#gotta have bathroom reading material right

[callsign-daydream]

Hangman: Why are you reading Rooster’s mail? Coyote: Because all you got were bills.

[tinycozycomfort]

where you sleep

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day three of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: hand kink -> read her day three here

summary: When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

warnings/tags: pwp!, hand kink, oral sex (m recieving), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (m), exhibitionism, misuse of underwear/underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), creepy!joel (/dark!joel?)

word count: 1.7k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: gotta give an extra kiss to @pascalisbaby for not only saving this from the delete button more than once but for always being the best person alive!!!

main masterlist

You hear him, first—the end of a damp squelch, the sharp intake that breaks between coupling breaths, on a loop—from your place at the front door. It’s only clear enough to be interpreted as motion, disjointed pieces of noise that make you think he might be struggling, or hurt—so you follow. 

Padding lightly down the hallway in the dim afternoon, a twinge of anxiety leans lamely against your heart with all its dead weight; guilty already, even with no cause. Your chest thrums as it tries to hold up, picturing all of the ways he could have ended up wounded while trying to fix your shower, but when you reach the bathroom, it’s empty. No blood, no horrific scene, just a pile of loose tools and a smattering of fine plaster from where he’d dug around in the wall—yet the sounds persist somewhere further. 

You continue down, not quiet by any means, a little disturbed by his lack of interest in your arrival. He’s in your room, you deduce—the only occupiable space left in the home—coming into view now with the aid of long, heavy steps. Announcing yourself, just in case.  

The door is split open enough to see a long strip of empty space—the corner of your unmade bed, the swirling edge of your dresser, a sliver of mirror posed straighter than usual. 

As you sidle up to the frame, the sounds pitch up—strained hissing and sloppy glide of skin reaching a peak—and so you risk a deeper lean to see what it is he’s gotten himself into; what it is that isn’t worth hiding. 

A weak wash of daylight squeezes through the kinks in the blinds, allowing you only the fuzzy edges of what he’s doing. 

Joel sits on the far side of the bed, body angled so that you can see just a little more than profile, hunched roundly over his lap. He’s almost fully dressed—button-up intact right up to the neck, crinkled tops of his jeans still upright on his legs—everywhere except his center. 

He has one hand braced on his stomach, wide and solid and threaded with thick cords of vein, the fabric of his modesty folded up into his thumb. The waistline of his pants is zipped and peeled open at the thigh, the buckle of his belt jolting with faint clinks on every off-beat. A crude frame for the action resting within it.

His cock is slick in his right hand, a band of bright wet flashing between his fingers as he makes rough passes along it, stuttering minutely when he moves down to the base. He fucks the column fervently, the hard muscle of his clutched fist sending a push of arousal between the tops of your thighs. 

He touches himself as roughly as he seems able to tolerate—the sinew between his first set of knuckles dipped harshly, peaks white from strain, the tips of the hand on his stomach turning in against his own flesh enough to ripple.

Something pink, unnaturally so, peaks between his fingers every so often, calling you away from your observation of his abdomen. He’s particularly enamored with whatever it is—panting every time it swirls over the head, dulling the sheen of his pull. 

Fabric, you realize, absorbing the slip on his skin. You squint, assessing the texture of the material as it darkens with each stroke. Lace fabric; scallop-edged lace fabric that looks starkly familiar to what had been discarded in a shallow grave on top of your too-full hamper the night before. 

He shoves into the cloth, webbing it around the points of his fingers like a pocket, canting his hips off the bed to slot into it and he huffs in frustration when he manages to miss a few times, stunted. 

You glance up to see he’s maneuvering himself blindly; despite his intricate goal he looks straight ahead, eyes still open from what you can make out, concentration elsewhere as he fumbles against the make-shift cunt. 

You track his focus, only half-way across the room when you remember just how much the door had been left open, the crease of the frame very visible in the newly-positioned mirror at your bedside—the intention of it. 

The realization rushes between your ribs like ice-water, little knocks of frozen pellets as they swim between the bones on the way down. The force is so fast you feel like you’re going to keel over—not assisted by the way your knees already feel tight from the strain of keeping yourself motionless. 

You hit the end of the line, his expression wild where he meets you in the reflection, pleased.

“You just gonna watch, sweetheart? That’s all?” 

When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

“Joel—Fuck, I’m… I didn’t mean to-” 

He uses his unoccupied hand to help him rise to his feet, his right not ceasing to work himself as he rounds the edge of the mattress. You cower, still mostly inaccessible behind the wood, so he reacts accordingly—slows, tames his grin, knits the inner corners of his brow to look disarming. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You caught me in a bit of a bind here, honey,” he pumps lazily, head bowing to direct your attention as if you would need the assistance, “No big deal. Wouldn’t hurt if you offered to help—might as well work for the show.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, afraid to pierce the illusion, the dream in front of you a few words from melting away, and he pouts something disappointed.

“Don’t need to invite you into your own room, do I?”

“Joel,” you try again, weak. 

“Heard you the first time—didn’t mean to. We’re past that. I forgive you. Now c’mon, come take a closer look—like I know you want to.”

Hesitantly, you hook an ankle around the edge of the door, willing yourself forward. Joel nods encouragingly before cutting the distance with his own wide steps. 

He uses his clean hand to cup the swell of your cheek, thumb twisting to dig into the fullest part, the pads against your neck pressing down like a suggestion, and you fold without question, tucking a knee beneath you to guide yourself to the floor. 

Joel releases you, draping the curve of his shirt up into his palm again to reveal what had been only momentarily concealed beneath it. Even so, your eyes stay fixed on the spread of his fingers against his belly, right past the place where his cock hangs between his legs. 

“Didn’t seem to have a problem looking when you thought I didn't know. Don't be shy.” His words are encouraging but his tone is laced with annoyance, frustrated maybe that you aren’t responding with the enthusiasm he wants.

He resumes playing with himself, the stretch of lace in his clutch not enough to claim your favor—the way his nails pierce his stomach far more intriguing. 

He seems to understand, trailing his palm up to his chest, still holding the hem, a smile curling on his lips when you follow the movement. 

“Oh, that’s what you like?” 

He releases his length, letting the lace slot between the crease of his thumb like a bracelet. “You want me to touch you with these, sweetheart?” He waves the wet hand lewdly before offering it to you, “Want me to put them in your mouth?” 

You nod, and he lets the rough tips of his pointer and middle tap on the center of your bottom lip, watching shamelessly as you open up for him on instinct. 

“Look at that. I think we can figure out something here that works out for both of us, hm?” 

He doesn’t bother letting you answer, lining the row of his longer fingers outward against your lower lip, his thumb braced against the upper. You stick your tongue out, curling it around his first finger to try and coax him inside but he has another idea. He spreads his legs, settling his weight before leaning to feed the tip of his cock through the channel he’s created with his hand, breaching the open space of your mouth. 

You take him enthusiastically and he makes a choked sound, the plane of his chest pushing out hard between firm breaths, a stripe of pink crawling up his neck and across his face. He’s ruffled, composure broken, his own mouth agape in veiled mockery.

“There you go. So pretty. You wouldn’t say no if I asked you to come down your throat, would you?” 

You do your best to shake your head, working him deeper, the row of your bottom teeth secure under the line of his pointer.

He shudders, the nail of his thumb pushing you open wider as he slides in as far as he can manage at this angle, with so much already occupying the inside of your face. 

“That’s right, honey. Good girl for me, aren’t you? Walked right into my little gift, eager. Let’s reward you, hm?” 

You hum in response, lost to anything other than the brush of his hand against your chin when he thrusts too quickly, the drag of the inside of his knuckles against your tongue. 

“Fuck. You like it, too. Should’ve come by sooner.” 

Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, hot and rolling as where it falls over into the cradle of your core. You rub your legs together in an attempt to relieve it and he whines, bucking up quicker into the hollow of your cheeks, the fabric of your forgotten underwear slipping in with the rest of his mess on a jostled punch. 

Joel starts to unwind, heaving in hard gulps and elbow craning out in a jagged, rhythmic sway. He unhinges his jaw like he wants to say more but you bend, taking more of him than you should be able to, the soft wedge of his head prodding your throat and he grunts, rounding out his spine as he comes as far down as he promised to. 

You puff up your cheeks around him, an almost-smile, swallowing as much as you can before pulling off of him with a gentle pop, your own palm sliding up to take hold of his forearm. He lets you, deflated from his orgasm, and you run your tongue over what you couldn’t catch on his skin. 

“Should’ve known,” he chuckles, peering down at you between soaked lashes before assisting, sliding two fingers into your parted lips, “Let’s find out what else you like.”

[frvnkcastles]

SICK AND TIRED ➸ F. CASTLE

Summary: After being taken by Frank’s enemies, you struggle to adjust to the new normal.

Warnings: ATTEMPTED S**CIDE, ov*rdose, PTSD, mentions of the trauma, nightmares, panic attack, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.

Word count: 2.7k

Author’s note: If the warnings trigger you, I urge you to sit this one out!! You don’t deserve to feel any worse. That said, if you’re like me and need a Frank this week, he’s rooting for you and holding your hand through whatever it is you’re dealing with right now. I can’t promise it’ll get any better soon, but I do know you’ve made it through all your bad days thus far. Sometimes taking it day by day is too difficult and you gotta take it hour by hour or minute by minute, and that’s perfectly fine too. Much love <3

(Also, I combined a few requests for this.)

The cool water trickling out of the showerhead above you made you hiss and grit your teeth together, but despite the angry expression, full tears trailed along the edges of your nose. The droplets singed your skin as they ran across the colorful bruises and shallow cuts littering your limbs, and you couldn’t stop from pulling equally empty breaths while bringing your shaky hands up to your body to wash away the grime and blood painting you in ugly hues.

Frank was seated on the toilet, eyes glued to you and his face contorted in a hurt frown which only mixed with the pure rage soaring through his system. He knew he had already made everyone responsible pay — in fact, he had gone above and beyond, disfigured each of their faces and made sure they had felt his pain before taking their last breath. Still, it didn’t feel like enough. If he had had the power to bring them back to life only to take it away again, he would have. He would have done anything for you.

That was why he had offered to help you wash up, too, hovering over you after carrying you home. You could tell he was hesitant to touch you, needing the closeness but not wanting to hurt you any further. You had insisted you needed the control of doing something for yourself, so you had gotten in the shower by yourself, but with your permission, Frank had sat down on the toilet to just be with you, whatever you wanted that to mean.

He couldn’t fight the bitter tears, either, his heart caving in on itself as he watched you cry and tremble in an attempt to clean yourself from what they had done to you. It could have been much worse, he knew that, but seeing just a single bruise on your skin made him sick to his stomach and sent him into a spiral of guilt and anger.

When you were done, Frank was up in a blink of an eye to grab your towel and help you wrap yourself in the soft material. You winced at the contact, but when Frank tried to pull back, you reached for his hand in a desperate squeeze.

”Don’t leave me”, you pleaded, sounding weaker than you had expected, and it did everything to convince Frank to inch in closer.

”I gotchu, sweetheart. I ain’t goin’ anywhere, I swear”, he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead, holding your hand in his.

And he stood by that. Stood by you. When you spent the upcoming night sobbing in bed, he soothed and shushed you, rubbing circles on your back while simply holding you and allowing you to get it all out. You didn’t feel safe outside of his arms, and he had no problem keeping you in a warm embrace for as long as you wanted him to, his tight grip reminding you he was there and you were home.

It quickly dawned on the two of you that while you were no longer being tortured in a dark cellar, taunted by your captors that Frank would never find you, the worst was not over yet.

On the third night back home, you had your first nightmare, and Frank found himself talking you out of a panic attack at four in the morning. It wasn’t your first time dealing with it, but it was the worst you had had in a while, leaving you paralyzed and breathless on the bathroom floor where he held your face in his hands and tried to remind you how to keep the air flowing through you.

The nightmares became a habit, then, and when they did, Frank began to suspect you were dealing with the same thing he was.

”Hey, ’m here”, his gruff voice pushed through the fog in your mind, making it hard to realize you weren’t tied up God knows where — you were home, in bed, with the man who you loved and who loved you. ”Sweetheart, you’re with me, yeah? Feel that? ’M all real”, he continued, gently reaching for your hand so he could place it on his bare chest. You were both sitting up, tangled in the sheets that felt all too hot and consuming, suffocating you slowly but surely. Frank noticed, drawing the covers away from you and placing his free hand on your thigh.

”I got you, hey, hey, shh… You’re okay, baby. It ain’t real, I promise. Just your head playin’ tricks on you, sweet girl”, he went on, and nodding to confirm his words, you clung onto his neck and tried to slow your breathing.

”I was… they—they were trying to…”, you stammered, not even sure how to put the horrifying nightmare into words, but he understood. He always understood.

”I know, sweetheart, I know. But they ain’t gon’ hurt you again. ’Member? I made sure of that”, he reminded, and managing another nod, you licked your lips and rested your head against his chest.

”Frank, I’m so tired”, you cried out, your eyes weary but your mind unwilling to go to sleep, and knowing exactly the feeling, he sighed and wrapped an arm around your shaking body.

”Wish I could take ’em away from you. Y’know I would”, he whispered, trying to keep his voice soft even if he was furious that the assholes that did this to you had gotten off so easy. Death could be merciful, at times, and he suspected you were beginning to realize that after two weeks of no sleep.

Clearing his throat, he tilted his head down to look at you. ”How ’bout we head to the diner and get you somethin’ to eat? Yeah? Get your mind off of it?” he suggested, and with a drowsy smile, you thanked him.

There was no doubt you quickly became regulars of the diner around the corner.

If only your pain had been limited to the nightmares. Instead, every time Frank reached to touch you, you flinched. Every time there was a sudden sound in or outside of the apartment you were now huddled up in, you jumped. Whenever there was actually a need to go outside, you avoided it as best as you could, only agreeing to leave if Frank was by your side the whole time. It became harder and harder to trust anyone except him, and even harder to keep your mind off of what happened. It was like your whole worldview had been tilted on its axis and you felt like you were slowly losing your mind.

It wasn’t like it was all bad. Some days you laughed, some days Frank treated you extra special, and he never faltered from his place of support and love for you. He was patient, even more than you had expected him to be. But the matter of the reality was, you no longer had good days. Or if you did, then the bar for having one was much lower than everyone else’s. To you, a good day was managing to get out of bed and not throw in the towel. A good day was only a few flashbacks, only a few nightmares, only a few intrusive memories.

And eventually, you figured it was becoming too much. You were becoming too much.

”Hey, can I… can I talk to you about something?” you asked quietly, approaching Frank on the couch where he was seated with a bottle of beer and a football game on TV. As soon as the words had left your mouth, though, his focus was all on you, the volume of the television turned down and the bottle placed on the coffee table.

”’Course, baby. C’mere”, he gestured at the free space next to him, and with an awkward fiddle of your hands, you moved to sit there with your body angled towards him.

”I just… I thought I should, uh, give you an out. You know, you didn’t… you didn’t sign up for this. And I feel like a burden—you don’t have to tell me I’m not. I know I am. I’m not the same woman I used to be and you may have been in love with her but if you’re not in love with… whoever I am now, that’s okay”, you explained, choking up but rushing to wipe away the tears. The last thing you wanted was for Frank to stay with you out of pity.

He stared at you for a while, silent and clearly surprised by what you had come to him with. But when he finally seemed to process what you had actually said, he chuckled quietly and shook his head.

”Darlin’…”, he mumbled, a sad look in his eyes as he looked up at you. ”Fuckin’ kills me you think that way ’bout yourself. Hey, I goddamn adore you. I always have and I always will. I ain’t gonna walk away just because things got a little tough. Hell, I’ve made shit tough this whole time. And if anything, it’s my fault—”, Frank started, but you cut him off before he could blame himself any further.

”It’s not your fault. It’s not. It’s those… assholes that we should blame. I don’t blame you, Frank, I swear”, you insisted, and he nodded in a quick response.

”I know you don’t. But I still do. If it wasn’t for me, none of that shit woulda happened”, he emphasized, licking his lips before exhaling and reaching for your hand. ”You mean everythin’ to me, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ change that, I swear.”

You wanted so badly to cling onto those words. You tried your best, you really did. But then on one night that he was spending on a stakeout, you were left alone with the dark pit of your thoughts and you began spinning out. You didn’t want to cause him pain, but what if that was exactly what you were doing? What if you being alive was more painful? What if going away would be a relief for him?

Before you knew it, you were clamoring through the piles and piles of medications you had been given in the past months, and with only a second’s hesitation, you made your decision. You took as many of them as you could bear, one pill after the other, until you physically couldn’t anymore. You lost count but eventually your throat began resisting and your head started to sway. Only then you curled up in bed by yourself, eyes welling up with tears as you begged for a release from all the pain inside you.

As you drifted off, Frank came home earlier than you had anticipated. He called out to you while dropping his bag of ammunition by the front door, only to be met with silence. A frown etched onto his face, but figuring it was already late, he quietly and carefully weaved through the furniture and into the bedroom where he found you, a smile springing to his lips.

”Sweetheart”, he whispered, kneeling next to you, his fingertips delicately moving your hair away from your face. ”Hey, darlin’. ’M home”, he continued, breaking into a concerned look when there was no reaction. Not even a stir, not even a huff.

Then he realized your skin was going cold and clammy. You looked… unwell, to say the least. Swallowing thickly, he felt your throat only for a barely-there pulse to throb against his fingers, and with a panicked exhale, Frank ran his hand through his hair.

”Shit. No, no, no, fuck!” he hissed, bolting up just enough to rush to the bathroom and find the pill bottles in the sink. He made it back to your side, cradling your face in both hands. ”Sweetheart, please. Please, I need you. Come on, girl”, he begged, his heart racing as he supported your head with shaky hands. You were limp and he felt a wave of nausea surge through his stomach as he began gathering you in his arms.

”Stay with me, please. Don’t go”, he pleaded, standing up with your body in his arms, making his way through the front door and to his truck with quick strides. He placed you on the passenger seat and buckled you in before running to his side of the car and starting the engine.

He thanked whatever superior power had cleared all the streets for him — it was quite late, but either way, he was glad he didn’t need to wait in traffic. Instead, he drove erratically, swerving from one street to another with no regard to the traffic rules; he needed to get to the hospital now.

All concern for his very public and very wanted face flew out the window. He carried your lifeless body through the doors, shouting for help, feeling like he might throw up and collapse onto the floor from pure grief any second. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

It was all a blur after a nurse came with a gurney and you were wheeled away. He was sobbing at that point, not even aware enough to fight the other nurse that came to guide him away from the doors. Next thing he knew, he was sitting in a bleak room, eyes tired and puffy, his ears focused on the steady beep of the monitor you were hooked into. They had given him a long explanation of what they had done to help you, but all he could hear was that she’s still alive. Not a goddamn thing other than that mattered to him.

He was still shaky, watching your unconscious body on the pristine sheets, your soft figure wrapped up in a pale hospital gown. He hadn’t dared to touch you, only sat by your side for hours, the moonlight shining through the window and the quiet chatter of the hospital keeping him company.

It was his fucking fault. He knew that. He believed that. And he couldn’t live with himself, didn’t know how to sit still with that sickening feeling that he was the reason you were lying here. He was the reason you wanted to end your life.

When you came to, it took you a moment to realize where you were. But once the sounds and smells of a hospital registered in your head and you saw the monitor next to you, you broke into a desperate cry. Frank had nearly nodded off, but he jolted awake at your weak sob.

”No, no, no…”, you pleaded, cradling your head in your hands, ”I don’t want to be here.”

Your words took a piece of Frank’s broken heart and shoved it through his chest. He had never heard you so defeated, so utterly broken. You sounded so disappointed.

”Baby”, he whispered, reaching for your hand with his bigger one. ”Baby, I’m here”, he continued, fragile and quiet.

As soon as you looked over to him and saw him still by your side, still refusing to let go, you just… broke. The tears escaped you in ugly hiccups and you lifted one trembling hand to your mouth as you wept.

”I’m here, okay, sweetheart?” he gathered some of his voice back to reassure you. ”I’m here. And I’m not fuckin’ leavin’ until you tell me to. I’m never gonna leave you, I promise, sweet girl, I promise”, he rambled, peppering the back of your hand with kisses.

He cried too, climbing up to kiss the top of your head and hug you as gently as he could, his face buried in the crook of your neck. ”I love you. I love you, I fuckin’ love you. Please stay with me, sweetheart”, he begged. ”I’m so sorry.”

"I just wanted to set us both free”, you whispered, and squeezing his eyes shut, Frank held you close to him.

”I’ll say it as many times as you need me to, baby. I want to be with you. I want you. I need you”, he insisted, leaving another kiss on your forehead. His arms supported you against his firm chest and you clung onto him for dear life, comforted by his warmth.

Seven days later, you were officially diagnosed with PTSD. And Frank? He held your hand through it from beginning to end, not once wavering. He told you about his own diagnosis, his own nightmares, flashbacks, the whole deal. He did his everything to reassure you that you weren’t alone. As long as he had a breath in him, you weren’t going to be.

And you promised to try your very best to believe him.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 22

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

I had gotten through Dr. Stevenson’s class with flickering eyes in the dim lighting. Knowing that Dr. Miller was right next door teaching his other course had me thinking about him.

Was he making people laugh? What material was he teaching? And the question I tried not to let creep into my jealous, little mind - is he attracted to anyone in that class? I don't know why I did that to myself, but I couldn't help my inner baseless insecurities. Still, I didn't let it consume me. I was the one who had a key to his house. I was the one who was attending his sister’s wedding in a few weeks. I was the one sleeping beside him on a nightly basis.

Be cool, I told myself. Our romance was too hot and steamy for me to attempt, or even pretend, to be cool.

When I wandered out into the hallway in the crowd of other students, I glanced down toward the closed door near the end of the hall and smiled to myself. I then whipped out my phone to find text messages from both Dr. Miller and James - who had been walking me to my car regularly on Wednesday nights.

Before clicking on Dr. Miller’s, I expected his typical racy text that made the extra hour without him feel ten times as long. I smiled to myself when it read: Please be careful. Let me know when you get home. I still don't trust the campus security.

I had to admit I enjoyed Dr. Miller’s healthy dose of jealousy towards James. It made me feel less guilty for having my own insecure thoughts. I guess it was just human nature, to some degree.

I wrote him back, promising I would text him when I arrived at my car and then again at home. I added a heart emoji and hit send before moving on to James’s text, which let me know he’d see me in the parking lot. A part of me felt just a bit needy for asking him to come by every Wednesday at this time; but I knew Dr. Miller’s concerns for my safety wouldn't allow for me to be alone after dark on campus - even for just a minute or two. I didn’t particularly think I needed James, but I know, despite his distaste for another male to come to my aid, it made Dr. Miller feel better. That was enough for me.

Gotta pee, long ride home! I texted back to James, adding, See ya in a second. Thanks!!

I stuffed my phone back into my bag and wandered into the women's bathroom in a nook by the elevators.

When I hung my bag and sat in the stall, my phone buzzed again. Tori.

Her text came through: Hey, thanks for the two months in advance. You didn’t have to! Btw, I have a huge question. Nothing bad. Call when you can.

Big question? What could it be? And I certainly didn’t pay two months in advance.

Dr. Miller. It had to be him.

I quickly tapped her name and hit the little phone icon and put the receiver up to my ear.

“Hey!” My friend answered in a cheery voice, “Didn’t think you’d call back so quickly!”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Ahh…” She breathed the word and I knew she was hesitant to ask whatever it was she was about to. “So.. um.. Derek.”

I smiled to myself, thinking I had an inclination of what this was about. And I actually thought it would solve a few of my inner monologue issues, especially since Dr. Miller insisted on having me at his place every night.

“You want him to move in,” I speculated. It caused a long pause on the other end and I finally asked, “Tori?” Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they broke up. Maybe-

“Yeah. I feel like a dirtbag for asking-”

“Why?” I practically shouted, and then put a hand over my mouth with a little laugh when I heard the door open to the restroom.

“Because it’s our place and I know adding a dude to the mix could make it awkward.”

“Well.. honestly.. Dr.-” I caught myself and stopped for a second.

“Doctor?”

“I.. well.. Hmm..” I reset. “Joel gave me a key to his place.”

“What!?” Tori exclaimed.

“I know I've been staying there a lot,” I went on.

“(Y/N) it's totally okay.” She laughed. “So, is he like your hot sugar daddy?”

I laughed again and glanced to the side when I heard someone shuffling around. “No. I am falling for him pretty hard though.” And then I added, “I think it's great if Derek moves in.”

“Really?” Tori squeaked.

“Really.”

“I feel like we haven't seen each other. We need to meet up this week and really talk.”

“Definitely. How about Friday after work?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Congrats on Derek.”

“Congrats on your hot old man.”

I laughed. “Alright. I'll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

The door handle turned and I cleared my throat. “Oh, someone’s in here.” A knock followed. “Be right out.”

I got myself together and felt the muscles in my stomach tense when there was another, louder knock. This time I didn’t answer right away. And then came a loud bang that caused me to jump back a few inches. I almost shrieked but I held it in.

“I’ll be right out!” I shouted now, beginning to use my phone. When the door handle twisted again, I used the best verbal defense I could think of. “I’m calling campus security!”

The pounding stopped. The door handle twisting stopped. I breathed heavily a few times and swallowed hard as I heard the faintest sound of footsteps. As badly as I wanted to peek out of the crack in the door, fear had me pinned against the wall of the bathroom stall.

I heard the creak of the door and then there was silence. I began texting Dr. Miller, though before I hit send I stopped myself. He was teaching a class. I didn’t want to bother him and pull him out of class. Not to mention there was no good reason why, according to the university, I should be phoning my professor.

“Fuck.” I whispered the word to myself. I wanted to call him, but I knew it wouldn’t be a good look. On the same note, I knew when I told him about this later, he’d be pissed that I didn’t call him.

I went with my next best option. James.

Until I heard the door crack open again, and my friend’s familiar voice called hesitantly into the women’s bathroom, I remained behind the locked door - not that someone couldn’t have gotten under the bottom of it if they really wanted to. Still, I wasn’t about to tiptoe out, only to be ambushed.

“(Y/N),” James called, “It’s me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and finally managed to open the door. I quickly washed my hands and then hurried back out into the civilization - which at the moment was only James and I.

“Are you okay?” He asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and brushed my hair back. “I don’t even know what happened. I was.. I don’t know if someone was just being impatient, or..” My eyes met his, “I don’t know.”

“Did it seem like a threat?”

I shrugged. “They tried opening the door, and I told them I was in there. And then they just kept knocking and pounding at the door and twisting the handle.” I shook my head, “It was probably someone just having a bad day, or.. I don’t know.”

“Let’s make it a formal complaint,” James suggested, but I shook my head.

“No. No, I’m sure it was nothing.”

“You have to,” he insisted, “You can’t be too careful. With everything that’s happened here, it needs to be reported.” James pulled out a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

I scrunched my nose. “Do you have to include my name?”

He shook his head. “I’ll keep that part to myself.” James made a face, “Unless they really need it for some reason.”

“Okay.” I agreed. He took the details of what had happened and then proceeded to walk me the rest of the way to my car, flashing his light in my back seat just before I hopped in.

“Thank you, James.” I gave him a hug. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave a small grin. “Any time you need someone, I’m here. I know you take a few night classes here so just make sure you don’t walk alone.”

“I won’t.”

“Be careful.”

I nodded and began to duck into the driver’s seat.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“Yeah?” I glanced up at him as I settled in.

“Do you still live on that dead end street with Tori?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why?”

James shrugged. “You just said you had a long ride home. I didn’t know if you moved, or if you were staying with your parents or something.”

“Oh.” Shit, I had slipped. “Yeah, tonight I’m actually.. Staying somewhere else.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows rose and fell and it appeared as though he was waiting for an explanation. When I failed to elaborate James cleared his throat. “Well, stay safe.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

“No problem.”

I waved goodbye and closed the door, locking it as I started it up. Before I put it in drive, Dr. Miller’s text came through, asking if I was on my way home.

How much do I tell him right now?

I hesitated before leaving it at: Pulling out of the parking lot now.

Are you okay to be in that big house alone? He asked.

The thought did freak me out a bit. But I knew it was probably the safest place for me to be. If it wasn’t, Dr. MIller wouldn’t be comfortable sending me off there alone.

I wrote back: If I say no will you hurry home?

I’ll hurry home anyway.

I smiled to myself and began the drive back up the desolate highway into the heart of the Catskills. After weeks of spending the night at Dr. MIller’s mansion, I couldn’t imagine not staying there.

The longer I drove with my music playing, the less I thought of the incident in the bathroom. It was when I finally reached the tall, steel gates surrounded by nothing but woods that my anxiousness grew. I had to physically get out of the car to do the code. That was when all thoughts of the bathroom came rushing back.

Dr. Miller was over a half hour away. He wasn’t here to protect me. What if that was some psycho killer? What if someone was here now? My mind rushed to all the worst case scenarios now that I was forced with the task of getting out of the car to open the gates. It was dark. It was scary - at least without Dr. Miller it was.

“Grow up,” I whispered to myself. I knew if I was going to be living there, or kind of living there, that I would have to do this.

I opened the door and hugged my body, glancing around at the swaying trees all around me. Snow still sat in patches around the area from the small storms and the pavement was dark and damp.

2003. It was four numbers, and then I could get back in the car, drive up, get comfortable and wait for my knight in shining armor.

I left the car door open and clutched my keys as I slowly paced the uphill pathway toward the key pad. A whistle from the wind made me whip around in all directions and I had to catch my breath and remind myself that I was fine. It was just the desolate surroundings and the murders on campus that had me jumpy.

Very valid reasons, I reminded myself.

I reached for the keypad and punched in 2-0 as a set of headlights rolled up the drive, illuminating trees off to the left as it rounded a bend before was in the crosshairs of the beams.

That was the last straw. I didn't know whether to keep typing or run back to my car. I did neither. I froze.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 6 (Sneak Peek)

Here's a little snippet from Chapter 6...

“Fiction or non?” 

You were splayed out on your bedroom floor, with Theo across from you. As he’d pored over his textbook, he kept coming up with questions to ask you. 

Sure, it might be cute and endearing in a normal circumstance. But right now, you wanted to focus on studying for a couple of upcoming tests, as summer semesters were the worst at moving so damn quickly. 

There were more important matters at hand than nonsensical small talk. 

Deciding to humor him (and hopefully get back to the task at hand), you responded. “Hmm. . .,” you sat up from where you’d been laying on your stomach to read about Geoffrey Chaucer. “They both have special things about them—both stretch our minds to understand more about other worlds and our own,” you paused, giving it a second to ponder. “Are we talking writing-wise or reading-wise?”

He chuckled, and winked at you. “It doesn’t have to be something you think so deeply about,” he closed his textbook. What was he doing? You still had to make flash cards! “Pretend we’re playing a game and it’s rapid fire questions.”

You didn’t want to be playing a game. You wanted to be sinking your teeth into the intricacies of this author in order to ace your test. 

You shook your head, your eyes stuck on his closed book. “Fuck,” you scratched your eyebrow. Your mind flicked to music: fun to write and read about. You were actually currently reading a book about John Lennon. You had many books on your TBR list about famous musicians. A most intriguing subject, in your opinion. “Non-fiction.”

His face scrunched up. “Nah,” he disagreed. “Fiction.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” his stare was blank in response. “Don’t really have to think too hard about it.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at him. In your opinion, thinking hard about what you were writing or reading was what made it most desirable. It made you venture into undiscovered realms of your mind. 

When you went to lean back over your book, the movement made you realize just how badly your bladder was begging to be released. 

Stupidly, you thought of the ridiculous work schedule on the fridge. 

Why the hell couldn’t you just let yourself go to the damn bathroom without thinking about Jake? You knew it was fucking ludicrous. You just didn’t want to see him. When you pulled up the picture of the fridge on your phone, you saw you were in the clear. He should still be at band rehearsal. 

You tapped your open book, giving Theo a sign that he needed to open his back up. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick,” you stood up, the wave of having to pee rushing through you tenfold at the motion. He still hadn’t gotten the hint to open up his textbook. Ugh. “I’ll be back soon and then we will make our cards for the test.”

And as you exited the room, you saw him finally get back to business and open his book back up. After you’d safely closed the door to your room, you rolled your eyes at his lack of care at getting shit done. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You dried your hands on the towel next to the sink, and took a look at yourself in the mirror.

He sort of annoyed you, but Theo was still cute, and he’d made you happy in high school. You weren’t totally opposed to the idea of kissing him (or maybe more) by the end of the night.

It seemed to you to be another good plan to get your mind off of Jake.

And Theo seemed interested enough. Considering he’d been more interested in learning about you, rather than the material for class all night (irritating, but whatever). 

Deciding you looked good enough, you opened the door to go back. And as you went to walk out, you stopped at a chest in your way. You got dizzy at the smell—smelled so fucking good—

You looked up.

Jake.

Your eyebrows pinched together, not happy at all that you’d crossed paths. Fucking hell. Why wasn’t he. . .?

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like thi—.”

You held a hand up to silence him, crossing your arms. “Why aren’t you at band practice?” 

Why the fuck was he cracking jokes? You were not in the mood. 

“Ended early,” his face hardened when he shrugged, stating it plainly. 

“Why didn’t you just stay with the guys?” You asked, secretly glad he didn’t. For whatever reason. “You could have hung out with them instead of coming back here.”

“Oh,” he stuck his chin out at the word and leaned a shoulder against the door-hinge. He raised a brow and crossed his arms to mirror you. “I see.”

You definitely didn’t glance at how his bicep flexed as his fingers wrapped around it. And you didn’t take time to appreciate his beautiful hair. . . had it started getting slightly longer? 

You shook your head, retraining your eyes.

“Tell me, Jake, what do you see?” You snapped, flicking your eyes up to his.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Saw that guy lying on your bedroom floor, waiting for you. He was even sweet enough to wave at me when he saw me pass your room,” he sarcastically remarked, waving his hand to mimic. 

“We’re just studying,” you hushed back, feeling the (unnecessary) need to reassure him.

He scoffed. “You think that’s all it is to him?”

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips before you pulled him by his T-shirt into the bathroom. You weren’t going to discuss this in a place Theo could possibly hear. 

“I know that’s all it is,” you released his shirt like you were repulsed by the touch, when in reality you wanted nothing more than to pull it completely off of him. Damn him. 

“I don’t. Just think it’s funny how you’re so naive to believe he doesn’t want more.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s funny that you might want me out just so you can fuck that guy in your bedroom,” he nodded his head in the direction of your room. 

Oh. He was taking it there. Okay.

“Yeah? And if I wanted to?” You jutted your chin out the slightest bit, bringing your arms closer, to press against your chest. “How is it any of your damn business?” 

He stepped once towards you, eyeing your chest, the tops of your breasts revealed, pushed up to the top of your tank. Your skin flushed, heart racing. 

His voice lowered. “It became my business the night you spread your legs for me at Baby’s,” one more step towards you, his eyes locking with yours. Fuck. “When I had you moaning my name while my mouth played between your pretty legs,” another step. “I think you gave yourself away that night. I don’t buy this little act.”

Oh. 

Fuck. . . If your heart wasn’t racing. 

You blinked, shaking your head. You tried to stand firm. “Wh-what act?” Dammit. Why were you stuttering? 

Stand your ground, y/n, you thought, motivating yourself to stay strong. 

But as he took one more step in, your body was effectively once again trapped between his body and a sink. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed himself up to your front, so you weren’t distracted by that. 

You tried to hold your own.

But shit. . .he was so close. Your skin flared with heat, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. 

As you were making direct eye contact with the chest of his white t-shirt, you craned your neck to see his face fully.

“What act, Jacob?” 

He shook his head. A little smirk played at his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold your cheek. Your skin was on fire for him and his touch.

You couldn’t help it when you leaned into his hand, letting your cheek press into his calloused flesh. 

He licked his lips. “You tell me,” he whispered lowly, nodding his head once at you. 

And you couldn’t help it, his deep brown eyes pulled you in. He was begging to be touched. You had to feel him. 

Leaning in, you held his cheek just as he held yours. He then took the chance, and captured your lips with his.

Ah. His lips. So soft. 

Your vision was hazy, eyes still open, you saw how his eyebrows dipped in with a moan. You matched the sound, closing your eyes, and slipped your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. 

You heard him shut the door with the hand that wasn’t holding your face. 

He then moved that hand from your face, reaching both hands under your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lifted you the short distance to sit on the bathroom countertop. 

You bit his bottom lip, getting another small moan from him. He did the same to you and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You sighed into his mouth. 

Reaching both hands up, you sunk them into his dark, brunette locks. He matched every movement of your lips with his own, and then licked one wet stripe on the roof of your mouth. 

You were able to gasp for air when he moved his mouth from yours to give the softest, small kisses to your neck. Though it didn’t last long before he turned his pecks into wet, open-mouthed kisses. The slightest stubble of hair on his lip skimmed against your sensitive skin. He worked from under your jaw, all the way up, to the tender spot behind your ear. 

Shivering with a sigh, you gripped his hair tighter, pulling him in as close as he could be to you, on the counter. You felt his hardening length against your center when you did so, making you immediately grind into him. 

And when he did the same to the other side of your neck, this time, he nipped at the skin behind your ear. You bucked your hips into his. He released a groan that echoed through the small bathroom, making you want to melt into it. 

“More,” you breathed, clutching him closer, making sure the front of you stayed connected to him. Feeling his hard length through the material of his jeans was almost too much, but you craved it. You needed it. 

More.

But, the next moment, you heard a little cough from your bedroom, right next door. 

It snapped you from your daze. You were suddenly hyper aware that it was not just you two in the apartment. You had to stop.

You pushed him back, jumping off the counter. When you looked in the mirror to check your face and neck, your lips were swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Your neck was still pink from where he’d been. You checked where he’d bit behind your ear, and seeing the redness back there made you want to hop right back onto that counter. Let him have his way with you— right there. Theo be fucking damned.

But you knew better.

Tucking some hair behind your ear, you tried to make yourself look slightly presentable. 

From behind you, he was brushing a hand through his hair, when he went to smooth a hand over his cheeks, his jaw stretching with the motion. He was contemplative.

His eyebrows drew together, curious. You couldn’t tell if he was upset. He mostly looked . . .confused. 

He removed his hand from his face when his eyes found yours in the mirror, open and wondering. He looked desperate to understand. 

“What do you want, y/n?” 

You didn’t know what in the hell to tell him. 

You wanted Jake. And you wanted him bad. But somehow saying it out loud seemed too difficult at the moment. 

And how could you say that to him when he’d so recently, blatantly told you that you were a mistake?

“I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered back, still looking at your blushing cheeks, messy hair, and freshly kissed lips. You’d need a minute to let your skin return to its normal shade before going back to your room. 

You turned to face him.

When you saw him, looking so beautiful, so lost. . . You thought of how lost you’d felt for the past couple weeks. His words were once again flashing back through your head. 

“It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone.”

It still hurt as you could see him so clearly in the doorway of his bedroom, angry and insistent that you do what he said and leave him alone.

But tonight? Crowding you in here to make out on the bathroom counter? Did he truly want that? For you to leave him alone?

“What do you want?” You leveled him with a stare, your tone sharp, but keeping your voice low since Theo was one room over. You pointed a finger in his chest. “You say you want me to leave you alone, but then you trap me in here like this?”

He shook his head, a dimple showing again with a sarcastic grin. After tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he put the same hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, there is no way you are going to turn this around on me,” he matched your quiet tone, understanding. “And trap you? Okay, Little Miss ‘Fuck Me, Jake,’” he used air quotes to remind you of your words from the night at Baby’s. 

Fuck. 

Of course he remembered you’d said that. Why wouldn’t he? 

You decided to ignore it, focusing back on him.

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake! That I needed to leave you alone,” you protested, anger flaring in your chest.

He covered his eyes with a hand, the veins in the hand catching your eye. You’d never noticed how masculine his hands were. And damn if he didn’t know how to use them . . . Even in this moment, debating with him, you wanted them touching every part of you. You wanted his skilled fingers, flexing inside of you.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” His eyes were sad when he moved his hand, when you saw the brown irises again. But there was a fire behind them still. “Dammit, y/n. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about me all the fucking time? I’m not the one who can’t make up my mind about what I want,” he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “One minute you’re kissing me. You’re with me, naked and ready as I’m pressing into you,” his voice was being raspy, along with the picture he was drawing. . . It made your cheeks pink. You could still feel what he felt like, pressing against you, throbbing. . .so close to being inside of you. He went on, “And the next moment you’re shoving me away from you, making sure to tell me that Josh doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.”

Of course some of this had to do with Josh. You’d had the smallest inkling, based on how weird he’d acted when you set the rules. 

Stupid.

“I knew you were making it all weird with Josh. . . is this all about Josh?! You know that he and I—.”

“No! It’s about you and how you make it impossible for us to—.”

“You told me to go away!”

“And you told me to stop,” he said back, his smoky voice still hushed. “More than once.”

Your chest heaved, knowing he was right, but you were so lost on how to explain it all. “There were reasons every time.” 

“Reasons,” he scoffed. “So are you going to keep having these reasons? Keep stopping it? Why do you keep letting it happen if all you’re going to do is make us stop?” 

“Last time you stopped us, Jake!” You defended, focusing on keeping your voice low. “Not me. You walked away and called it a mistake.”

He covered his face with both hands, growling. You shushed him. 

He took his hands away to show his jaw set, clenching with frustration. “You were drunk, y/n!” He begged you to understand, “I wasn’t going to do anything with you without you being in full and total control of yourself.”

You were sure your expression showed it all clicking. You blinked at him. It all made so much sense now. 

And what he’d done? His true intentions? Fuck. Sexy as hell.

Maybe you really did need to stop assuming the worst. You just couldn’t help it. It was a trauma response. Jumping to conclusions, thinking that people didn’t want you. . .

Your mom didn’t want you, so you were always convinced other people wouldn’t either. 

Especially men who were as beautiful as Jake Kiszka.

Damn. Now it really was all on you. How did you even begin to lay it all out? 

You looked him dead in the face, completely unsure of how to articulate the mess in your head. 

“I don’t know,” you covered your face with both hands, mimicking him and frustratedly groaning into your palms. When you removed them from your face, you tucked them into your front pockets. You decided to assure him of one thing. For whatever reason, you wanted—needed him to know this. “I do want you. I want what we almost had in the bathroom at Baby’s,” You stepped towards him, wanting to be close to him again. You placed a delicate hand on his chest. He looked down at you, as you looked up into his eyes, reaching to hold your hand on his chest. Your skin tingled at his touch. “I need to feel you, to be with you. . . it just never seems like the right time. There’s always something.”

You didn’t know why you’d suddenly felt the urge to be vulnerable with him. He kept your hand on his chest, holding you, his eyes meeting yours in understanding. 

And you knew then that it was just him. Jake Kiszka, in and of himself, made you feel this strange sense of safety, comfortability. 

And it was different from the kind his twin had offered you as your friend for so many years. 

With Jake, you weren’t just friends. You weren’t even really friends. . .it was something else—an intense, unavoidable attraction. The safe feeling came combined with this desire to be with him. 

He felt like a resting ground. 

It was weird.

But you liked it.

He smoothed a thumb over your hand on his chest. You held his deep gaze, getting lost in it. 

And out of nowhere, he leaned down, kissing your lips with his. Just for a moment. 

You felt it all the way down to your toes. The feeling of him so close, with one simple kiss from his soft lips, it felt perfectly intimate. 

He released his hold on your hand, wrapping his hand around your waist instead, eyes connected with yours. It was as though he just wanted to touch you, have his hands on you.

It was what you wanted, too. Just the feeling of his hand, as it moved down to just over your hip, his thumb on the skin underneath the hem of your gray tank top. . .it felt right. 

He penetrated the thickness in the air with his low, gravelly tone. His eyes were vulnerable as he asked, “Do you want that? To find the right time?” 

You reached a hand up, holding his handsome face. You smoothed a thumb over his skin, tracing a freckle on his cheek. “I do. I promise I do,” you blinked up at him, needing his answer to that question. “And do you? Wanna find the right time?”

This was so much, butterflies flew rampant in your tummy. 

The grin he gave you was loose, his eyes relieved and open. “I really do.”

It felt so amazing to hear it straight from his lips. He really wanted it too. 

You’d overthink all of this later.

He leaned down to kiss you again. You reciprocated, for just a moment, letting your lips move with his. 

Then you pulled back, your hand falling from his face.

You nodded at the door. “I gotta get back to studying.”

His hand that was holding your hip squeezed slightly, your skin heating at it. You caught his eye, the intense feeling setting in your beating heart. 

“Is that all you’re doing?” His eyes were dark and questioning, making your head spin. “Studying?”

You winked at him, still holding onto your teasing from earlier. “It’s whatever I want it to be.”

His eyes seemed to darken more, pulling you in so your chest touched his. So warm. “I really don’t want to hear another guy fucking you through these walls.”

You pressed closer to him, your body thrumming with fire. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I could just wear earplugs when he brought women over,” then you pulled back, his hand fell. His eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk lifted his lips. You continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and get a pair of your own, hm?”

You patted his cheek, reluctantly parting from him. Before leaving the bathroom, you chanced one more glance at your appearance. Not quite as flushed as before, though your cheeks were still blushing. You’d find a way to pass it off. Whatever. You’d been gone too long. 

You were about to open the bathroom door when, from behind, his voice stopped you. You felt a spark as his hand delicately touched yours.

“Hey.”

You swiveled on your heel, raised your brows in question. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could come to our gig this weekend? It’s a bigger one.”

Did you work this weekend? You couldn’t remember. 

All you knew was that, suddenly, you really wanted to be at their show. 

“I’m not sure . . . Depends on work.”

“I would love—,” he put a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “The guys and I would love it if you could be there,” he shook his head, seeming to come to terms with an inner battle. “For me, I would just love to look out and see your beautiful face in the crowd.”

Your mind was fuzzy. All of this felt so unreal, yet so real all at once. He really wanted you there? And had he just called you beautiful? 

“I’ll try my best,” you slapped on a small grin, trying to play hard to get, masking your inner shock. You wanted to keep him on his toes, like he’d kept you for the past weeks. 

He scrunched his brows in and messed with his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, totally get it. Just text me and let me know.”

Anytime he messed with his mouth, it was a distraction. You had to keep yourself from watching too close. It really didn’t help that you knew the feeling of those full, pink lips. . . 

And as you walked the short distance to your bedroom, you realized something else.

Had he just asked you to text him? 

What was all of this? This new territory you had just discovered?

---

Thoughts? What are you looking forward to most from this chapter?

Let me know <3 I'm so, so sorry this update is taking so long...I promise it will be worth it! (if you know what i mean......)

[retroactivebakeries]

The Scriptures of the Maidens as Dril Tweets

The Eternal Maiden: pissed off by the idea of my ass becoming grass The Desirable Maiden: drunk driving may kill a lot of people, but it also helps a lot of people get to work on time, so, it;s impossible to say if its bad or not, The Maiden at Sea: (witnessing the flaming wreckage of a 6-car pile up) ah. Respect. More power

The Maiden Entombed: my grave is just a huge tv displaying videos of me doing parkour in hell and it makes all the other graves look like shit The Maiden and Shadow: who the fuck is scraeming 'LOG OFF' at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off Lover and Maiden: damn it to piss. my wife replaced all of my anti-wife reading materials with Pro-Wife bullshit The Hunted Maiden: (dismissing waitress handing me the check with a hand wave) no thank you. i dont believe in any of that The Bride: i lvoe and cherish all of the girls of this site, and other websites. you all become my wife more and more with each passing day. Thank you The Dancer: my watch beeps whwich means its time to stand in front of my ex-wife's house and play "Hit THe Road Jack" while dacning and licking her mail The Desperate Maiden: ive signed a 1 Month Pact w/ my wife which grants her the right to viciously berate me online, as long as she watches & supports my Stream's The Clay Maiden: (playing russian roullette and its my turn) hasta the vista mother fucker (shoots the other guy The Drowning Maiden: joke's on you; i actually love being body slammed by one dozen perfect wrestlers. and my mouth isn't filled with bloodm, it's victory wine The Maiden on the Shelf: strongest blade in the world, howeve,r it is so fragile as to shatter when handled by any force other than the delicate touch of a lesbian . The One-Handed Maiden: BOSS TELLS ME I CAN KISS MY FERRETS AT WORK, BUT NO OPEN MOUTH. I PUNCH THE FLOOR SO HARD HIS SCREEN SAVER DEACTIVATES The Maiden at War: astrally projecting my brain into antifa head quarters and memorizing their combat patterns is the easiest shit i have ever done in my life That Old Thing: if someone posts something that is good then i will look at it and think its good. Simple The Savory Maiden: Your replies have been simply Fire. Love the energy but please do keep any talk of boiling me alive to a minimum as that is against the law The Maiden in Terror: big bird was obviously just a man in a suit. but the other ones were too small to contain men. so what the fuck The Maiden in Chains: i was tricked into sending $100000 to a man claiming to be DB Coopers son. and not a single one of my followers even bothered dialing 911 Absence: no The Maiden and the Dust: so long suckers! i rev up my motorcylce and create a huge cloud of smoke. when the cloud dissipates im lying completely dead on the pavement The Maiden and the Scythe: people come up to me and say, "I will never use the bathroom. I will never shit" and i gotta tell them pal, sooner or later youre gonna shit The Maiden's Promise: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers try to tell me that im dying The Expectant Maiden: as far as im concerned the best revenge is ordering wolf piss online & pouring it into soneones car. "living well" is too hard The Maiden and the Road: obliviously driving m y car through chernobyl , absorbing lethal anmounts of radiation while looking for cute girls

[reddiesworldsblog]

daily reminder day 157: eddie k-tozier is alive and well and right now he’s….doing shit. come back later please and have a good day

daily reminder day 158: eddie k-tozier is alive and well and right now he can practically feel richie making googly eyes at him as he reads his book on the couch, richie sitting on the other end of the couch where he’s supposed to be working on new material. so eddie says, without looking up from his book “take a picture, it’ll last longer.” and richie does, because no matter how old they get, he will always be a little shit, especially when it comes to his eddie.

daily reminder day 159: eddie k-tozier is alive and well and right now he and richie are at the beach and he’s spraying richie down with sun screen. or at least hes trying to because richie is moving around too much and richie for some reason thinks hes invincible to sun  burn. which he is NOT, btw. so eddie is forcing sun screen on his husband because he’s really doesn’t wanna hear richie complaining later about the sunburn he was so sure he was immune to. mf burns easily and eddie doesn’t know why richie doesn’t wanna accept that.

daily reminder day 160: eddie k-tozier is alive and well and right now he and richie are bickering in the middle of the home improvement store on which tile they should put down in the guest bathroom they’re wanting to remodel. he- okay, he’ll be back later, eddie’s gotta tackle his husband to the ground because he’s pissing him off!! (they’ll kiss and make up later though like they always do dw, of course after richie caved and let’s eddie pick the tile. why? because it’s eddie, and he never backs down, also because eddie has richie wrapped around his pretty little finger ✅)

daily reminder day 161: eddie k-tozier is alive and well and right now he’s fixing up richie’s piece of shit car his husband refuses to get rid of. richie has had the old, rusty thing since the ripe year of 1997, and even though richie has his other car that he uses the most that’s more new and rarely ever breaks down, richie still has an attachment to his beaten up, rusty red, 1968 chevrolet corvette. and eddie just…he just loves his husband so much, and that’s why he’s doing this for him. because he loves richie with his whole heart and more, and even though he thinks this is /stupid/, eddie likes seeing him happy. so here he lays under the broken down thing for his love. richie is also bringing him lemonade as he works, which makes it a little more worth it because richie makes great lemonade. but he digresses.

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #31: andrew

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

I’m andrew. Currently working on sleepingdogs related stuff as always, a project with my guy esh & the isolations from Boston, a project with Brian Ennals, and then I’m producing a few things for some people right now as well. Just dropped a record with Height Keech this July. Earlier in the year I dropped a split with my brother ialive and the second sleepingdogs album. Right at the end of last year I dropped my third self-produced solo, don’t forget me, bluest, Too many past things to name them all - you can get my last solo and the latest sleepingdogs vinyl @ threedollarpistol.bandcamp.com.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I write any and everywhere but not really by choice. The mind is always going, and you never know when it’s gonna start putting shit together. I write a lot of stuff in my head when I’m driving and just repeat the lines over and over trying build on it, but mostly trying not to forget. I also write at work a lot when I’m just zoned out building stuff. I’m always writing down bars or couplets throughout the day, but if I get on a roll I’ll step off the floor and duck into the bathroom for a second to finish a thought 'cause I don’t wanna be standing there on my phone too long. Those are probably the two places I write the most, but, as I said, it’s not really confined to any time or place. It all comes in spurts. I’m always writing something down, be it lists of words, phrases and random lines, or full verses. It seems to come in waves for me. I’ll be going crazy for a few months writing seemingly non-stop, then the next few months will pass and I haven’t really written shit as far as songs go, and I’ll think that it’s a wrap for me. Lots of ebbs & flows for sure.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

These days it’s mostly phone, for sheer convenience. We always have our phones with us, so that just became the medium unfortunately. Up til a few years ago, I didn’t really write anything down. I would just write in my head and go over it out loud til I had it down pat and kept it only there until I laid it down, but over the years my memory seems to have less storage capacity. So, just to be safe, I started writing everything down in my phone. I think this actually maybe even caused me to start writing more because now instead of writing whole verses at a time, I’m constantly just writing down random lines and thoughts to put together more verses & hooks. When it comes to recording though, I really strive to have my verses memorized and read off my phone as little as possible.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

Oh no, so disorganized! Lists of words, phrases, bars, concepts for hooks, any and everything really.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

If I’m writing something and don’t like it within the first fours bars, I gotta trash it and start over. If I get like 10-12 in and I’m not loving it, I’ll just finish it anyway since I didn’t dislike it enough to stop at four. Then I’ll probably come back and cherry pick the good lines for another verse until the verse is just skin & bones and delete the rest if I don’t feel there’s anything more worth repurposing.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

I’ve written poetry as a much younger man and also started a novel at some point that got shelved indefinitely. Never really plays, but I used to storyboard write & illustrate ideas for music videos. I do design as well, so I used to have fun writing fake ad campaigns for products and foundations for school. And I’m seemingly always making up slogans or jingles for businesses for no reason at all. I dunno I guess I’m just always writing, consciously or unconsciously.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

I tend to get in zones and write whole verses and/or songs in one shot, depending on the project. Those verses could be comprised of some of the random lines and word lists compiled over time or completely fresh - you never really know. I definitely edit if I’m on roll, but if there’s a line or two I don’t love I’ll just leave it and come back later and revisit or strengthen it. Sometimes you got a good rhythm and you can kill it by getting caught up on one line that’s bothering you, so I usually will just try to tell myself I’ll come back and I move on.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Both. Sometimes I’m feeling inspired to write and I don’t have beats on deck at the moment, whether my own or someone else’s, so I’ll just write, and later I’ll either make something that feels like the right fit, or hear something in a pack from someone that does and freak it and make necessary adjustments per the beat. Then there’s also some beats that just demand my attention and compel me to start writing immediately.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

I think just the way I’m feeling most days. That’s why it’s a lot of dark humor raps and things of that nature. That tends to be the majority of my material but obviously if there’s a specific theme that dictates the bars. I think it can really start from anything, but a lot of the time if I’m messing around in my head at work or driving and I come up with a few good bars that feel like they are good ones to open a verse with, it’ll propel me to keep going. They could be anything - some goofy, funny shit or something dark. I guess again it comes back to the headspace I’m in at that moment.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I do, but I’ll be the first to admit I that don’t stray enough from the traditional when it comes to schemes and flows. I do mess with it on my own and try different things and write different ways, but I guess I usually don’t think that they’re strong enough and stick to the more traditional, though I’m definitely trying to break out of that and expand, for sure.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

I really like my verse on “flutes” on the first sleepingdogs album. I dunno it’s one that every time I do it live it just feels satisfying. It’s no real concept; it’s just bars, but it’s one that feels good every time. "living blues" from don’t forget me, bluest is another one. I think maybe just everything about that one makes me feel good - the hook, the verse, the flow, the outro. That was one that I made that when I was done writing I was immediately like, “Yeah, this one is something.”

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

"And I heard em sayin', 'Yo, why's drew the best? / I’m handin' out bodies like I'm breakin' up the Eucharist (eucha-rest)” from "flutes" as well has always been a fave, though it doesn’t really translate as anything special now that I'm typing it out - haha.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I definitely write with breath control in mind and definitely prefer to record a verse start to finish. I’ve definitely punched in but not because I wasn’t able to rap the whole verse, but more to make sure I hit certain words stronger than I could if I was doing it all straight through. As long as I can do the verse live and spit it straight, I don’t really care about having to punch because when recording and delivering a product you’re trying to present the best product, so for the sake of that I think it’s okay. So long as you can actually spit the verse, that is. That’s just me, though. I know there’s a lot of different views on this and some people are against it and some people do it obviously with the overlaps and all, but that’s just my take. I don’t particularly care too much about it one way or another.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Man, too much. I get inspiration from all kinds of music. All good music makes me want to make music. Lately I been listening to a lot of Lykke Li, Rolling Stones, Heatmiser, Charles Bradley, Lee Moses, Courtney Marie Andrews, Lady Wray - too many to name. Outside of music, reading really inspires me as well. I been reading / listening to a lot this year and it definitely gets me going.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

I have flashes of it, but overall I feel like I know when something is dope and when something isn’t working. And when it’s not, then I put it to the side and rework until it is. And if it never gets to where it needs to be, then it doesn’t come out. I feel being honest with yourself and admitting when something isn’t quite there is super important as an artist to make sure you’re putting out quality work, not just everything you put down on the page.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Freeway. Every time I listen to Free I start rapping like him to myself in the car, but that’s where it stays - haha.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I think really just mental health stuff and the will to keep pushing forward. I write a lot of dark stuff laced with humor 'cause I feel it and I need to say it to get it out of my head and try to deal with those thoughts and feelings. And I think that’s important 'cause hopefully it can help people dealing with the same kinds of things and they’re not alone in it. It’s really just one day at a time, as cliche as that is. Just gotta do your best to get through the day, and tomorrow is a fresh start.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Noah Anthony Mezzacappa

[delphinidin4]

I just spent literally 5 working days migrating an entire public library’s info to their new website, and I can tell you:

LIBRARIES ARE AMAZING.

It’s not just books. It’s not just CDs and DVDs and magazines. Libraries all have streaming now. You can watch movies and listen to music and audiobooks and it’s all FREEEEEEE.

Many libraries are starting to have what’s called a “library of things”. This means that if you need something and don’t want to buy it--like you need a pressure-washer for a two-day job--you can borrow it from the library! It’s like a rental, except it’s FREEEE.

Libraries are one of the only “third spaces” we have left that are free. So there’s home, that’s the first space, and there’s work, that’s the second space. But people need places outside their homes and work to socialize and just BE in public. And almost all our third spaces require you to buy something to be there. Hanging out in a coffee shop while you write your novel? Gotta buy a coffee. Want to use the restroom at a restaurant? No using the bathrooms without buying something. Even public parks often don’t have restrooms, or are entirely outdoors, so they’re not suitable in inclement weather.

But public libraries let you hang out and use their resources without buying anything! You don’t even need a card to use most things in the library! Are you homeless and it’s snowing? Go hang out in the public library for a couple of hours and warm up. Visiting town for the day and you have two hours to kill and don’t know where to go? Go hang out at the library, use their free internet, browse their collection. Need to meet a friend somewhere and you’re broke? LIBRARY. IT’S FREE.

Libraries have educational programming. You can learn to dance or paint or attend a movie night. You can join a DnD group or a young mothers’ group or a book club. You can get your kids into programs that will help them develop literacy, social skills, and knowledge. You can make new friends. We think of the library as the place where you’re not allowed to talk above a whisper, but increasingly, libraries are SOCIAL spaces. They offer you SO MUCH.

Having financial difficulties and need to know what kinds of aid programs are available in your area? Ask a librarian.

Need to do your taxes and don’t want to pay $200 to a tax-preparer? Your library has free tax forms and may be able to help you fill them out.

Want to read a book or magazine or watch an obscure movie that isn’t in the library’s catalog? Use interlibrary loan (ILL). They will track down materials for you from entirely different libraries and library systems all over the country.

Need to find a cheap notary? Ask the library. Need some help understanding a new piece of technology? Try the library. Need something to read before bed? Library. Need to borrow a wifi hotspot so you can do your homework even though you don’t have internet at home? Library will lend you one. ¿Necesitas aprender inglés? Puede haber una clase en la biblioteca. Volunteering. Children’s programs so you can have a break as a parent. Opportunities for homeschooled kids to meet their peers. A place to sit and cool down for half an hour on a hot summer day. Homework help. Games. Resources for starting a new business or a new hobby. Don't know what book you want to read? You can fill out an online form and tell them all about your specific tastes in books and the librarians will fucking MAKE A LIST OF BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS that are JUST FOR YOU!!!

Libraries protect your rights to knowledge, free speech, and privacy. They are activist spaces. You can borrow materials on any subject, without any judgment. You can learn what other people don’t want you to know. You can borrow banned books. You can read a book about how to leave your abusive husband and then put the book back on the shelf and leave the building, and your abusive husband can never find out.

Libraries offer so many things. And they’re fucking FREE. 

Go to your local library. Ask them what kinds of services and materials they offer. They will be delighted to tell you! Or tell them you’ve got a problem and see if they have anything that could help you with it. Librarians love a good challenge. They’re people who want to serve the community. That’s what they’re there for.

That’s what the library is for. It’s for YOU.

[maskofmilves]

Chapter 4: And Then There Was Hope

Characters: Melanie Cavill, Alexandra Cavill, Bess Till, Josie Wellstead, Bennett Knox

Warnings: None

She could barely see the outside from the window with the dark gray sky and the blowing snow more awful than usual and it was already getting really bumpy

The charts kept going back from yellow to red in a matter of seconds, sometimes green but only for a split second before it goes back to red or yellow again. They hit a rather big bump, Alex almost flies out of her seat, Audrey was probably having an experience of a rollercoaster at the cells,

"Shit!" Alex exclaims

"You alright?" Bess asked

"I'm fine, this just plain sucks"

"You'd think they would put seatbelts on these chairs!" The blonde laughed

"I don't think Alex knows what a seatbelt even is!" Ben popped in

"She would've been too young to remember, it's literally basically some material I don't even kno-" another bump, larger this time, Alex smirked

"Alright that's enough, be calm guys we gotta pay attention, Breslauer doesn't have the kindest rails"

They went silent as asked and all they could hear was the sound of violent rattling and shaking from the weather, BreslauerBreslauerBreslauer ah yes the place where she went looking for her mom only to find the data she left behind, not even a trace of her besides the goodbye letter, there is a spark of hope in her heart that tells her that her mom is indeed alive, her gut is keeping her optimistic on that thought but her sadness all crumpled up inside her says that she is gone for good and she went outside to let herself go.

"We should probably increase speed, to fasten this part, I'm sure the wind will calm down and perhaps the torque" Ben decided to speak up

Alex got out of her thoughts when he spoke, she doesn't really like to agree with him but he's right in this situation, she nods at him in agreement.

***

A while passed from when they sped up and were still on the same route, Alex had Ben take over while she went to go to the bathroom and change into her jumpsuit, she came back from Mel's quarters to find the rest of them back on the floor On the mattresses again I was guessing this is going to be the new routine every day that they were standing up or just like to sit down on the floor or the mattresses again until something pops up, it's not like they had a lot of places to sit.

The mattresses were the extra ones from Mel's quarters again and of course, Layton said they wouldn't take Mel's mattress for obvious reasons other than a sad and angry teenager and a ghost.

She sat back down and closed her eyes softly

***

Woken up to a weirdly loud sound of metal scratching and the red lights, Alex did not intend to go to sleep, she turned around to see everyone confused

"What the hell is that?" Said Layton

Bess huddled over by Ben to look at one of the screens, Ben was reading the data of the sensors that were set around the train

"Hey" Bess tapped his shoulder "what's going on here?"

"We are getting amounts of damage to the first exterior shell by the cold lock… it says semi medium punctures- wait-"

Red lights flashed again with an even louder sound now, Alex switched the train to autopilot because who knows what's happening

"There's a breach at the cold lock"

They all have expressions of confusion and being surprised

"Door one is still open and door two still hasn't," Ben said open-mouthed

"There's no way" Alex chimed in "no...oh god"

***

She ran towards the back of the train where the cold lock is, she got there and peaked out the second door window to see a breached body lying on the floor in

"Oh no no no no"

Alex smashed the button on the arch of the second door and door one closed along with the outside, Andre had an ax at his side in case of anything, Josie came behind her waiting for the code to work and the door to open up and she can pull in the body, Alex opened up the door revealing "Melanie? Jesus, oh my" Josie laughed as a tear rolled down her cheek as she was pulling Mel in.

Alex couldn't believe what she was seeing, the waterworks were coming now, taking off her cracked helmet she saw her mom's face covered in soft ice crystals, she tapped the side of her face to wake her up.

"Mom?! Mom?!"

Nothing. She checked her pulse as they were taking off her suit that had two cuts in it, gladly there is, Melanie's eyes opened barley and let out an not so normal gasp for air

Alex needed "I need an air fibular and blankets!!!"

[fayes-fics]

Eleanor, Eleanor... 🥹🥹🫶🫶 I must apologise first for being so tardy, I sort of turtle in bashful retreat at such lovely feedback. But here goes... 👀

I'm so happy you enjoyed this lil Thanksgiving drop. We are ALL thankful for the Benace, right? I DO remember all that back and forth about ooh Regency but yeah we had to give him a stethoscope didn't we? (completing his sexual rotation in your draws? bwhahah top tier my dear) 🤣🤣

I had to start off with him being all soft boyfriend material. Cos that's what he is when he not Benacing. Just a sweet sensitive lil artist making dinners for his career minded love. 🥹 And yes I wanted a shorthand way to show their connection and intimacy and that felt so cutely domestic of him, bless him.

Hehehe I love to throw in Easter eggs that I know will make you giggle, Victorian lady by the sea is a classic 😉 And YES the handwaving would be exactly like the snarky billiards scene, you know him too well! 👍

Yes indeed I chose violence with the glasses, the gloves, the fingies... I will weaponise what people enjoy, you know this about me 😜 you demonstrate away my dear, I heartily approve! 👀

I just had to have a teensy bit of him being commanding, its so opposite to his usual sweetness, that's its all HELLO SIR. 🫡 And that includes being all, you gotta hear this *stethoscope to her ears*... such a cocky lil shit but still in a beguiling way. And yes being naked under the white coat. What a bastard lolol. 😂

Anyway Im so glad you think I hit the right points of intimacy for this kink as I've never written for it before and I adore and treasure your hilarious and wonderful review. Thank you thank you. 🫶🧡🫶🧡

BTW I can just picture you hiding in the bathroom reading this, although i really hope you didn't pass out and miss the delicious feast! 🤣 Thank you for trusting me with your idea and volunteering to be patent zero. Congrats for surviving the Benepidemic (love that word hehe). 🤕

I'm so sorry it’s taken me a month to respond. I'm always so floored when I get such wonderful, humourous and warm responses from the requester. Much love 🫶🫶😁😁😁🧡🧡🧡

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Someone decides to play doctor to ameliorate your bad day…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, doctor/patient roleplay, dom/sub tones, ‘medical examination’ with use of stethoscope and latex gloves, voluntary breathplay, cardiophilia, vaginal fingering, edging.

Word Count: 4.5 k

Authors Note: this is a long-awaited (9 months!) request fill for the lovely @eleanor-bradstreet. My dear, I hope this is somewhat worth the wait. To anyone medically trained, yes, I know what he does is wrong/inaccurate, but that’s the whole point: he’s a somewhat clueless but enthusiastic roleplaying boy, not a real doctor. Thank you to @colettebronte for the read-through and suggestions. Enjoy! <3

It’s been one of those spectacularly shit days at work. When you get to your boyfriend’s flat, all you want to do is shower, crash out and watch brainless TV together.

“Bad day?” Benedict intuits, wandering over from the kitchen, casual in shorts and a t-shirt, as you drop your bag like a tonne of bricks near his front door and pout.

“Hate my job,” you whine, burying your head into his shoulder as he chuckles affectionately, pulling you into his arms and busses a kiss onto your temple.

“No, you don’t; you love your job. You just didn’t love it today,” he smiles into your hair.

“Urgh, fine, yes, Mr EQ, yes, that's true,” you huff his neck, enjoying his clean scent.

“Come with me, my stressed-out noodle,” he offers good-naturedly, withdrawing from the embrace and lacing your fingers with his. He backs up, pulling you along with him further into the flat.

“Where are we going?” you pout again.

“To eat, I made us dinner,” he smiles, something melting in your chest at the sweet gesture. 

“Do I have time to shower first?” you ask, wanting to remove all physical traces of this workday from your skin.

“Of course, be my guest,” he nods towards his room, with the en suite bathroom beyond, and you drop a kiss on his cheek as you go.

—

Fifteen minutes later, you emerge freshly showered and wearing some of his clothes- a t-shirt that swamps you and jogging bottoms you have to roll up at the waist. You take a seat at the kitchen island and tuck into the amazing-smelling food he has laid out, even giving you a comedic bow as you reenter the room.

The food tastes like heaven, and you can't stop the appreciative moans at the flavour explosion on your tongue.

“Fuck Ben, this is delicious,” you assert as you swallow the mouthful.

His face lights up with that beguiling smile that hooked you in the first place all those months ago, and you can't help but lean in and give him a quick peck.

“So do you want to talk about the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day? Or is this more of a big glass of wine and stfu sort of deal?“ he hedges amiably, assessing your needs.

You sigh as you finish your next bite. “Honestly? I don't know. I’m so stressed about it all I sort of don’t want to talk about it. I feel like I need to be one of those Regency ladies who is prescribed a trip to the seaside for my nerves, you know?” you jest, circling your empty fork in the air to highlight your point.

He barks a laugh. “Funny you should say that; I was just reading a book about hilarious historical cures.”

“Yeah…?” your interest piqued.

“Dorset left it out,” he explains, referring to his roommate, a junior doctor at Guys Hospital. “It's hilarious. But I don't think they would diagnose you with a trip to the seaside, at least not based on what I’ve read.”

You swivel on your stool to face him. “Oh no? Then what would I have been prescribed, Dr Bridgerton?” you jest, leaning your chin on your hand and arching a challenging brow. But you don't miss how his pupils dilate a fraction as you address him such.

He turns towards you with a laconic smile. “You likely would have been prescribed a course of pelvic stimulations.”

You are glad you hadn't taken another bite of dinner, as you would have sprayed him with food with that spit take.

“What?!? No!” you laugh incredulously.

“Don't believe me? Go look,” he challenges, gesturing to the book on the coffee table.

“So… Is that what I think it is? Women would literally be told, medically, to masturbate?” you giggle, disbelieving.

“Oh no,” he corrects. “You wouldn't do it; the doctor would.”

“What the…??”

“Yup… ‘to alleviate the female hysterics’,” he chimes, affecting an old-timely announcer voice.

“With what?” you ponder aloud, still utterly perplexed.

“Hands, I would assume,” he breezes. “Why? Would you like a helping hand?” he winks, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

“I mean….” you trail off, still laughing but feeling a tiny buzz between your legs at the idea. “I'm not going to say no… Doctor Bridgerton,” you banter back.

Benedict puts down his fork, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his bite of food and turns slowly towards you, an enigmatic glint in his eye.

“Well, now, you will need a thorough medical examination before I can determine if such a prescription is even the correct one,” he throws out, still with a jovial air, but the dropped octave is decidedly suggestive.

“How long until I can get an appointment?” you shoot back, feeling the atmosphere in the room shift, the dynamic between you playful but with a definite undercurrent of heat now.

“The doctor is always in… for you,” he answers, a hand landing heavily on your knee. “If you are ready, please go wait in the exam room,” Benedict responds, signalling to the sofa, that hand squeezing slightly. “The doctor can be right with you.”

You giggle and shoot him a ‘Are we really doing this?’ look. When he nods, you wiggle off the stool and drift over to the sectional as he disappears down the hallway, your half-eaten dinners now very much abandoned. Little butterflies in your stomach as you perch, eagerly awaiting his return.

When he re-enters the room, you almost forget how to breathe. He has obviously raided his flatmate's room and come out wearing a white doctor’s overcoat, his shapely calves bare beneath the hem, a stethoscope slung casually around his shoulders. He has also dug out his reading glasses to complete the look. He is so utterly convincing you don't know what to think, except…. Oh fuck yes.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he greets, stepping effortlessly into the roleplay. “I'm Dr Bridgerton. Tell me, what ails you today?” 

He sits on the coffee table right in front of you, looking at you expectantly for your response.

“Hello, doctor,” you begin, stilted, still a little discombobulated by his appearance and how utterly aroused you are by it. “I… I am overworked in my job and don't know the best way to relieve the stress I feel….” 

“Well, I am sorry to hear that. Let us do a basic examination so I can rule out any possible physical ailments and go from there.” Before you can respond, he produces disposable gloves from his overcoat pocket and snaps them on, your tummy fluttering at the sight of them pulling taunt around his long fingers. 

Oh, he means it.

He leans in, his hands cupping your jaw, warm even through the latex. You whimper quietly, realising he is pretending to feel the lymph nodes beneath your ear for swelling. But he doesn't let go; he just stares you down, his eyes glittering in the lamp glow. 

“Say ahhh,” he prompts.

You open your mouth instinctively, just like at the doctor’s. He pivots a hand so his thumb gently presses down on your tongue as he peers into your mouth.

“Hmm, I see no evidence of an oral infection. But I should check via other means too, to be thorough,” he murmurs, pupils dilating as you cheekily close your lips around his thumb and suck on it suggestively. The powdery flavour on the glove somehow just heightens the heat you feel spreading inside.

“Behave please, Miss,” he rebukes, but his actions say otherwise - extracting his thumb and trailing your saliva in a line down over your chin, your neck, resting it in your suprasternal notch as his fingers curl around your neck and tug you towards him.

His kiss is deep and breathtaking. His tongue unfurls into your mouth and probes yours as if this, too, is a thorough examination. You follow his lead, letting him dictate the terms, wanting to follow wherever he is going with this.

“I think we can rule out anything in your mouth being the problem,” he opines drolly over your lips. 

“Thank you, doctor,” you respond coquettish.

“Let me listen to your lungs to ensure there are no respiratory problems. Remove your clothing, please,” he orders brusquely, sitting back.

“All of it?” you inhale sharply.

“I suppose just your top for now,” he revises, looking a tad impatient.

When you whip off the top to reveal you are without a bra, his eyes flash, and the tip of his tongue pokes out as your nipples pebble in the cool air of the room. A wave of something behind your ribs as he unfurls the stethoscope from around his neck and places it in his ears.

“Please keep your hands at your sides at all times. And beware, this may be cold,” he warns.

You squeak as the cool metal is placed onto the flesh above your left breast, your hands curling around the sofa edge by your thighs so you keep them as told.

“Breath in deeply for me,” he instructs, and you do, taking a deep inhale, feeling your body bloom with his proximity as his face squints in concentration. When he doesn't say exhale, you hold, unsure what else to do, your lungs feeling tight. It seems much longer than necessary. “And out”

He drags the bell over your sternum to the same spot on the right side. 

“Again” he orders. You follow the instructions, taking a deep breath. “Hold it,” he alerts, as you start to feel the struggle for air. You do his bidding, feeling that trademark ache under your ribs under the exertion. “And release,” he instructs just as you want to disobey.

“Good,” he rumbles, “just one more.”

You pant lightly as he drags the scope down between your breasts, then jump as he presses it low into the sensitive spot where your ribs meet on your diaphragm. 

“In and hold.”

As you do, he tilts forward and suddenly seizes a nipple between his teeth. You make a strangled noise in your closed mouth, a zipping thrill right down to your clit. The surprise makes air escape out your nose, fingers grasping the cushion.

“No,” he gruffs into your breast, not looking up at you. “I told you to hold. You hold your breath until I say you can release,” he lectures. “Now breath in and hold it,” his voice taking on a steely edge that makes your pussy constrict.

Wordlessly, you do as told, and this time, he swaps to your other nipple, biting down, then lathing with his hot tongue as you struggle—tight lungs, intense pressure behind your cheeks. The thronging pleasure around where he teases you makes it an almost impossible task; starting to struggle a little, your body twitching, fingers and toes flexing.

“Let it out,” he permits, and you open your mouth, the air escaping in a loud ‘pahhhh’ sound.

“Well, I think your lungs sound very healthy,” he breezes nonchalantly as if this is just how a doctor does an exam.

“That’s good,” you defer to his faux expertise even as you feel his saliva drying on your areola. 

“Now, let's test your heart,” he proceeds, pulling the stethoscope from his ears so it rests around his neck. “Remove the rest of your clothing now, please, Miss.”

“Is that strictly necessary, doctor? Just to listen to my heart?” you waver, even as your hands go to the ties at your waistband.

“I am the doctor here, am I not?” he counters, raising a brow.

“Yes,” you demure, a pulse around your clit at how thoroughly he inhabits this role.

“You may find it easier to stand,” he chuckles as he watches you shuffling, struggling to remove your bottoms while seated. 

So you do as he suggests, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin around your belly button as you push the loose jersey material over the swell of your hips. He growls at the other surprise lurking—you wear no underwear, your bare slit inches from his face as the clothing pools around your feet, now utterly naked.

“Is this okay, doctor?” you simper, looking down at him sitting on the coffee table as he finally tilts his head to look at your face.

“Lay down on the exam table,” he commands, his pointer finger jabbing towards the chaise.

“Make me…”

Your tongue rebels before your brain can engage, wanting to see how much he will take control if you act out. He springs to his feet, towering over you, inches from you, and grasps the nape of your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

“Are you questioning my methods?” he interrogates, his hold strong but not hurting.

Oh, yes, Benedict, well done.

“No, Doctor,” you simper, attempting to look innocent but knowing your eyes must be fully dilated by now, distracted by the pulse you see in his throat.

“I need to be very thorough before I can diagnose you accurately, Miss,” he cautions. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, doctor.” 

“Good. Now lay down,” he instructs brusquely, releasing his grip.

You drop to the sofa and lay out for him, a thrill zipping over your skin. He places a large cushion beneath your neck and head so you are tilted up and can see down the plain of your naked body.

“Now be very still and be very quiet. Keep your hands at your sides. Whatever I do to you is to ensure your heart is healthy. Do you understand me?” he tutors, his eyes roaming your body covetously.

“Yes, doctor,” you confirm, knowing your chest is rising and falling rapidly, the anticipation burning in your being.

He places the stethoscope directly over your heart and loops it back into his ears, the cool metal now a balm against your flushed skin.

“You have a good strong heartbeat,” he states casually, “But it is a little slow for my liking….”

His gloved hand loops around the leg closest to him and hauls it wide into his lap, your knee brushing a prominent bulge under the overcoat that makes your insides clench at the very thought of his cock.

“Stay still.” 

His clipped reminder is delivered as he trails his fingertips along your inner thigh, his other hand still holding the stethoscope against your chest. Your breath stutters as his latex-covered fingers nudge your folds, already weeping.

“Well, I see there is certainly no problem with your ability to get aroused,” he intones smokily with a tantalising brush over your clit. 

His moves are unrushed, his touch maddeningly light, not nearly enough, barely a glance over your soaked flesh, making you ache for more. After a few moments, you whine and defiantly attempt to push into his touch.

“Did I not tell you to be still and quiet?” he arches an eyebrow, and you pout but still yourself and fold your lips inwards under your teeth. “That’s better. Now let's see what happens when I….”

He expertly plunges two long fingers into your pussy, your arousal leaking over his gloves as he does so. He hisses his approval at your heated cling, pushing deep as you swallow your gasp, biting your lip to prevent any more sound from escaping. His fingers hook, and his wrist twists in slow corkscrew turns, dragging thoroughly over your walls as if giving you an internal exam. You crave more: more fingers, movement, friction, more of anything, your fingernails scratching against the fibres of the sofa, keeping them at your sides as told, even as you itch to grab his wrist and direct his motions.

“Interesting,” he mutters, his fingers swirling slowly, probing inside as he drags the scope fractionally on your sternum.

You utter a silent curse, your body already quivering. The room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing and the sodden noise from between your legs as he leisurely rocks his gloved fingers into and out of your pussy, you suctioning around his knuckles, the stretch with each stroke making you want to beg for him to make you come.

“Your heart is definitely strong,” he declares, “but I think we need to put it to the test properly.”

His thumb presses onto your clit, and it's like a lightning bolt through your being. Something about the fact it's not his skin on yours lends an extra frisson. You can feel the warmth of his pad behind the latex barrier as he flicks against your swollen nub.

“More, please, Doctor Bridgerton, please,” you entreat desperately, attempting to tilt your pelvis to ride his hand.

He groans at your use of his name, not chastising you for vocalising. His rigid cock brushes your knee held in his lap as he surges his hips fractionally, your legs spread obscenely wide as he finger fucks you, his stethoscope leaving a circular imprint on your chest, almost bearing his weight into your skin. God help you both if his flatmate cuts his night shift short.

“Your bpm is rising,” he reports as his fingers move faster, wringing filthy noises from your body now, pushing harder with every stroke, his thumb circling your clit with unerring pressure. You just moan a litany of ‘Dr Ben’, and ‘yes’ and ‘please don’t stop’ as you spiral higher.

“That's it, yes, that's what I like to hear,” he encourages, “it's like music.” 

Even you can tell your heart is thumping now, hearing it loud in your own ears as the blood rushes to your head. Just as you are about to crest, he suddenly stops his ministrations and withdraws his fingers. You cry out as he rests the soaked glove on your lower belly, pressing down softly from the outside on that spot that aches for more, your own juices dripping down between your bum cheeks.

“Shhh shh,” he pacifies, the scope he still holds with his other hand feeling heavy on your flesh as his prideful gaze travels up your panting body, gleeful at his ability to do this to you. 

You plead with your eyes as his eyes finally reach your face, silently asking him to finish.

“Wonderful, your heartbeat is so strong in my ears,” he sounds almost wistful, dreamy. 

Your breathing slows, even as you feel the burn of an orgasm so denied, your pelvis throning, your clit painfully engorged.

“Hmm, let’s go again, shall we?” he smirks.

That’s all the warning you get before he plunges his fingers back inside, this time using three, the latex glove squeaking slightly around his palm. You scream and cant your body up off the sofa to the point he briefly lets go of the scope; his glove presses down on your diaphragm, forcing you back flat so you cannot ride his fingers like you want to.

“Please, doctor…” you beseech, voice reedy and wanton, uncaring about anything but being hurled over that divine edge.

“The more you ask, the less I am inclined to deliver,” he menaces. “I will just edge you all night and listen to your heart thumping so hard for me it sounds like it wants to break out from under your ribs.” he jerks the scope pointedly over your breastbone. 

You close your eyes and bite your lip, resigning yourself to obey. That he might keep you on edge for so long, you cannot bear—you need to come like you need air.

His handsome face is smug as he once again probes your body from inside, almost experimenting based on the tiny whimpers you make. He jabs a spot that makes your entire body spasm, and a crooked, dangerous smile spreads over his features.

“Oh, look what we have found,” his chest resonant with pitch, the tone dark and sweet.

Once again, you beg silently, but he indulges in the tease. Tapping gently on the spot rather than rocking into it, a slow, gentle touch that makes every nerve jangle, like an itch you cannot scratch hard enough.

“I love to see you like this,” he admits breathily as he keeps us at that vexing pace. “So strung out and desperate to come. You would do anything I told you to right now, wouldn't you? If I just promised to let you over the edge.”

You are nodding vigorously before he even finishes his sentence, his triumphant expression almost galling if not for the desire writ large on his face.

“Good,” he snarls and starts to jab on that same spot. Desire roars fire in your veins, and you scream, your body trembling. He leans over and captures one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you scream again, uncaring what any of his neighbours may think.

You are dangling on the edge, reality bleeding into pleasure when once again he stops, and the noise that escapes your lungs is feral—a wretched groaning wail as an inferno licks around every edge of your being.

“Listen,” he growls, roughly yanking the tubes from his ear and placing them over yours. The noise is almost deafening, a thumping rhythm so fast it is virtually interpolating and looping upon itself. It's fascinating and life-affirming even as your body cries out, your clit pulsing in tempo with the thrumming beat. Greedily, he grabs them back and places them over his ears again, moving the bell to the right, his breath gusting hard.

“Touch yourself,” he orders gruffly.

It doesn't take moments for your hand to slide between your legs and catch your clit, a hardened, searing nub so wet you can hardly find grip and so distended it doesn't even feel like your body.

He leans possessively over you, a vein in his neck pulsing as he listens intently, his eyes pinging between your face, the scope on your naked chest and your hand between your legs, rubbing vigorously.

When his fingers sink back inside you, your knuckles cradled in his palm as you strum your clit, it hurtles you instantly over. You grasp his bicep as you crest the wave, your whole body held taught then snapping, shuddering and pulsing forcefully around his fingers as you tumble down that abyss, his stethoscope almost bruising your breastbone as you writhe, him singing your praises. You don't recall the next few moments, floating far away as everything is fuzzy, as if behind a gauzy filter. 

“Oh, that was perfect,” he attests sotto voce as you return to yourself, shaking with tony aftershocks. “You should hear how alive your body sounds when you come like that. Fuck that was amazing…” he seems almost dazed, his fingers dormant inside you.

As he withdraws from you, you emit a mewl, overwrought and shaking from the intensity. 

“Well, Miss,” he begins, slipping back into his roleplay. “I can say without a doubt you are very healthy, so no concern there. I can also tell your stress level is much lower now. Thus, I shall be prescribing you a minimum of two orgasms a day. Purely for your health, you understand,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, doctor,” you nod drowsily, slurring slightly. “Should I administer them mysel…?”

“No,” he cuts in. “I'm afraid it requires a medical professional such as myself to ensure correct dosage,” his tone gravelly, snapping off the gloves from his hands, balling them up and tossing them aside. “You will need to see me morning and night for at least a month until I can properly assess whether the treatment plan is effective.”

“Yes, Doctor Bridgerton,” you purr sibilant, too strung out to do anything but languidly agree to everything he says.

As you go to close your legs, he grabs your kneecap, preventing you.

“Oh no, we are not done here,” he intones with a tinge of menace.

“No?” you stutter.

“No, I need to be very thorough,” he counters, his voice rich like velvet. His bare fingers trail ticklish patterns over the crease of your knee as he smiles perilously, enjoying keeping you on tenterhooks. “I am nowhere near done with your treatment for the day. You have only had one climax, and I do believe I said you need a minimum of two per day," he reminds you, his stare blistering. 

You watch, almost stupified, as he removes the stethoscope and swivels to kneel between your legs, grabbing them and pushing them high and wide apart, the burning stretch along your inner thighs making you gasp.

“Now, are you going to do exactly what your doctor tells you to do this time?” he grills, his fingers digging into your flesh, his gaze intense.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good,” the word resonates through his being as his hungry stare slips over your body, down between your legs. “Now I think you need something more substantial than fingers, don't you?” he smirks playfully.

“Please, yes, please, Doctor Bridgerton,” you implore, canting your breasts up towards him, your eyes covetously sliding down his body as he hovers over you. Your breath quickens when you see the clear outline of his cock bulging against the overcoat. Oh god, is he naked under there? The thought makes you clench again.

You raise your hands and tug at the collar of his overcoat until the first popper opens, revealing his constellation of freckles. When he doesn't stop you, emboldened, you pull again, each popper relenting, a larger slice of his naked torso revealed with each ping. By the time you are down to the last two, you see the trail of hair from beneath his belly button and moan.

“You have been naked this whole time, doctor?!” your voice hitching almost scratchy.

He grabs your hand away, pressing it into the cushion above your head as he bears you into the sofa with his weight, one of that last fastened poppers snagging cold metal against your swollen clit.

“I cannot ask my patients to be naked if I am not as well, surely?” he rumbles, hot in your ear, his warm chest covering yours. He grabs your other wrist and guides it to the same place. “Now, hold onto the cushion under your head and don't move your hands until I say so,” he orders, his smoulder turning lethal as you do as told. 

He pulls up slightly and yanks the rest of the coat open, throwing it aside, giving you only a fleeting glance before surging his leaking, heated cock right over your slit.

“God, Ben, fuck me,” your errant internal monologue slips from your tongue before you can stop it.

“Who is Ben?” he quips duskily, rocking in a distracting manner, his tip glancing into your folds. “There is only Doctor Bridgerton here tonight.”

“Doctor Bridgerton,” you amend, fingers curling into the seam of the throw cushion, fighting the urge to grab him, “please fuck me.” 

He smiles triumphantly and lowers himself over you so you are swamped by him. 

“Well, as you asked so nicely…” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Dividers credit: @/firefly-graphics

[minnieves]

i actually spoiled this a little. anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

training to kill

summary: assassin!taehyun is asked to monitor you while you do your missions for 6 months. this also includes assessing your progress, well-being, and physical assessments.

"your body's adjusting well," taehyun commented when he saw you enter your apartment. he was sitting in your couch as if he lives there. "you shouldn't go around wearing other people's blood."

"of course," you told him. too tired to argue. too tired to have his skills rubbed in your face. he doesn't brag it. he's actually kept to himself, but working under him the past 4 months made you realise how much training you lack.

"how heartless," you muttered to yourself. you're looking at the ceiling. finding ways to describe yourself right now. heartless? yet here you are hoping that taehyun with showcase a little more emotions toward his little.

"hi girls," you waved towards a group of females in a vip room of a bar.

"you're not invited here," someone with electric blue hair remarked.

"true," you told them. closing the door behind you with a click. the girl who's holding a cigarette between her fingertips looked at you in disdain. obviously annoyed of your presence. "i'm inviting you to the underworld."

you told them, smiling. taking your blade out and getting to work.

"you look worn out," taehyun commented when he sees you walking to the bathroom.

"thanks, it's the souls that i took today that's dragging me a little. gotta rinse them off." you said sarcastically.

truthfully, taehyun has been watching you in all your missions recently. scoring you as you go. was he impressed? yes. does he think you improve with every kill? yes. you look hot while doing it? absolutely.

it was in the middle of the night, and taehyun knew that one of the gashed you. he needs an excuse to see it.

"come out in your underwear and we'd do physicals." he told you. knocking at the door of the bathroom. he prepared the materials he'd need.

when you came out, your hair is still wet from the shower. you're holding a towel to your hair. dressed, as requested, in nothing but your underwear. you glanced at him, then to the materials he put out. rolling your eyes, you sat at the stool.

reflex, vision, hearing, and touch. simple and short routine. you closed your eyes, trying to relax and he proceed.

"sir.!" you pushed him slightly when you felt his lips on yours. you met his eyes, and is trying to read his expression but it remains passive. like you were hallucinating. "you kissed me, sir."

"i was checking your reflexes." he excused his actions.

"check them again," you challenged him. when his lips met yours, you felt his lips form into a smile. deepening his kiss as it drags.

he held you by the waist, holding you to make you stand on your feet. before slowly pushing you to lay on the couch.

"what assessment is this?" you asked him, meeting his lips in yours.

"respiratory," he said. dipping his tongue inside your mouth. "i need to make sure you can properly breathe."

you wrapped your arms around his neck. feeling his leg on your heat. you sighed into the kiss, allowing him to slid his tongue in again. his hand travelling down your body. pressing and grasping as he goes.

"fuck!" you cursed. taehyun pressed on your stab wound. truthfully, it wasn't deep that you'd be bleeding nonstop. however, it was deep enough to make you gasp and pull away from his touch despite aching for it.

"good job cleaning it," he muttered. pointing out to the gauzed area. he met your eyes before asking, "do you want an alternative pain killer?"

"what?" you asked him confused. holding his hand that was grazing the edge of your micropore, shoving it away. "i don't know what you mean."

"orgasm," he told you simply.

"we can't have sex," you told him. as much as you'd like to jump his bones. you're not willing to fuck your mentor. no matter how fuckable he is with each day passing. "you're my mentor."

"oh? you see me as such?" he teased you. "you don't act like you do."

"besides the point, sir." you told him. pushing him slightly.

"sex is not the only way i can make you reach orgasm." he point out. his eyes raking your body. you feel naked. like he has seen every inch of your being. he has, but not this way.

"by what? foreplay?" you asked him. you raised yourself to your elbows. carefully raising yourself. not bending your abdominal region. "you want to what? finger me is that what you're saying?"

"yes, that is if you'd allow." he told you. he have informed you about the limitation of drugs that you can take. thus, finding non-medicinal options are passed from one agent to another. use of medicine can help others track you.

he's finger is grazing the tops of your thighs. watching your body react to his movement even without looking at your face. he knew your little crush on him. he won't use it against you. he also knew that you're too tired to relieve yourself.

"okay, go on." you told him.

"you don't want to hear out the reasoning behind it?" he asked you teasingly. mocking how eager and easy it was for him to make you say yes.

you laid back down, your tiredness catching up to you. taehyun's hands removed your panties. spreading you to accommodate him better. he was playing with your slit. spreading the wetness you didn't even know is present.

taehyun smiled, feeling how wet you are for him. his gaze moved from your pussy up to your face. but they were closed, eyebrows furrowed.

he slipped a finger in, feeling how you wrap around him. a few moments, he followed another.

"how are you feeling?" he asked you. watching your reaction as he does. how you flex your feet, touch the arm rest. "are you in pain?"

"no, god no." you told him. you were holding your moans in, but every now and then a small sound escapes you. the feeling of his fingers feel so much better than in your fantasies. he was moving in small but deep motions. as if seducing you, if that's possible.

"tell me what you want," he told you. "speak to me."

"faster please," you asked him. you still feel surprised that he actually did. taehyun only answers to his superiors. yet here you are, being obeyed like one. "close!"

"don't be shy now." he mocked you. pushing your leg open, since it was closing above his hand. as if you don't want to see his movement despite your eyes being closed. "cum."

you did. your body shivering at the aftermath. he was helping you ride your orgasm. you bit your lip, feeling nauseous like you were about to pass out.

while taehyun was cleaning his fingers. he noticed that you have passed out. making him laugh to himself as he prepares to dress you.

you woke up the next day. shocked by the sun. you sat up, looking around the room. wondering if last night didn't happen or was it some hallucination brought by your tiredness.

you went out of tour room towards the kitchen. a few moments later, taehyun entered your apartment with a newspaper in hand.

"your assignment for saturday," he told you coldly. walking towards the kitchen. taehyun took a quick glance at you. noticing the faint marks on your thighs that he left yesterday.

[mxchellesworld]

punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

[faeryloki]

𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬 ♢ 𝐩. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 ➸ 1.8k 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 ➸ fratboy!peter parker x lighter skinned!reader ; “I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.” 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ➸ SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI…. public(ish) sex, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, dry humping, fingering, teasing, wall sex, counter sex (if i missed anything, please let me know)

𝘢/𝘯 ➸ so i tried to be inclusive but this does deal with the reader having a lighter skin tone where hickeys can be shown :(( im sorry to all those who cant read this, 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

    the music was muffled, the thickness of the walls, which stopped the sounds of the party going on outside from filling the bathroom, surprising you as his lips moved up and down your neck, sucking lightly. you knew that it wouldn’t leave a mark, too engulfed in the feeling of peter’s lips trailing back up to yours, a small whimper sounding into his mouth as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

his lips pecked yours, repeating his past actions and connecting with your neck yet again, sucking harder, “hey, no marks, petey.” he chuckled against your shoulder, reluctantly pulling away before he spoke.

“hi,” he whispered, the tension in the room impalpable, the feeling of your panties sticking to you from under your dress making the position you were in uncomfortable. your legs wrapped around his waist, his very noticeable hard-on felt against your heat as his hands rested on your waist, holding you up against the wall.

you reached your head towards him, hoping your lips would meet his in a heated state of want. a whine escaping your lips as he pulled his head back slightly, smirking at your pouted lips.

“say ‘hi’ back, baby,” he said cockily, waiting for you to murmur the word he wanted but all he got in return was a shake of your head, “really? not gonna say hi back to your boyfriend?”

“hiya peetey,” you whispered, still in a pout as he smiled, pecking your lips. you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, wiggling in your spot and advertently grinding right onto his erection.

he dropped his head against your shoulder, pushing your hips against his, voice raspy as he spoke into your neck, “oh, baby, you know i could easily get off just doing this, grinding this wet little pussy against me, making myself feel good and leaving you all high and dry….well, high and wet.”

“no, peteyyy,” you whined, trying to stop his hands from moving your hips but ultimately failing against his strength.

he chuckled, “im joking, baby, you know i’d never do that to you, you get all cut when you’re needy but leaving you all dripping makes you a brat.”

your words caught in your throat, as he ground your hips into him, his mouth attached to your neck as his length caught on your clit, a moan escaping your throat as he continued his grinding, chuckling into your neck as the pathetic whines and moans that sounded in the hot bathroom.

“what baby? what do you want? gonna have to tell me or i wont do anything,” he teased, ending is words with a particularly hard grind causing moans to escape your lips. flashes of past events of his cock filling you up and making you cum so hard you were screaming, your eyelids heavy with lust as hes nipped at your neck, the same teeth he’s use to nip the inside of your thighs, working his way to your dripping core, thoughts of his tongue working your needy clit filling every inch in your mind.

you mumbled out a ‘please’, the feeling of his hard-on hitting your sensitive nub with every movement of his hips making your head filled with lust as he smirked into your neck.

“please what, baby? gonna need more than that,” he voiced, moving you from the wall and placing you onto the counter, kissing his way to your collar bone as his hands worked at your dress zipper, your body slumped against his.

pulling down your dress further, exposing your shoulders fully as he continued leave sloppy kisses on your skin, eyes darkening as he pulled away, holding your head in his hands and smashing his lips to yours. the kiss was heated, body ablaze with want as he pulled at your bottom lip, pulling away.

“please, petey, want you, please,” you whined, tugging at his shirt to pull it off, wanting to feel his skin against yours.

“oh, baby, i know,” he said in a mocking pouty voice, letting out a laugh when you whined, letting you pull off his shirt, “look so pretty all need, babe, love seeing those lips all pouty for me and my cock.”

his voice grew lower with every word, hands cupping your face as smirked, tracing your skin gently and moving down your arm, a ticklish feeling being left in the wake of his hands before he scrunched up the bottom of you dress, tracing the outline of the lace panties as he smiled to himself.

“d’you wear these for me, pretty girl?” he asked, admiring and tracing the small lace pattern that settled on your hip wrapping around your entire waist.

you nodded, dropping your head against his shoulder and sighing as he traced the thin crotch patch that was soaked. spreading your thighs apart further and standing in between them he slid the small material to the side, collecting your dripping arousal.

he kissed the top of your head, petting your hair as he circled your entrance, whimpers and whines escaping your lips as he pressed a finger in, “so wet, baby. you this wet for me? huh? you dripping all over the counter because of a little kissing?”

you whimpered against his shoulder, “fuck- yes petey, all for you, please- fuck- please petey.”

“huh, baby? couldnt hear you,” he mocked, hand playing with the top of your dress as he slowly pumped his finger in and out, palm applying the slightest pressure to your clit with every movement and flex of his long digit.

“please, petey, please- want more, please,” you moaned, gripping onto the hem of his pants as he added a second finger, whining when his thumb came up and rubbed small circles into your clit.

“like this, baby? wanna cum on my fingers?”

“fuck- yes- please peter- please,” you moaned, gripping onto his bare bicep as his fingers worked you faster, moans falling from your lips with every repetitive motion of his hand.

he smirked at your lust driven state, feeling your warm walls clench around his fingers as you drew close to your release, begging for him to make you cum as his fingers curled slightly to hit that pleasure filled spot.

“you do, baby?” he asked, a sarcastic tone lacing his words, “gonna soak my fingers? you gonna make a mess while anyone can walk by and hear those pretty moans coming from that pretty mouth of yours, huh?”

“yes- please, petey, wanna cum, please,” you whined, burying your head in his neck as you moaned, trying to muffle the sinful sounds that filled the room, “please, fuck- petey, please.”

every moan that left your lips only spurred him on, encouraging to make you moan so loud, even the fraternity tainted bathroom would seem like heaven, he wanted those sinful sounds to never stop.

his other hand snaked its way up to the back of your neck, pulling on the hair and bring your eyes to meet his, “then fucking cum.”

the waves of pleasure washed over you.  his fingers continued their pace, letting you ride out your orgasm. the once cold marble counter now warm and the air that smelt of beer and sweat now reeked of sex.

he didnt stop the pleasurable abuse on your cunt, continuing to pump as his thumb slowed but never stopped. the pleasure still settled at the pit of your stomach but never building, staying an annoying tension caused by your overstimulation that had you mewling into the crook of his shoulder.

“sorry, baby, gotta make sure this pretty pussy’s gonna be ready for my cock, wanna get you all nice and ready to take every. last. inch.” he pronounced each word with a hard pump of his fingers and a circle of your clit, smirking at your fucked out state.

he pulled his hand away from you, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes rolling back and a moan escaping his throat at the taste, “fuck, baby, might just have to have a taste of you later.”

he tugged at his pants, pulling them down enough to reveal his boxers, the calvin klein logo which was printed onto the waist band of his pants. the black letter disappearing as he tugged his boxers down after, the fabric now scrunched with his jeans as he grabbed your hips pulling you to the edge of the counter,

he fisted his length pumping up and down collecting the droplets of precum that surfaced, using it as a form of lubricant as he tugged your lace panties to the side again, aligning himself and teasing your dripping lips.

“want this, baby?” he asked, inserting the head of his cock slowly before pulling out, repeating the same movements over and over, whines of want falling from your lips with every shallow thrust.

“yes- fuck- please, petey, want it so bad,” you grabbed his bicep, an involuntary moan sounding as he pushed further into you, his grunt of pleasure making his chest, where your head rested, vibrate. he slowly pumped in and out, going deeper and deeper with every movement of his hips.

your warm walls enveloped him, the feeling euphoric in his mind as he held back, hands griping your hips in a bruising pace, as his lips met back with the skin of your neck, sucking hard and muffling his moans as he sped up, taking note of the way your moans and whines grew louder when his teeth skimmed your collar bone, shivers running down your spine as goosebumps rose on your skin.

“fuck, sweetheart, squeezing my cock so much, feels so good,” his moans mixed with yours, the familiar tension building back up in your stomach as his hand came between you, toying with your clit as you clenched down around him.

“petey, fuck- youre so big, gonna cum, please,” you whined, eyes shutting as he brought his hand up to your throat.

“look so pretty with my hand wrapped around your throat, baby,” he groaned out, “but, i feel like i could make this cute little kitty cum harder”

pulling out and pressing your front up against the wall, he pushed back in with a groan. the new position had you gripping onto his forearm. the veins in his hand bulging as you felt his cock throb in you.

sucking and kissing your neck, his eyes shut, moans leaving his mouth as he rested his head against the back of yours. his hips snapping into you as pleaded, “please- fuck- please petey- tell me you’re close- please.”

“squeezing me so much, baby, how- fuck- how could i not be close?” he asked, smirking and chuckling, a groan interrupting him as his hips stuttered, “fuck, baby, come on, cum on my cock, make me cum with that pretty pussy.”

you let out a scream, nails digging into him as you let go. your walls pulsed around him as he filled you up. groaning into your neck as he sucked and kissed the exposed skin, smiling into you as he stayed there.

you whined, “p-petey, so full, love you so much.”

“i know, baby, i love you too,” he pulled out, turning you around and kissing you , hand reaching for a small towel on the shelf to the side of you. he pulled away, smiling as he faced the sink, turning the water on and letting his fingers be soaked by the falling water, waiting for its warmth.

you looked into the mirror, face dropping as you saw the hickeys that traced your neck, “peter fucking parker.”

he looked up at you, a smirk playing at his face as he looked at the dark bruises that were scattered across your skin, “yes, baby?”

“i said no marks,” you pouted, his chuckle sounding in the room as he soaked the rag, moving back in front of you and pressing the towel in between your thighs, wiping softly.

“I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.”

you let out a whimper as he nudged your sensitive clit, he grabbed your lace panties from the floor, kneeling and directing you feet to pull the panties up, patting you panties in place, the small and simple slaps making you feel the cum that started to slip out of you.

“so pretty, baby,” he complimented, fixing your dress and placing a kiss to your shoulder as he pulled the strap back up. he fixed his appearance, playing with his hair before you rolled your eyes, pulling his hand away and doing it for him.

“there, now you look just as handsome as before,” you giggled, pulling him to peck his lips as your knees wobbled a bit.

his hands rested at your waist, as he pulled you, “lets get back out there, baby, gotta keep up appearances, now dont we?”

he grabbed your hand, unlocking the door and leading you out back into the party, dancing slightly to the music he twirled you, your hips swaying to the beat as you giggled, lost in the moment of dancing with peter, the music no longer muffled and your eyes set on his.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

*taglist coming soon*

[hyunjilicious]

a helping hand [henry cavill] - part 3

A/n: I know it took me ages, and I'm sorry, but it's finally here!! I don't know when part 4 will be up, but I know the plot, and by the time you finish reading this, you'll know it too!! Filth is coming. Also, since I posted the first 2 parts weeks ago, under the cut you'll find a small summary of what happened so far! Ofc, I'm linking the previous parts as well! Have fun reading, sorry for taking me so long, and please, don't hesitate to tell me what you thought! (I’ll reblog it with the taglist, otherwise it doesn’t show up in the tags!)

Summary: after Henry lost it during a fit of jealousy, he sneaked into your apartment, his actions having some very different repercussions from what he initially intended. SMUT 3.9k

Warnings: please be over 18!!! mentions of smut, masturbation (male receiving), sightly/some somnophilia, stalker-ish/obsessed Henry, cum play if you squint and ofc, mentions of filming and sharing pornographic material. 18+ please!!!!

You can find part 1 here and part 2 here!

Quick recap: Henry's crush on his very sweet and younger neighbour (you lol) grew into something else when you asked him for help with taking some pictures for your onlyfans account. Following this, your relationship reached a very teasing level, which prompted Henry to take matters into his own hands, even if that meant crossing some lines. So when he found out that you and a specific man from your past were on a voice call, he just had to know what exactly was being discussed. This jealousy fit had him using his spare key to enter your apartment and eavesdrop, and this is where chapter 2 ends. Have fun reading the next part!!!

“No” you sighed, waving your arms around, desperate to get your point across. But it was mostly useless, nothing even remotely decent would ever manage to penetrate Steve’s thick skull. He was a dumbass with a heart of gold, so you couldn’t even blame him for messing things up on purpose, you just learned the hard way not to take his advice under any circumstance. “No, Steve. I won’t do that. Not a chance!”

“Hun-” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as a smirk showed up on his lips, “When have I ever been wrong?”

“Really!?” you giggled and then sighed, “Listen, I gotta go to the bathroom and you’d better forget about this topic by the time I come back”

“Wait, wait. Ok, fine. Scratch that” Steve laughed, stopping you from getting up, “When have I ever been wrong on purpose?”

“Listen, I know you’re just trying to help” you smiled, “But I don’t think your experience in seducing girls with daddy issues benefits my situation in any kind of way”

“‘Course it does! I can give you some perspective!”

“Perspective on what?” you mocked, playfully frowning at him through the screen on your laptop, “You and Henry have nothing in common”

“The dick for one” Steve joked but when he saw you roll your eyes, he became serious, “I’m just tryin to help you hook up with the guy! That’s all”

“See!?” you laughed, already exasperated by the conversation, “I’m not trying to hook up with him, I want something more…”

Your sentence was cut short by the sound of a door closing. Your blood ran cold and your hands froze, eyes staring blankly into the camera.

“Y/n?” Steve asked with worry, “What’s wrong?”

“Wait here” you mumbled, pushing the laptop off of you and rushing to the door of your bedroom. You pressed your ear against it, and listened closely, the sound of a lock being turned chilling you to your bones. With shaky hands, you stumbled your way back to your bed, and looked into the camera, directly at a somewhat already worried Steve. “I gotta go-”

“Wait-” Steve tried to ask, “Are you-”

“Yeah, I’m fine, talk to you later” you hurriedly mumbled before ending the call. Your fingers flew across the screen of your phone, finding Henry’s name and pressing the green button in the blink of an eye.

And had he not been this utterly stupid and reckless, none of this would have happened. His impulsivity got the best of him, and panic rushed through his veins when he heard you were about to head to the bathroom. Pressure did him no good, and the first thing that came to mind at that point was to bolt out of there, knowing there was absolutely no way to explain what he was doing in your apartment. But his shaky hands were of no help, and the dexterity he earlier proved himself capable of was nowhere to be found. However, he didn’t care. He just stormed out, happy to finally breathe again as soon as he was out of your apartment - but when his phone vibrated in his pocket, he felt like dying all over again.

With your heart beating inside your throat, you grabbed your bedside lamp into your free hand, and curled yourself into a ball in the corner of your room, opposite to the door, the sound of the ongoing call being the only thing you heard over the loud buzz in your ears.

“Yeah?” Henry’s voice rang loudly when he finally answered, making you all but jump with fright.

Had you paid more attention, you’d have noticed he too sounded out of breath, but you were too out of it to tell. All you could think about was the psycho what was at your door.

“Henry-” you cried, voice shaky as the intake of air was no longer satisfying. You were hyperventilating, sweating from every pore, scared out of your mind.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice more stern now. “Y/n? Are you ok?”

“Yeah- yeah…” you said on autopilot, mind on standby. “No…” You whimpered, “Henry, can you- I think someone is trying to break into my house, I-”

“What!?” he gasped, “I’m sure no one-”

“Henry!” you cried into the phone, “Can you please look through your peephole? Please?”

He sounded confused, but you didn’t have to ask him twice. You heard a bit of shuffling before his voice reached your ears again, “There’s no one there, there’s no one at your door, you can relax”

“No-” you whimpered, unable to calm down, “Henry, please-!”

“I’m coming over right now,” he said.

“No! No, what if they’re still in the hallway?”

“There’s no one there, love” Henry tried to reassure you. When you heard him unlock the door of his apartment your heart stopped, but after that, everything was quiet. 

“Are you ok?” you muttered, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Yes, love. I’m fine” Henry lightly chuckled, “I’m at your door, can you open up?”

“No” you scoffed, “What if someone got in?”

“No one got in” he tried to explain, but your adrenaline soaked brain refused to comply.

“Henry, take the spare key I gave you” you suggested, “And grab a knife”

Seeing how affected and terrified you were, Henry didn’t argue with you anymore. In a matter of seconds, you heard the door of your apartment being unlocked, Henry assuring you through the phone that it was him. When he walked inside, you remained hidden in your spot. He checked the kitchen and the living room, coming up to finally enter the bedroom. When your eyes landed on his massive frame, you breathed out relieved and rushed to him, throwing yourself into his arms. There was no other place on Earth you felt as safe as you did when he was holding you.

“Shh, you’re ok, you’re good” Henry cooed, cradling you to his chest, “I got you, baby, ok? I’m here”

But there was no stopping you. You broke down entirely, holding onto him as your legs gave in, turning into a mess. Henry carried you to the bed, sitting you down and allowing you to calm down at your own pace.

“I’m here, ok?” he asked again, rubbing your back, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/n, you know that. You’re safe, I got you”

It was impossible to tell just how long it took you to fully calm down, but it was safe to say that it would have taken hours longer had Henry not been there with you. When you were finally able to properly breathe again and hold a conversation, you looked up at him, big doe eyes hoping to convince him without too much of a fuss. “Can you stay here with me, please? I can’t be alone right now”

With nothing but sympathy in his eyes, Henry leaned down and kissed your forehead, “Don’t you think it would be better if we went over to my place instead?”

“No” you shook your head, “And leave the apartment unattended? I don’t think that’s a good idea”

His heart broke. Being his usual, impulsive self, Henry managed to break you down and terrify you to your core. As much as he wanted to reassure you everything would be fine, he couldn’t. He couldn’t just tell you it was him who broke into your apartment in the middle of a jealousy breakdown. So, he settled for the second best option, and really, he couldn’t complain.

It was late in the afternoon on a Sunday, no locksmith on the clock. Seeing how you’d have to wait until the next morning, he was more than happy to spend that time with you.

As time started to pass, you also started to relax. 

The day slowly wilted a way, as both you and Henry made yourselves busy around your apartment. He wasted a couple of hours installing games on your school laptop as you took a bath, he then cooked you dinner, and by the time the night rolled around, you were your usual bubbly self again. And after watching and laughing your hearts out at Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, sleep started to creep up on you.

Henry placed one of your kitchen chairs under the doorknob before turning to give you a massive hug, “No one can get in, darling. I promise”

“Thank god you live across the hall” you confessed, snaking your arms under his hoodie as you gathered yourself as close to him as possible. “What would I have done otherwise?”

“You don’t have to worry about that” Henry kissed your forehead, “I’ll always be here when you need me”

And in that moment, right there, stopping yourself from kissing him turned out to be the most difficult thing you ever had to do. Instead, you settled for his cheek, before hiding your face against his shoulder. “I’ll always be here for you too”

“Thank you, angel” Henry breathed out.

There really was nothing on this earth you loved more than this man. 

Getting ready to go to sleep, you changed in your pajamas, while all Henry did was take off his hoodie. With your toothbrush lodged between your teeth, you lingered in the door frame, watching the muscles of his back flex as he bent down and put his phone down to charge.

Toothpaste and drool could very well have dribbled down your chin as you stood and gawked, only releasing you were staring when Henry turned around and a smile made its way up his lips. “Yes?” he laughed, but all you did was look him up and down, before returning to the bathroom with a shake of your head.

“Oh, Y/n?” Henry called again, following you, “Where can I find a blanket or some sheets?”

First you squinted, but then you decided it would be best if you just finished brushing your teeth before anything else. After rinsing your mouth, you turned to look at him, utterly unamused. “What for?”

“So I don’t have to sleep on leather?”

“You’re sleeping with me” you rolled your eyes, grabbing his elbow and dragging him into the bathroom so he could get ready for bed too. “Not up for discussion”

“Ok” Henry chuckled, looking at you in the mirror. “But I snore”

As if that would make you reconsider. You walked away and into your room, settling under the covers, without another word. About 10 minutes later, Henry joined you.

He fit in like a piece of puzzle and you didn’t even try to keep yourself from cuddling into his side. Sinking his head down between the multitude of pillows on your bed, you giggled, crawling on top of him. Without thinking too much about it, you kissed your way down his neck, peppering tens of kisses against his naked chest. You felt his heartbeat under your palm as he breathed in and out slowly, smiling down at you as he enjoyed the view.

“Thanks for doing this for me” you mumbled, rubbing your hand up and down his chiseled abdomen.

“Really, Y/n” Henry said, wrapping his arms around you, “There’s no need to thank me. Plus, you think I’m not enjoying this?”

“Oh shut up” you giggled. The amount of small talk that followed turned out to be exactly what you needed in order to allow your eyes to peacefully close. Despite the events of earlier in the evening, you now felt safer than ever before.

It was just a matter of time until soft snores started escaping past your lips, your chest rising and falling every so softly as you drifted out of consciousness.

But Henry’s mind was nowhere near relaxed enough to drift off. No. You were too close to him, too innocent and vulnerable for him to just let this moment pass. The way you had just thrown one of your legs over his lap drove him insane - your bare thigh too accessible to him.

At first, he just tested the waters. A peck to the top of your head, and a small caress against the back of your hand. You were completely out, and that accentuated his need further.

Slowly moving his free arm down his body, Henry brushed his fingers over his clothed member, grunting out loud when he felt the sensibility in his tip. He bit into his bottom lip out of need to keep quiet, teasing himself just a little as he struggled to decide how to go about things. With the way you were laying right now, it was next to impossible for him to free himself without moving you. And even though at the beginning he tried to avoid that, when you stirred in your sleep, your body rubbing up against his, he lost all kinds of patience.

As softly as he could, Henry pushed your leg back, just a little. Even in your sleep, you craved his touch, as when you felt movement, you involuntarily shuffled closer, but much to his relief, your legs remained on the mattress.

Eagerness controlled his actions as he pushed his pants down his thighs, propping his hips up with difficulty. When his underwear was pulled down and his cock sprung free, Henry hissed with unmatched satisfaction. With his hand wrapped around his base and his eyes on you, he swallowed thickly, his heart beating out of his chest with a demented sense of bliss.

"My baby-" Henry cooed, rubbing his lips across your hairline as he started stroking his cock.

His movements were slow but not calculated in any way. His brain was occupied, forcing his hand to work on muscle memory. But still, he teased himself, rubbing his thumb across his slit just like he liked to think you would. 

The fear of getting caught was at an all time high as you stirred again. He froze for a second, "That's my good girl-" Henry whispered, looking down at your sleeping frame. As much as he wanted you to take an active part in this, he knew better than to risk it. 

It was getting more and more difficult to breathe, his back sweating profusely as he pumped himself closer to the edge. His hips bucked, causing the bed frame to creak. Instantly, he stilled, eyes on you, but all you did was rub your cheek against his chest, completely unaware of your surroundings.

"I'm so close for you, my darling" Henry groaned, his throat paper dry as the words left his lips. All he could hear was his own breathing and the unmistakable perverse sound of slapping skin, but still, even above all of that, you kept on peacefully snoring. 

The arm Henry looped around your frame was now traveling lower, his palm exploring your side until he reached your ass. He softly gripped a handful of your bum, squeezing hard enough to make up for the struggle of not allowing himself to finish too early. But it was reckless and maybe he shouldn't have done so, as his touch all but woke you up. 

Still overwhelmed with sleep, you barely pushed yourself up, eyes closed as you slightly changed your position. You were now laying higher up his body, your head almost falling off his shoulder. Your breathing tickled the side of his neck as you snaked your arm up and looped it around his frame. Biting down hard on his bottom hip, Henry felt ridiculous amounts of blood rush to the tip of his cock as you refused to settle already.

Rubbing the tip of your nose across his jugular, still mostly out but not fully, you peaked your eyes open, “Henry-?”

“Y- yeah?” he swallowed thickly, freezing in his spot.

“Why’re you awake?” you mumbled.

“Just woke up- had a weird dream, that’s all”

You believed the lie without an ounce of doubt, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Yes” he whispered, “But in the morning. Sorry I woke you up, go back to sleep, darling”

“Ok” you sighed, kissed his bare shoulder and allowed yourself to drift off again.

Henry licked his lips in a haze, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as sweat worked his entire body. God, how he regretted getting himself in his position, but his cock was full on hard, all but leaking at the tip, not so patiently waiting to receive any kind of attention again. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes on you to make sure you were asleep. 

His heart skipped a beat as your mouth popped open, but your light snores came as the strongest form of reassurance, and he resumed his work. The anxiety of getting caught fueled him, and the heels of his feet dug into the mattress, his hips bucking upwards as he furiously pumped his cock.

It was all getting too much. He was close. Henry threw his head back trying to suppress a moan, but he miserably failed. A choked back wail escaped his now dry lips as his whole body tensed. He squeezed you closer, his fingers lewdly digging into the sweet flesh of your ass. He was crossing many lines but that didn't stop him. He didn't see things clear anymore. His chest heaved, rushing up and down as he fisted his cock, biting into his lower lip as he watched your peaceful expression. 

It was pure, dumb luck that he managed to spot a pack of napkins laying on the night stand mere seconds before he came. His juices eagerly ran down his shaft as he flew through his orgasm, his saviour napkin proving almost useless. 

Coming down from his high, he all but managed to calm down, but his mind was still set. He would never get enough of you. And no matter how many times he'd cum, he'd still be down to go again. You had that power over him.

"Fuck…" Henry panted. And in the blur of the moment he created, he didn't even stop to process his thoughts. Gathering the few droplets of cum that landed on his stomach, he brought his hand up to your face, his thumb rubbing across your lips. 

In that moment, then and there, when you unconsciously wrapped your lips around his finger, he almost lost it all over again. 

"Holy-" he cried again, kissing your forehead. As eager and willing as he was to keep going, Henry stopped himself. He tucked the napkins next to the foot of the bed, pulled his pants back up his hips and settled under the covers. 

Sleep didn't come easy, but he eventually drifted off. Unfortunately, the clock had almost struck 3am by the time he closed his eyes, and no later than 6:15, your alarm went off.

"No" you protested, wiggling around in search of your phone. "No school- no, thank you"

Eyes closed and cheek squished into the pillow, Henry raised his arm and found the phone with ease, handing it to you without a word.

Squinting under the bright light of the screen, you dismissed the alarm and snuggled back into Henry's chest, his arms wrapping around your body in an instant.

And as heavenly as this felt, it only lasted for about 5 minutes, until your alarm went off again. 

"Just turn it off" Henry laughed, kissing your forehead, "I'll wake you up after I make breakfast"

"You don't have to" you protested, throwing in a whine or two as you curled yourself around him.

"I want to"

"No"

"Y/n…"

"Ok fine" you sighed, "Thank you"

"No need darling" Henry chuckled and stood up. He once again pecked the top of your head and then he was gone. About one second and a half later, you were asleep again, only to complain when Henry woke you up.

"It's 7" he stated, gathering the blanket in his arms and allowing the cold air to reach your body.

"Give it back" you cried.

"Is that how it's gonna be?" Henry threatened, and despite his dominating tone, you still refused to take him seriously. When you hid your face between the pillows, he deeply sighed, but satisfaction was still audible in his tone. "Fine then"

Taking you completely by surprise, Henry bent down and gathered you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder with absolute ease.

"Henry-" you yelled, "The fuck-"

"Not gonna be late, Y/n" Henry laughed, "Not on my watch"

"God" you giggled along and allowed yourself to be carried to the kitchen. 

As soon as he walked out of the bedroom, a delicious smell reached your nose. It was probably the first real breakfast you'd had in weeks, so you weren't going to complain anymore. Fresh coffee, toast, avocado, pancakes, hard boiled eggs and a multitude of veggies and fruit awaited on the table.

"I didn't even know I had all this food in my house"

"You didn't-" Henry shook his head, sitting down beside you, "Grabbed them from my place"

"You shouldn't have, but thank you"

"No need" he assured you, "Dig in"

When you were done, and right before you headed to the bathroom to get ready, you turned to him again. "Do you know the number of any locksmiths? I really wanna change the locks"

Following a quick Google search, Henry found a multitude of ads, and after choosing the most trustworthy looking one, he dialed the number as you patiently waited beside him.

Everything seemed to go perfectly well, until he frowned, "No, today pl- [...] No, I'm not locked out of my- [...] You sure-? Ok, ok fine. Ok, tomorrow, first thing, ok, thanks"

"They can't come today?" you pouted as soon as he hung up.

"No, I'm sorry" Henry shook his head, and seeing the disappointment plastered on your face, he spoke up again. "I can stay one more night, if you want to. I'll sleep in the living room-"

"What? No" you scoffed, "It's not that…"

"What is it then?" he questioned, starting to get worried.

You hesitated. "Its no-"

"Don't tell me it's nothing" Henry commanded, pointing a finger at you. A smile appeared at the corner of your lips as you rolled your eyes.

"Ok, fine. I just- I just had to film today for the- you know… That's all, but I can do it some other day"

Henry didn't answer until a smirk tilted the corner of his lips upwards. "Or I could help you?"

"Help me?" you gawked.

"Yeah" he nonchalantly shrugged, "Helped you once before, didn't I?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah" he smiled, "Only if you me want to, of course"

Your knees weakened and your heart was beating in all the wrong ways, so all you managed to do was giggle and shake your head in disbelief. "Well, yeah... I want to"

How were you going to tell him that the video was supposed to be of you fucking yourself with a baby pink dildo? And how exactly was he going to help? You had a long day ahead of you and the ridiculous amounts of school work you had to get done in the meantime didn't allow you to give these questions any kind of priority. All you wanted was for the evening to come around already even if you sweated profusely just at the thought of what was to come.

[doortotomorrow]

Parent!Memori AU / Trial and Error : Murphy can tell his wife’s on edge by the way she’s pacing around the room, wearing away the finish on their hardwood floor with her marching, arms folded across her chest as a means to keep herself from flying apart at the seams. His heart hurts, understanding completely and despite looking collected, he’s suffering from a horrible case of anxious nausea. 

They had been trying for ages to conceive a child, using every last trick in the book to make it happen, consulting every person they knew for advice on the subject, and continued to come up empty handed. So, wanting to see if they had any health conditions rendering it impossible to have children, they both made appointments to get tested. 

Murphy decided to go first, Emori too nervous to go through with them before him, and after a grueling, torturous period of a month, his test results came back with everything in the green. They still could not indulge themselves in a breath of relief, however, because now it was Emori’s turn, and her anxiety was at an all time high. Emori barely slept the whole three weeks of waiting, having nightmares of being delivered bad news, Murphy holding her flush to his chest as she wept in his arms. 

And today was the day she had dreaded most, her results having come through the mail.

Emori freezes in her spot as Murphy’s finger runs down the seam of the envelope, cracking it open and extracts the medical folder. Her mouth flies a mile a minute, saying things like:

“We don’t have to read it, right?”

“Maybe you should read it, John.”

“We should just continue trying, there’s nothing wrong with that!”

“I think I can handle it, it’s okay.”

Murphy pauses to look up at her, tilting his head while he gives her the most delicate, soft gaze he’s ever mustered in his life, causing her to take deep breaths. 

“Emori, baby...we gotta know.” Murphy says, reaching up for her hand, and Emori gladly takes it as she settles into his lap. 

“Okay...do it,” Emori tenses, shutting her eyes so tight, her nose scrunches up and prepares herself for the worst.

“Mmhmm...okay...alright...” Murphy runs through it, making encouraging sounds, and the butterflies in Emori’s chest hammer their wings against her ribcage, raging to fly. 

“What does that mean?! John?!” 

“As our brother Monty, would say, ‘green is good’,” Murphy kisses her cheek, nuzzling her tenderly, “you’re all good to go.” 

Emori breaks down into uncontrollable sobbing, trembling in his arms as both immense relief and joy enter into her chest, replacing the angry butterflies. Murphy’s fingers claw at her sweater, digging into the soft material for dear life as he too lets himself have a good solid cry.

“We’ll keep on trying, Emori...it’ll happen for us.”

- One Week Later -

Murphy’s awoken from his nap on the couch, hearing Emori screaming inside their bathroom, thundering upstairs to go and check up on her, and finds her holding her latest pregnancy test, barely coherent when she tells him the miraculous news.

“WE’VE GOT ONE!!”