one that left Spencer with a strange feeling. Satisfaction, maybe.

The man cleared his throat, and Spencer would bet good money that there were one or two silent curses mixed in there.

“This whore must’ve given me a fake number,” the guy muttered, no longer speaking directly into the phone.

The sudden shift from sweetheart to whore was so blatant that Spencer couldn’t hold back a sharp, mocking scoff.

“Well, I’m guessing you didn’t think of her as a whore when you were trying to hit on her last night—”

He barely finished the last word before the line went dead.

For a moment, he remained motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear, analyzing his own reaction. He was completely taken aback by it. Almost immediately, though, he forced himself into a nonchalant shrug, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation at an unwanted call.

Work. Right. Work. He had work to do, he had to meet with Hotch…

…but he had barely covered a few meters when his gaze caught a familiar stride and silhouette crossing one of the hallways. And before his mind could even consciously make the decision, he found himself heading in that direction—despite originally going somewhere entirely different.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked as her hand pressed the elevator button.

She didn’t look at him at first, though she must have heard his footsteps. It wasn’t until he spoke that she slightly turned her head toward him.

“Not too bad,” she admitted casually. Her hands immediately moved to their usual position, arms crossed over her chest, and a small teasing smile danced on her lips.“How about your morning? Any interesting phone calls?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not expecting to be so transparent. He also felt a bit confused by her enigmatic, calm reaction. The elevator stopped, and she confidently stepped inside first.

Spencer followed her.

“I don’t quite get it,” he admitted, furrowing his brows. “Was that supposed to be a joke at my expense, or that guy’s?”

They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in the small elevator space. He looked at her, and she stared ahead. She slowly shrugged.

“Maybe both,” she replied, inspecting her nails. Spencer clenched his lips, holding back from saying that she could at least spare him the ignorant, irritating attitude for once. “Or maybe I just wanted to get rid of the pushy guy by giving him the first random number I could think of” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe I was hoping you'd scare the shit out of him with some long lecture, preferably about the law. Was I right?”

She shifted her gaze fully to him, her piercing eyes locking onto him with such intensity that denial was out of the question. He didn’t even need to answer—the flicker of expression that crossed his face gave him away instantly.

Her short laugh filled the elevator.

He always felt a little humiliated, standing there in silence while she laughed at his expense. So he spoke first, blurting out the first thing that came to mind—the thing that had been sitting there for a while now.

“Does that happen a lot? Guys being pushy?”

She gave him a closer look, maybe because of the unintended seriousness in his voice. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more indifferent.

“Well, yes,” she said simply. Stating an obvious fact, a reality she was used to. “Every time. But getting rid of them isn’t hard. A well-placed conversation, and they run off just as fast as they showed up.” She scoffed. “But sometimes I’d rather just, you know, actually enjoy my evening instead of dealing with them. And that’s when the fake number trick comes in.”

Spencer caught himself listening with genuine interest. He was well aware of the effect she had on people—how she drew eyes just by existing, how so many of those looks were filled with nothing but desire. He also had the impression that, for the most part, she regarded them with mild disdain—or maybe even enjoyed being the center of attention.

He hadn’t considered that sometimes she’d had enough of them—so much so that she had an entire list of strategies to get rid of them just as quickly as she attracted them.

He realized he had fallen silent, lost in thought. The elevator stopped at her floor—he hadn’t planned on getting in with her in the first place, which meant he was now stuck pretending he was going somewhere else.

She took a step toward the open doors before his voice stopped her.

“Wait, you’re not even going to say thank you?” he asked. “I did waste some time on that guy. That was a solid lecture.”

She stood in front of the open doors, facing him.

“I have a suspicion,” she began, one brow arching as a teasing smirk tugged at her lips, “that you enjoyed it way too much to actually need my thanks.”

She gave him a small wave—just her fingers, really—before the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from each other. Spencer hated to admit—even to himself—that she had a point. Okay, a lot of a point, he realized as he recalled that fleeting rush of satisfaction when the call abruptly ended, punctuated by a hint of panic on the other end.

And maybe that was what ultimately decided it—because from that moment on, on the rare occasions he received similar calls, he always had a long, meticulously crafted, stern lecture at the ready. One that, just before the inevitable abrupt hang-up, sent the smallest, most satisfying shiver down his spine.

*

"You have three hours."

"I can handle it in two."

 "Do it in one."

Spencer remembered these words, muttering a soft shit under his breath. The massive stack of papers that not only needed to be read but also carefully analyzed seemed to be getting no smaller. The hour on the clock, however, kept ticking forward.

"Hm? What's up? Do you have something?"

He slowly shifted his unwilling gaze to the man he was trapped in the room with. Well, not literally trapped, but that’s how it felt. Dean Bradley, an agent who’d been working on the case they’d just been assigned to for years, knew it inside out—naturally, he had been assigned to cooperate with them. His current role, however, seemed to involve nothing more than pretending to write something on the whiteboard and occasionally throwing out a theory that supposedly brought them closer to the solution but, in reality, only pushed them further away. Bradley was incredibly distracting to Spencer.

"No... I just... nothing." Spencer replied rubbing his throbbing temple. That case had been exceptionally exhausting, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the coffee he had just drunk hadn’t helped at all. "Nothing. Just...can you not say anything to me for a while?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him but Reid didn’t really care. Simply buried his nose in the papers again, reading, or rather, devouring the pages with his eyes. There hadn’t been the best atmosphere between them ever since Spencer had ignored his outstretched hand for a greeting. Well, that was because he had seen Bradley leaving the bathroom earlier, and even if he had washed his hands, he had immediately touched the door handle that everyone in the building touched, half of whom hadn’t washed their hands. Honestly, Spencer would have preferred to kiss him as a greeting. It would have been safer.

For a moment, Bradley was actually quiet. He didn’t stay that way for too long, though—just long enough.

"So, where are those lab results? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?"

"They were. So, I’m guessing they’ll be here any minute," Spencer replied shortly.

"It’s taking a while. Maybe I should just go grab them myself?"

Yeah, please do, Spencer nearly begged. He even opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swung open and a woman stepped in, moving with quick, confident steps, but this time with a bit of frustration in her stride.

Completely ignoring the man's gaze landing on her, she stepped up to his desk and dropped the promised lab results onto it with a sharp motion.

"Could you tell me," she began, one hand still resting on the papers, preventing him from immediately going through them. Because she was standing while he was sitting, her figure loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes. Naturally, he did, his gaze moving from her hand with neatly manicured fingers to her beautiful face, her bottom lip slightly protruding as she prepared to speak. "When exactly did I become your secretary? Because I don't remember that moment."

Spencer didn't even blink before responding, so used to thir verbal sparring and the fast pace she always set, just like her steps.

"Well, maybe since you started handing out my number left and right," he shot back instantly. Without breaking his gaze, he grabbed the empty cup sitting within arm's reach. "And since you consider yourself my secretary, would you be so kind as to make me a coffee?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Agent Bradley watching their exchange with fascination, focused on only one side of the conversation. No need to specify which side. Meanwhile, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side, a certain gleam lighting up her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, to his surprise. There was something devious in her tone. Suddenly, Spencer didn't want the coffee anymore. "But I’m not sure I’d be so kind as to make sure those ten teaspoons of sugar you put in your coffee are actually sugar, and not, say, arsenic..."

Instinctively, he pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Not ten," he mumbled.

"Oh, my eternal apologies, I exaggerated a bit. Five?"

"Well, now you're getting closer..."

Their conversation, or rather their verbal sparring, was interrupted by a cough.

“Reid,” Bradley said his last name much friendlier than ever before, with a mischievous grin on his face. “When you said the chemist would bring us the lab results, I imagined, I don’t know, Einstein with his hair sticking out in all directions. Did you really lock such a treasure in the lab?” he chuckled. “So it wouldn't distract y’all?”

Spencer looked up at the woman in front of him again, who had only just noticed the third person in the room. Her hand slowly slid off the papers she’d been resting on, though it stayed on the desk. She half turned her body toward the new speaker, casually sitting on the desk. There was something hypnotic in the fluid, clock-like motion as she crossed one knee over the other. For a moment, he just watched, realizing after a while that he wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe I locked myself in there,” she replied. Her tone calm, too calm, as it always was before she’d throw words, like precisely aimed darts, at the other person. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the same tired lines from agents with the same tired faces, thinking they’re being creative.”

For a moment, he completely forgot about the pile of papers waiting to be analyzed. He watched what was unfolding in front of him, a small smile involuntarily starting to form on his lips. However, it faded the moment he noticed Bradley’s expression. He had expected him to be shut down. Speechless, maybe. Hurt in that characteristic, pathetic way typical of fragile male pride. Instead, Bradley was grinning like an idiot.

“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Bradley commented lightly, not in the slightest bit put off by her words. In fact, the fascination on his face only grew.

Spencer couldn’t help but glance at the profile of the woman sitting motionless on the desk. Her gaze was now also more focused, following the person across from her. Her eyes seemed even more concentrated, intrigued, and entertained than during their conversation. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, physically making himself look back at the papers. Work, right, work. He had to focus on it, despite how distracted he was by their presence. It was, after all, natural. They were speaking rather loudly, right in front of him. He began reading the text on the page, concentrating only on it.

“You must feel like some princess locked in a tower,”

His ears, against his better judgment, picked up Bradley’s next words. He shook his head. Text. A quick glance at the woman’s face. Text.

“You know, that German fairy tale from the 18th century…”

Spencer, from his own experience, knew that info dumping wasn’t the most effective way to flirt with a woman. Especially when it wasn’t even accurate.

“17th century,” he corrected, unable to stop himself. Both their gazes landed on him, but he didn’t respond to either, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers. He was reading them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. He started analyzing the same paragraph again, continuing, “Assuming we’re talking about the German version of that fairy tale recorded by The Brothers Grimm. Because, actually, this was developed from the French literary fairy tale Persinette by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, which itself is an alternative version of the Italian fairy tale Petrosinella by Giambattista Basile.”

A long silence fell. The woman shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to be focused on her work, and he tried not to look at her face. Was there pity or amusement on it? Why did it matter to him so much to figure that out? What mattered was only one thing: they were bothering him. The two of them. With the noise they were generating, to be precise.

The sound that filled the room was probably just a long breath from Bradley.

“Wow,” he repeated, thrown off. “Thanks for the clarification, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Doctor Reid.”

He couldn’t stop himself and looked at her. She closed her eyes when a smile spread across her lips. She didn’t try to hide it or hold it back. It was simply there. Bradley noticed it too, his arms, which had been casually resting on his hips, sliding down along his body.

"Didn't you have some urgent documents to analyze?" he began, trying not to sound confrontational, but he failed. He sounded confrontational. "The ones you kept reminding me about every five minutes since we got here?"

Reid didn't have a sharp retort ready for that one; in fact, Bradley had hit the nail on the head. He did have a lot of urgent documents to go through, but for reasons unknown to him, he'd decided to engage in this pointless conversation instead. His silence only seemed to fuel the satisfaction on Bradley's face, which was broken only by the movement of the woman. Specifically, her rising from the desk.

"You could've just said we’re interrupting," she remarked, stretching one leg after the other, every movement fluid. "Especially if it's something important. Is it?"

"Well, actually, yes..."

"In that case, I suppose we're in the way. Shall we go, Agent Bradley?"

She must have read his last name off the badge pinned to her chest. Both Spencer and Bradley looked at her, but only one of them slowly cracked a smile. The other let out a sigh, pretending to feel relief, though deep down, he genuinely did—finally, he could focus on what he had wanted to from the start.

They both made their way toward the door. Unused to her quick pace, and still a bit surprised by the attention she had given him, the agent trailed after her like a lost puppy. As they crossed the threshold, she turned back to him over her shoulder, looking like a kid bragging about winning a bike race.

Spencer merely shook his head with pity, and when they both disappeared in the same direction, he scoffed.

He returned to his work.

After a while, he found himself thinking that perhaps he preferred their conversation to be within earshot, rather than out of it.

[fangs-and-flowers-writing]

Retired!Simon who was medically discharged nearly a year ago. He's finally starting to get out of the house and trying to do more things. Not necessarily be more social, but not sit around and rot in his home. That's how he met you. You worked at the bookstore about five minutes from where he lived.

You had to admit, you were stunned when a massive guy pulled up on his motorcycle outside the shop. Your little bookstore was in the quiet part of town and had more regular customers than new ones. He was dressed in all black with a skull neck gaiter hiding half his face. You half expected him to try and rob the place.

Retired!Simon deciding he wanted to investigate the little colorful store he'd passed so many times. He hadn't read a book in years, but it was a hobby that didn't require other people. He saw your expression when he walked in. Like you weren't sure if he was real or a fictional character himself.

"You 'ave a favorite book?" He asked, leaning against the counter. You blinked before stammering out a 'yes'. When you didn't elaborate he simply stared you down before you finally broke and rambled off a title.

"I'll 'ave that then."

Retired!Simon who had gone home with a colorful little novel tucked beneath his arm. The Quit List or whatever it was. He finished it in about three days. He found it cliché, predictable, and a touch stupid. Yet he still ended up back at your store a week later. You were surprised to see him back, much less asking for another recommendation.

Retired!Simon found himself enjoying the books you recommended. You made sure to give him the most sweet and fluffy novels you could think of. Sure, they were mushy romance novels but they always had a happy end. And he seemed like the guy who could use a few happy endings.

Retired!Simon who's grateful for your recommendations. It was something calm and boring he could read before bed. And they were something he could read when he woke up from a nightmare. They'd become a comfort to him.

You seemed to cater each book to his tastes even though he never spoke aloud what he liked about each one. Every time he finished one he was back at your shop. His large frame darkening your doorway as the bell rang. And every time, you smiled at him. You'd become just as much a comfort as the books he bought.

"Hey, Simon! Back for another?" You asked. You're grinning at him, knowing you'll hear all about how the book you'd picked out was drab and cliché.

Retired!Simon who finds his lips curling at the edges at this little routine you both have built. The barest hint of a smile is visible in his eyes as he leans against the counter, arching an eyebrow.

"What d'ya have this time?"

[sweet4rafe]

FIRST TIME ˎˊ˗

summary: the handsome cowboy hired by your father to help around the farm has been eyeing you, for weeks. on this fateful summer evening, rafe finally decides to do something about the attraction he felt towards you— his employer's daughter.

the barn smelled like hay & fresh wood, warm even with the night air creeping in through the gaps in the beams. you were used to it, used to the quiet hum of crickets outside, the occasional rustling from the horses in their stalls. what you weren’t used to was him.

rafe was leaning against the old workbench, arms crossed, watching you with that lazy sort of gaze that made your stomach feel tight. he’d been helping your dad with repairs all week, sleeves pushed up, hands always busy with something, lifting, hammering, fixing things you never paid attention to before. you’d barely spoken more than a few words to him, but the way he looked at you now made it feel like he already had you figured out.

you wiped your palms on the front of your dress, swallowing hard. “shouldn’t you be heading home?”

he tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you tryna get rid of me, berry girl?”

your face felt hot. that’s what he called you after catching you out in the fields, basket in hand, fingers stained red from fresh picked fruit. like he thought it was cute. like he thought you were.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head, “just… my daddy don’t like me talkin’ to boys much.”

“yeah?” rafe pushed off the bench, closing the space between you. he didn’t touch you, just stood close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “good thing i’m a man, then.”

your breath caught. he was teasing, you knew that, but it didn’t make the heat pooling in your belly any less real.

his hand lifted, fingertips ghosting over the end of one of your braids, tugging at the ribbon tied at the end. “s’cute,” he murmured. “all done up like this. makes me wonder if you’ve ever had someone mess ‘em up before.”

you shook your head, wide eyed, not trusting yourself to speak.

“thought so.” his fingers brushed your jaw next, tipping your chin up higher. “you ever been kissed, sweet?”

your silence was answer enough.

“shit,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “shouldn’t be looking at me like that, then. makes me wanna ruin you.”

your knees nearly buckled at that, something unfamiliar twisting inside you. your inexperience must’ve been obvious, because rafe hummed, guiding you back until your spine met the wooden stall behind you.

“c’mon,” he coaxed, voice low. “just a little taste. lemme show you how it feels.”

your lips parted to protest, but rafe was already there, dipping down, mouth slanting over yours. it was softer than you expected, but only for a moment. then he was tilting his head, deepening it, swallowing the tiny noise that slipped from your throat.

his hands found your waist, gripping firm as he pulled you flush against him, and oh, you felt him. thick and hot, pressing into your stomach through his jeans.

you gasped, pulling back slightly, and rafe just smirked, breath fanning against your lips. “you feel that, baby?”

you nodded, dazed, fingers clutching at his shirt.

“s’all for you,” he murmured, sliding a hand lower, gathering the hem of your dress. “if you wanna stop, tell me now.”

you didn’t. couldn’t.

so when his fingers slipped between your thighs, you let him.

his fingers traced along the inside of your thigh, warm and rough, calloused from days of working under the sun. you shivered at the touch, your breath hitching when he dragged them higher, teasing.

“you’re shakin’, baby,” rafe murmured, his lips barely grazing your jaw. “nervous?”

you nodded, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. you’d never done this before, never even thought about doing something like this in the barn, of all places, but rafe was looking at you like you were something to be devoured, and the way he touched you made you feel like you could trust him.

“don’t be,” he soothed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, a stark contrast to the filth spilling from his mouth. “gonna take care of you.”

his fingers finally dipped between your legs, brushing against the cotton of your panties. you gasped, instinctively trying to press your thighs together, but rafe clicked his tongue, prying them back apart.

“none of that,” he chided, amusement lacing his tone. “lemme see how sweet you are.”

he pressed down, slow and deliberate, rubbing tight, lazy circles over the fabric. a whimper escaped your lips, your back arching slightly against the wooden stall.

“fuck,” rafe breathed, watching you. “this all for me?”

you nodded, of course it was, it had only ever been for him, but the confirmation made something dark flicker in his eyes.

“such a good girl,” he murmured, slipping his fingers beneath your panties, dragging them through your slick. your whole body tensed at the foreign sensation, hips twitching as he spread it over your clit, circling it with the lightest pressure.

“rafe,” you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for, but he understood.

“shh, just let me do it, baby,” he soothed, slipping a finger inside you. your walls fluttered around the intrusion, the stretch unfamiliar but not unwelcome. rafe groaned, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “fuck, you’re tight.”

your breath came in soft, uneven pants, your fingers gripping his shoulders. he moved slowly at first, letting you adjust, before sliding a second finger in, scissoring them carefully.

“you’re takin’ it so well,” he murmured, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw, making you look at him. “feel good?”

you nodded frantically, unable to speak, pleasure buzzing through you like nothing you’d ever felt before.

rafe smirked, leaning in to press a messy kiss to your lips. “bet you’d feel even better wrapped around my cock.”

your breath hitched at his words, the insinuation making your head spin.

rafe pulled back just enough to gauge your reaction, fingers never stopping their slow, torturous pace. “you want that, baby?”

your thighs trembled, your answer coming out in a desperate, breathless whimper.

“yeah?” rafe chuckled, fingers curling just right, making you keen. “then you better hold onto me, sweetheart. ‘cause i’m about to show you what you’ve been missin’.”

[tragiteas]

reid x reader fluffy fic where they’re at readers place on the couch after a case and get to talking about relationships and love - reader can’t believe spencer has trouble dating because he’s attractive and maybe spencer is confused as to why reader isn’t in relationships with men like derek etc

a heart full of yearning (i just don’t know it yet) spencer reid x reader

summary:

during a repose from a case, reader asks about spencer’s relationship status. spencer gets insecure and has questions of his own.

tags: pre-relationship, fluff, probably incredibly awkward, lots of hand holding, possibly unrealistic long dialogue, maybe rushed ending?, oneshot, use of y/n (one time), there may be grammatical issues

a/n: omg this sounds so cute, hello??? i hope i do you justice, this is my very first request and my first complete fanfic / oneshot that i’ve done in a while. i changed the plot a little, but i hope it still suits your tastes, anon <3 P.S. the hands are meant only for aesthetic, they are not meant to depict the race or size of the reader. special thanks to @lesbianvampirefanatic for helping me with the ending <3

It’s silent.

Not the trapping, anxious filled kind. The kind of silence you would expect after a case as grim as the one that we were taking a break from for the night. It was just a comfortable silence, only ever being interrupted with a small sip of tea or the wind pushing against the window that was beside the couch we were sitting on.

I should really get that prepared. Maybe the next day, or the day after.

Most definitely did not tell myself that a week ago. Totally not.

A cough interrupts me from thoughts of reading into silence and of needing to repair a broken window that most likely won’t be repaired until it’s falling off of its hinges. Setting my cup of tea down on the table beside me, I look up and stare at Spencer.

Oh no. Now my thoughts are full of doe eyed deer and of the need to run my fingers through his hair. Maybe even braiding the front of his hair in a cute little braid.

Shaking the thoughts away, I hum a soft, “Yes?”

Spencer pauses for a moment, then breaches into what he was planning to say, “You were acting as if me not being in a relationship is, objectively speaking, like if I were trying to explain how unicorns are an existing species. I don’t understand how it’s to that level of surprising. I am not that attractive, especially if compared to other guys,” he finishes quietly but assuredly, as if this is some statistic that was studied for years and proven to be true.

I grab onto his hands, his eyes widen for a moment then soften. I take a deep breath, preparing for the rant I am about to do, then start.

“Look, I have no idea where that root of insecurity came from, but that cannot be the furthest thing from the truth. You’re genuinely one of the most attractive men I have ever met, let alone person. You have the most beautiful of hair, do you know how many people most likely have looked at it and longed to have even one touch? Those eyes, too, they’re the most softest of browns,” I let out, maybe a tad too quickly as I feel myself lacking air. I give myself time for the much needed air and to examine Spencer’s face.

I pause, removing my hands from his.

His face looks as if its frozen in place, his lips parted and eyes wide yet again. Should I be worried of the amount of times Spencer’s eyes went wide? No, not the time.

“You think I’m attractive?” Spencer questions, awe evident in his tone of voice, which completely derails my thoughts.

It feels incredibly warm, uncomfortably so.

Glancing away, I never noticed how interesting a couch’s texture could be, I argue, “I mean, of course, anyone with eyes could tell.”

Spencer chuckled nervously, looking at me as if he was looking at me for the first time. He hesitantly moves even closer to me, waiting for any notice of me being uncomfortable. Whatever I did must have answered his question, as the next thing I know my hands are intertwined within his again.

“Then should I bring up how you confuse me just as much?” he inquires, smiling softly.

Gazing at him quizzically, I reply, “I confuse you?”

Spencer’s lips lift a little. “Well, for one, you could be spending time with any man in the world right now. Those even better than me, take Morgan for example,” he trails off, his irises looking away from me.

Well. That won’t do.

“Morgan is an amazing person, do not get me wrong, but why would I rather hang out with him when you’re right in front of me? He doesn’t give me random facts or statistics, he doesn’t give long rants of things that I would have never noticed without you pointing it out,” I waver, “He isn’t you. You’re amazing in your own right, and I would never even think of ever replacing that,” I finish, letting my eyes map out his reaction.

Spencer’s face is pink, his pupils dilated. His mouth opens and closes, before finally being able to form words.

“You-” his voice cracks, which makes him instantly pause for a moment. He squeezes his eyes shut, most likely from embarrassment. I wish I could tell him that it’s adorable, but I don’t want to interrupt and make him lose the confidence to finish his sentence.

“You really think that?” he stresses.

I smile warmly at him, squeezing his hands before responding, “Of course I do, Spencer. I cherish you.”

Relaxing, he airily answers, “Me too. I cherish you, that is.”

We look fixedly at each other for a moment, our brains processing the discussion.

Opening my mouth to continue the conversation, a sharp ringing popped the peaceful bubble that had surrounded us.

It was coming from Spencer’s phone.

There’s a vexed look in his eyes before he’s pulling away and grabbing his phone from his pocket, “Hello?”

I tone him out after that, trying to fully wrap my head around what just happened. What would have happened if we weren’t interrupted? Would the bubble that had surround us gotten even smaller?

“Hey, Y/N? That was Hotch. There’s been a new report with the case, he’s said that it’s important we all gather together,” Spencer announces gently, cutting me away from bubble filled what ifs.

“Right, of course. We should get ready to head out, yeah?” I suggest, feeling caught even though there’s nothing to even be caught with.

Ignoring the warm feeling in my stomach, I haul myself up from the couch.