#had to get a quick warm up out but then it's too late to do the thing I was warming up for hglksdhg

[koenigami]

happy birthday, handsome. tags : fluff!! wc : 900 masterlist

-

There was a period in Wriothesley’s life where time did not seem to have a significant meaning. Being a convict meant experiencing more or less the same usual routine until he didn’t need to throw a quick glance towards a clock in order to know what time it was. His body adjusted automatically, his stomach always starting to growl around the same time every day, his twitching hands and fingertips signalling that it was time for his daily training, and his drooping eyes and yawns telling him that it was time to head back to his cell. 

Life as the Duke, didn’t change Wriothesley’s perception of time for the better since he ceased to distinguish between day and night. The automatism and biological clock of his body disappeared, making him eat whenever he had time, sleep whenever he finished his duties, and head to the Pankration Ring whenever his thoughts and emotions seemed to get the best of him. 

All of a sudden, Wriothesley’s eyes started to trail more frequently towards the old grandfather clock in his office. He looked forward to every Tuesday and Friday, when you were sent to the Fortress of Meropide on behalf of Neuvillette in order to take care of administrative matters. You always showed up around the same time, and on the days that you didn’t, he couldn’t help but impatiently pace around his office, or sit in the cantine with a bouncing leg while shooting a look over his shoulder every once in a while in fear that he would miss you.

Luckily, the awkward greetings and occasional small talks mixed with fluttering hearts and sweet smiles very soon turned into planned dinners and dates, until you became a huge part of his life as much as he became of yours. 

-

It was late in the evening when Wriothesley threw himself in his chair with a deep exhale. With only a few tasks of which he had all already taken care of, it had been a quiet day so far, and usually those were his favourite kind of days. When he could aimlessly stroll through the fortress, work out whenever he felt like it, sit peacefully in his office and listen to music or read a book. But with you out of town, sent to Liyue for official affairs, it was simply a boring day. 

The fact that it was his birthday didn’t necessarily make anything better, though he had to admit that he felt silly. There had been days when his birthday had as much significance to him as any other day, until your loving self stepped into his life, threw everything upside down and made every single day significant. 

Leaning back into his seat, Wriothesley pondered about how he could possibly spend the remaining time of the night before going to sleep. He hadn’t been home in days, ever since you left, and he had no intention of doing so until your return, preferring the uncomfortable couch and throw-blanket over your shared bed. Home never felt the same without you. 

“Shit, shit, shit. Wriothesley!” You weren’t supposed to return for another few days. 

He’d recognise your voice everywhere at any time or place, but there was no denying that those quick stomps and breathless profanities that you spewed were yours as you climbed the staircase up to his office. 

 “I-I’m not late, am I? It’s still the 23rd, right?” His chuckle warmed your cheeks as your dishevelled self seemed to be quite amusing to him, hair a complete mess, and not too far away from an asthmatic attack while you braced your hands on your knees.  

With a heart so unbelievably full and beating irregularly, Wriothesley’s eyes automatically flew to the clock across the room and his lips stretched into a soft smirk. Of course, you didn’t miss it. 

“You have exactly one minute left, love.” His tall form stood up but before he could even take another step in your direction, you had already pounced on him. Arms tightly wrapped around his neck, chest against chest, hearts so close that their beats synched into one single melody- 

“I’m home.” You breathed into his ear, and Wriothesley was about to utter the same phrase before he settled for a simple hum instead and squeezed your waist tighter, pulling you further against him. His body relaxed entirely in your presence, the trail of kisses you left along his neck and up to his chin softening his knees until he swore he could hardly stand. 

“Happy birthday, handsome.” 

You breathed each other in like air. And you smiled against his lips when you noticed that he tasted the same as ever, still smelled so good, and still kissed so good. Wriothesley deepened the kiss, leaving you no choice but to brace yourself on him, hands flat on his broad chest. It was impossible to tell which one of you was having the upper hand as your grip on his shirt was as desperate as Wriothesley’s low sighs and groans that filled the quiet room. 

His thumb and index finger on your chin held you in place, and allowed you to pull back only when he himself was starting to get low on oxygen. Your skin was a little colder than his when he leaned his forehead against yours, heavy breaths mingling and your noses brushing one-two times, leaving love sick smiles on your faces. 

Yeah, you were definitely home.

[stvrnioloslvt]

stressed out - chris sturniolo

genre: smut / t.w: mdni, mutual masturbation, getting caught

—★—

silence fell heavy in the kitchen where chris nipped mindlessly at his lunch with the fork. his eyes were fixed on his phone, waiting for a notification, anything that could help him understand how to act around you lately.

he wasn't mad, he knew that you were just so stressed with your uni assignments and exams that you were reaching a no turning back point, he just wished for you to actually take a moment to yourself, relax and then start again.

right as he picked up the phone to send you a quick text, he heard the noise of keys shuffling and the door opening.

"i'm home," you called out weakly, heading towards your room. as you walked past the kitchen you heard chris greeting you, a hint of hope in his "hi baby", but you couldn't bear to even look at him in the eyes.

as you opened the door of your room, you threw your backpack on the ground, pulled out your books and let them fall on your desk. you took a step back as you watched the endless pile of sheets looking back at you, your mind swirling around like crazy trying to understand how to organise your work, how to not fail your classes.

but what if you did? what if you actually failed? you had never even gotten a bad mark when you were in school, you couldn't let that happen now. what would everyone think, then?

you closed your eyes, hands holding onto the desk until your knuckles turned white as you took deep breaths to calm your nerves.

"baby," chris's hand snuck around your waist, pulling you close to his body. you flinched, so immersed in your mind that you didn't even hear him enter the room. "please, don't. you need to do something else or you're going to have a burnout."

"i have work to do-"

"let me help you."

"you wouldn't even know what it is about."

"i'm not talking about your assignments."

soft lips landed on your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind. you tensed as you felt your boyfriend's bony hand travel under your skirt, stroking your thigh gently. you tried to wiggle out of his grasp, resisting the sudden urge to throw yourself at your boyfriend. when was the last time you had sex?

"relax, ma. i got you."

"chris" a whimper fell from your lips, his index teasing your clit through your panties. you shuddered at the contact, feeling yourself grow more and more aroused by the second.

"i-have work to do-" chris hummed sympathetically at your words, sucking a violet hickey on your neck. for all that mattered you could have dropped out of college in that instant if that meant that he wouldn't see you in so much stress. his finger kept tracing patterns on your panties with feather like pressure, working on getting you all worked up. he chuckled internally as he felt the fabric getting damper by the second.

"what a shame," he whispered in your ear, fingers dipping inside your panties, rubbing circles on your clit, "i doubt you could focus in this state, hm?"

you couldn't hold back a soft gasp at the contact, your hips bucking against his hand trying to get more friction against your aching clit. chris held you firmly against his body, preventing you from squirming around too much, while his own throbbing member poked at your back.

his kisses travelled up your jaw ending at your earlobe, which he lightly nibbled. he groaned as he pushed a finger inside you, feeling your warm walls welcoming the new presence.

you threw your head back on his shoulder, loosing yourself in pleasure as he finally fingered you, squelching wet noises filling the otherwise silent room.

"good girl," he whispered in your ear, adding another finger in, your moans and cries only pushing him further in his ministrations.

"is this what you needed to fix your attitude? daddy's fingers inside you? hm?"

you nodded desperately, one hand leaving the desk to grip his forearm as your orgasm approached faster than ever before. you squeezed hard around his fingers, signaling him that you were close.

"that's it baby, c'mon give it to me... thaat's it, atta girl"

a loud cry left your lips as you came, spasming in his arms while he helped you ride out your climax.

you panted heavily, shaking from the intensity of it all.

"one more," you managed to whisper, catching your boyfriend's attention.

"you got one more?"

"hm."

"can you handle it?"

you nodded, thighs clenching in order to provide some sort of friction to your aching clit.

"turn around."

you did as he said, turning slowly before meeting his flushed expression, pupils blown and dark as his gaze pinned you on the spot. his hands grabbed your hips tightly, pushing you more against the desk until you were trapped in between.

you stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, until you whimpered a weak "please," both of you snapping and kissed passionately, tongues fighting for dominance.

his knee pushed your legs open, hands pressing you on his thigh, guiding you in moving back and forth. you moaned relieved as you started grinding on his leg, hands reaching under your skirt to pull aside your panties and rub directly on his jeans, the friction sending waves of sparks through your body.

"i-fuck," the sound of chris's belt falling to the ground brought you back to reality, watching through hooded eyes as he frantically popped open the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down. he sighed relieved at the lack of constriction, his hand mindlessly stroking his dick through the fabric as the other held you against his leg.

you reached for his pants, pulling them down slightly to reveal the dark wet patch on his briefs, precum oozing out of the tip.

you licked your lips at the view, staring hungrily as you pulled his member out. chris groaned, a whispered "thank you" lingering in the air as you wrapped your hand around his throbbing dick, already red and ready to release.

chris caught your lips in a kiss as the both of you worked on getting the other off, your orgasms behind the corner.

"chris," you cried, feeling yourself reaching your climax, "oh fuck chris please please, please"

"yes, fuck- good girl, you're so- shit i'm cumming-" your grip tightened around his cock, pumping faster as thick ropes of cum spilled out and on your hands, dripping on your clothes and on the ground.

"yo, y/n, have you seen my...what the actual fuck is happening?!"

"matt get out!" you screamed, throwing your pencil case at his head.

"in my house? under my roof? WHILE WE'RE HERE? i really need to move, this shit is getting crazier by the day." and as matt walked away from the room rambling about how his house wasn't to be disrespected like that, you looked back at chris that stared at you exactly as surprised as you were. in the end, you could do nothing but laugh at the insanity of the situation, your stress long forgotten.

© stvrnioloslvt

—★—

ngl i'm not really satisfied with my writing but i had this idea and i had to write it down. nevertheless, i hope you enjoyed it! the taglist will be in the comments since it won't let me tag you here.

love you all,

-bree <3

[faithshouseofchaos]

Yaknow maybe you should write a blurb where driver male reader gets into f1 the same time logans dropped(i wanna say kicked because it cant be described as just dropped yaknow?) And theyve been dateing for a while so when he gets into f1 he Decides he's going to ignore the other drivers like they did logan (Except maybe talk to alex a little even tho their on different teams) and reader just demolishes the rest of the drivers on track and gets first for the races left (while being nice to franco only because logan said so) and the other drivers ask oscar why reader is to cold to them and he doesnt know cause readers doing the same to him even tho their childhood friends he even tells them that he's never seen reader this petty and it probably something personal that happend off track and that he'll be better by they end of the season (even tho reader wont)

Cold revenge— Logan sargeant x male reader

Word count — 1535

Fluff with a angst

The paddock was louder than he’d expected, bustling with voices and familiar faces. But Y/N wasn’t here to make friends—not with them. Not when they’d let Logan go so easily. He could feel a flash of resentment bubble up as he brushed past the crowd, heading straight for his garage.

As the season started, his focus sharpened, race after race. He was taking wins like they were meant for him, hardly sparing a glance for the other drivers. He’d see Oscar trying to catch his eye now and then, probably wondering what was up, but Y/N kept things short, tight smiles and nods before walking off. Alex got a little more acknowledgment, mostly because Logan had always had a soft spot for him. And Franco? Logan had asked him to be cool with Franco, so he’d manage that, too.

It wasn’t long before the other drivers started noticing. In the paddock, the whispers grew. During post-race interviews, Y/N’s answers were straightforward, never really engaging with the usual back-and-forth banter. Charles leaned over to Oscar one day, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with Y/N? He hasn’t even looked at half of us since he got here.”

Oscar shrugged, visibly stung, like he didn’t have a clue either. “Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe something off-track. He’s never been this… intense.”

Race by race, Y/N kept winning, his focus relentless. But with each victory, he caught himself glancing at his phone, waiting for Logan’s usual text—a “good job” or a thumbs-up emoji. Y/N knew Logan was watching, but lately, the messages were shorter, more… careful.

By the third race, Y/N noticed Franco hanging back after qualifying. The two exchanged glances, Franco giving him a slight, knowing smile. At first, Y/N wasn’t sure whether to respond, but he remembered Logan’s words, that Franco was “alright.” Begrudgingly, he gave Franco a quick nod as he walked past.

Next race weekend, Franco didn’t hold back. “Good job out there,” he said in his usual friendly tone as they passed each other in the paddock. “Could’ve made it look less easy, you know?” he added with a smirk.

Y/N couldn’t help the small grin that slipped out. “Guess I’m just doing my job.”

Franco laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, good to see you’re human after all. Logan would be proud, yeah?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Y/N’s face. Hearing Logan’s name reminded him of the loyalty that had been fueling him, but Franco’s easygoing attitude softened his edge. “Yeah… he’s been watching.”

The next time he ran into Franco, it felt almost natural to swap a few words. They didn’t talk much, but Franco’s relaxed, warm nature was slowly breaking down the ice.

Not long after, Y/N found himself in a post-race briefing alongside Alex, who had a way of putting people at ease. Alex gave him a quick glance as they waited. “You know, Logan’s been talking you up—says you’re unstoppable out there.”

Y/N managed a quiet chuckle. “Guess I have to live up to that, huh?”

Alex smiled, nodding. “If anyone could, it’d be you. Just… don’t let the intensity take you down too, yeah?”

For a second, Y/N hesitated, then nodded. It was odd—Logan had always admired Alex’s resilience and calm, and now Y/N could see why. Alex’s words settled something inside him, easing the sharp edges he’d been carrying.

Over time, the walls began to come down, bit by bit. Y/N would pass Franco in the paddock, giving him a small grin. Alex became someone he actually stopped to chat with on occasion, their exchanges short but genuine. He still wasn’t the chattiest guy in the paddock, but for the first time, it felt like he didn’t need to keep everyone at arm’s length.

By the season’s end, Y/N had found a balance between his loyalty to Logan and his own journey. The paddock had gone from hostile ground to something familiar, and as he stood on the podium after the final race, he couldn’t help but look at Franco and Alex in the crowd, grateful for the unlikely friendships he’d found along the way.

Let me know how you like this! This version keeps Y/N’s guarded personality intact but lets Franco and Alex start bringing him out of his shell gradually.

Finally, after a particularly tense win, Y/N found a message waiting from Logan: Come over tonight? Need to catch up, just us.

When he arrived, Logan had already set up in his living room, a few beers on the coffee table, the TV playing softly in the background. Logan shot him a grin as he walked in, patting the seat next to him. “Congrats, champ,” he said, holding up a beer. “Guess the whole ‘quiet assassin’ thing is working for you.”

Y/N chuckled, easing onto the couch. “Guess so. I’m just here to win.”

Logan took a swig, then gave him a long look. “Yeah… noticed you’re not exactly chatty with the others.”

Y/N shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Not here to make friends. They didn’t exactly do you any favors.”

Logan shook his head, a fond but tired smile creeping across his face. “I get it, really. But they’re not the bad guys here, Y/N. This… grudge or whatever—don’t make it yours.”

For a moment, Y/N was quiet, letting Logan’s words sink in. He felt a pang of guilt; maybe he’d taken things too far.

But the next weekend, in the paddock, he felt a little lighter. He saw Carlos out of the corner of his eye, who gave him a nod he’d usually ignore. This time, he raised a hand in a casual wave. Carlos blinked, surprised, but returned the smile.

Then, during pre-race prep, he found himself standing next to Pierre, who hesitated before glancing over with a small smirk. “So… you’re finally letting us exist?”

Y/N shrugged, a grin slipping through. “Just maybe.”

As the season wore on, Y/N gradually loosened up—small nods here, a smile there. He was still mostly quiet, but the wall was cracking.

Y/N was heading back to his garage after another win, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. He’d barely stepped out of his car when he spotted Oscar lingering nearby, leaning against the wall with a look that was somewhere between curiosity and frustration. It wasn’t the first time Oscar had tried to catch him alone, but this time, Y/N stopped.

Oscar pushed off the wall, hands in his pockets as he approached. “Got a minute?”

Y/N nodded, folding his arms. “What’s up?”

Oscar looked at him, clearly trying to pick his words carefully. “Look… I don’t know what’s going on with you lately. You’re here, but it’s like you’re not. You barely even look at any of us.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched slightly. He wanted to deflect, but he could see the concern in Oscar’s eyes, mixed with a bit of hurt. “It’s nothing personal. Just… keeping my focus.”

Oscar scoffed, crossing his arms. “Come on, mate. It’s not just focus—you’ve been shutting everyone out, including me.” He hesitated, then sighed. “We’ve been friends since before all this. I get that F1 changes people, but it feels like you’re a stranger here. It’s like something happened and you’re just… cold.”

Y/N looked down, feeling the weight of Oscar’s words. He’d been so focused on staying loyal to Logan’s memory in F1 that he hadn’t thought about what it looked like to the people who actually cared about him.

“It’s about Logan,” he said finally, his voice low. “He got kicked out, and they barely gave him a second thought. I didn’t want to let it go, so I guess… I figured keeping to myself was my way of showing I’m not here to be their friend.”

Oscar’s expression softened as he nodded slowly. “I get it. I really do. But Logan wouldn’t want you to be this way, would he? Being here, it’s your time, your career. Don’t let what happened to Logan weigh you down. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.”

Y/N felt something shift. He’d been carrying this silent anger for so long, and now, faced with Oscar’s steady gaze, he realized maybe he didn’t have to carry it alone.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Y/N said quietly. “It’s just… hard to shake it off.”

Oscar clapped him on the shoulder, a reassuring smile spreading across his face. “I know. But just… let us in, alright? You’ve got people here who want to see you succeed, not just win.”

Y/N managed a faint smile. “Thanks, Oscar. I’ll try.”

As he walked back to his garage, he felt a weight lift, and for the first time, he was ready to let the walls down—just a little.

By the final race, he was in the paddock with Logan’s voice in his head, letting go of the need to prove anything. And when he finished the season with a win, he found himself in the center of the team celebration, surrounded by drivers who’d finally started to see the real Y/N.

[justwritedreams]

Truth be told | Jeno

Jeno x Reader

Genre: fluff, a tiny angst 🤏🏻

Word count: 1762

Warnings: a terrible roommate

Note: Well hello guess who's back 🤗 if y'all are wondering if this is based on real facts, yes it is 😃

Summary: Jeno knows how to make you forget about the outside world.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

"Oh crap.” Y/N stopped halfway up the stairs, looking irritably at her bag. She was constantly moving her hand around in search of something, which made Jeno stop behind her and look at her curiously. “I forgot my eye drops.”

“You can get it, I’ll wait here.” He said as she turned to look at him guiltily.

It was very cold that night and they were late for Chenle’s birthday party.

But well, Jeno and she hadn’t seen each other in so long and finally that day her roommate was far enough away for them to enjoy their time together. And completely forget about the outside world and their commitments.

It wasn’t on purpose.

“We’re really late.” She reminded him, the strong wind blowing against her body, making her squint her irritated eyes because of her contact lenses.

“And I’m not going to let you have an itchy eye later because of Chenle. What’s two more minutes?” He asked, smiling slightly at her, who just nodded. “Let him wait.”

They were already half an hour late.

Y/N wanted to bite her boyfriend’s cheeks, he was particularly irresistible that night with his turtleneck and black jacket.

She loved that man so much, anyone who passed by could clearly see it in her eyes.

“I won’t be long.” She warned before climbing the steps again and stopping to rest her hand on his shoulder and place a quick kiss on his lips.

Jeno was tempted to pull her by the waist for two reasons: he wanted to get rid of the cold of that night with the heat of her body and because Y/N’s lips tasted like strawberry yogurt. 

But he didn’t do it or else they would really irritate his friend.

She almost gave up on going out when she ran back to her warm apartment. Who had decided to go out in that winter?

In a hurry, Y/N barely remembered where she had left her eye drops, whether inside the toiletry bag she took to work or in the middle of her bed, so she searched in both places and found the bed, which was a mess since Jeno had decided to tickle her earlier and they rolled around in bed laughing.

She sighed as she remembered the scene but didn't get lost in the memories since he was waiting for her outside.

Unfortunately, not alone like she had left two minutes ago.

Her roommate was standing too close to Jeno who was on the same step with his hand in his jacket pocket, Y/N took a deep breath, completely ignoring that little piece of her mind that warned her of a certain danger.

"Sorry for the delay, I didn't remember where I left it." She caught their attention as soon as she approached.

Jeno took his hand out of his pocket to grab Y/N's waist and bring her closer, causing her roommate to take two steps back and change her expression.

From a feline ready to pounce on a scared kitten.

Jeno rolled his eyes discreetly when the girl looked at Y/N.

“Are you going out, Y/N?” the girl asked and Jeno looked up at the dark sky while biting his tongue. 

He wanted to give her an answer that wasn’t even remotely polite.

“Yes, to celebrate a friend’s birthday.” Y/N explained with a smile and her roommate looked at the two of them with a pleading expression.

If she questioned something one more time, Jeno would…

“What were you looking for?”

…Curse her until the next generation.

He wanted to yell the word condom to embarrass the girl, but he wouldn’t be rude to his girlfriend.

It wasn’t worth it anyway.

“Shall we go?” Jeno interrupted the not-so-unexpected interrogation and Y/N nodded, remembering the time.

“Yes, please. Bye.” She said goodbye to her roommate and they started down the stairs.

“Bye. Bye Jeno.” the girl said and he just swallowed hard and nodded while keeping Y/N by his side.

There were few people who could get on his nerves, but his girlfriend’s roommate was about to join that list.

She wasn’t just loose, she was invasive, indiscreet and unnecessary. She wasn’t the least bit pleasant to be around.

And when Y/N wasn’t in the same room, she made a point of getting closer than she should to Jeno and laughing like a hyena, besides blinking more than usual and trying to look sweet like Y/N but always failing because Jeno saw her real intentions behind that good girl act.

She was a snake ready to strike.

He never complained directly to Y/N for two reasons: he knew how to cut off any kind of flirting and because he didn’t want to make his girlfriend insecure, much less worried.

He would never leave her to be with a girl so low who didn't care if he was the boyfriend of someone she called her "friend", he knew it wasn't a true friendship on her part.

Y/N had much more serious problems than worrying about her boring roommate.

But it was clear that this was bothering him more than usual, of course it would be the girl had practically thrown herself at him on the stairs complimenting him and the perfume he wore, she had even tried to caress his hand that was on the railing, so he took it away.

And the stiffness in his shoulders and the clenched jaw didn't go unnoticed by Y/N who stared at him attentively until he drove away from her street.

When Jeno took a deep breath for the third time in less than five minutes, she knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked sweetly. “Something happened.”

“What? No.” He glanced at her, a little surprised.

“It wasn’t a question, Jeno.” She replied a little more firmly and crossed her arms. “I know you. More than I know myself.”

He pondered. He didn’t want to have that conversation now when they were so happy but there was no way to escape.

What could happen the next time he had the unfortunate coincidence of meeting that annoying girl? 

He could imagine exactly the scene she would create. He had to protect Y/N from that.

“I hate your roommate.” he replied, breathing through his nostrils. “She questions you about everything, acts like you’re obligated to give her explanations and take her anywhere with you.”

Y/N blinked several times, she had never heard Jeno speak in that serious tone.

He wasn’t like that with anyone.

“What did she do?” Silence. “Jeno.”

He took another deep breath and parked the car so he could look at her. Only then would she see the truth in his eyes.

“It’s not the first time she’s made indirect comments to me behind your back, I always cut her off, but today… She managed to irritate me.”

“Indirect?” Y/N questioned. She needed to hear that.

“She flirts with me, Y/N. All the time when you’re not around and when you are she has that sly expression, saying how lonely she feels.”

Y/N held her breath.

Okay, her roommate wasn’t the best company in the world. Several times she was tired from work eating and the girl would knock on Y/N's bedroom door to talk about nothing important when all she wanted to do was stay in silence.

Besides that apparently she wasn't a fan of headphones and even knowing that Y/N worked at dawn, she would listen to music loudly while Y/N was sleeping.

And there was also the fact that she wanted to go to Y/N's family's house every time she went once a month, she didn't even have time to talk to her parents because her roommate had to talk about how difficult her life was.

But hitting on her boyfriend? It was a bit too much.

"That's why you're avoiding going to my home when she's there." she concluded and saw Jeno nod. "What did she say today?"

"Babe, you don't..."

"If you don't tell me, I'll get out of this car, walk home and make her talk." she warned firmly and Jeno knew she was brave enough to do that.

“She said I smelled too good to be alone outside and that if I wanted company, we could come in. Then she tried to caress my hand.” Jeno felt his stomach churn with disgust and his heart sink when he saw his girlfriend change her expression.

She was angry and clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her fingertips turned white.

“That bitch!” Y/N shouted, panting. “It’s okay for her to take my clothes, even my food, but she also wants my family and now my boyfriend? Oh but she’s going to listen to me because I’m going to talk…”

She made a move to get out of the car, but Jeno stopped her, holding her by the face and making her look him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t need to waste your time with that girl, that’s what she wants, to create problems between you and me.”

“She’s flirting with you. Behind my back!” she said indignantly.

“And truth be told, she has no chance with me because I love you!” Jeno spoke a little louder and Y/N stopped, feeling her eyes water. 

It wasn't the first time she heard those three little words from Jeno, but every time she heard them it was like it was the first time because he always spoke with the same sincerity and desire. 

"Do you think saying that will calm me down?" It was obvious that it would. 

Jeno smiled widely and rested his nose on her cheek, seeing her instantly give in.

"Maybe it won't." He blew against her skin and she slowly closed her eyes. "But this will." 

Jeno didn't wait another second to taste his girlfriend's sweet lips again, in a quick and voracious kiss, making her sigh against his lips. 

She felt so safe being in his arms that she didn't even remember the anger she felt seconds ago. 

The power he had over her with just one kiss was incredible. 

That only didn't last longer because Jeno's phone started ringing loudly. 

Y/N laughed when she saw Jeno's red lips were stained with the lip gloss she was wearing as he looked on reluctantly to stop kissing her. 

He took his phone out of his pocket.

"Damn, it's Chenle." 

They had even forgotten about him.

[baekhyunsbestie]

expanding on baekhyun beating it to his so's pics to say imagine him facetiming her in the middle of it cuz he needs to really see herrrr and ur like hi bby wait why is ur face so concentrated and also why is ur arm moving up and down underneath the camera and OH o_o

omgggg i can picture this sooooo vividly it hurts 😭😭😭😭 i literally had to write about it!!!!

18+/MDNI!! | wc: 1.6k+

you and baekhyun have each other’s locations shared, as couples and loved ones often do these days. he’s currently out of the country for a packed schedule and won’t be back for a few more days. you’ve both adjusted to the chaos of his life, as hard as it can be. but the bond you share? unshakable, no matter the distance or time apart.

tonight, though, he’s lying alone in his hotel bed, missing you more than usual. he knows you had plans with your friends, a rare night out you’ve been needing for a while. he checks the time: 11:30 p.m. back home. too early for you to be back, and he knows it.

still, he can’t help himself. he checks your location.

still at the bar.

he exhales, sinking deeper into his pillow. he doesn’t want to bother you. you deserve this—an escape from the stress that’s been weighing you down. he’d rather you enjoy yourself than feel guilty for being out late.

so instead, he unlocks his phone and opens instagram, likely to doom-scroll through endless posts, letting the minutes slip away as he waits for you to get home safely and for the comfort of your nightly goodnight call.

but then, your story flickers onto the screen, pulling him in, a sudden spark in the otherwise dull scroll.

the first post is a mirror selfie: hair falling just right, effortlessly perfect, makeup soft yet glowing, and that simple black dress—one of his many favorites—clinging to your curves in all the right ways. when he notices the timestamp, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. you sent this to him first. it’s a small gesture, but it makes his heart swell.

the next slide is a quick clip of you and your girls, all glammed up, drinks in hand, raising your glasses with laughter as the music blares in the background. your happiness is so tangible, so infectious, and it warms him to see you this carefree.

then, there’s a repost from your friend. it’s a grainy but adorable video of you and her dancing, swaying in sync with the beat. the way you playfully twerk on her, both of you giggling uncontrollably, is far from suggestive—just two besties reveling in the moment.

but baekhyun is a man. and men? they think with their dicks.

his mind wanders, lingering on the way that dress clung to you, the way your body moved. and now, no matter how much he tries to focus on how happy you look, he’s suddenly cursing the miles between you, wishing for the kind of proximity that doesn’t involve a screen.

he checks the time again: 11:37 p.m.

the urge to reach out to you—text, call, anything—burns hotter with every passing second. he’s jittery, restless, the kind of edgy that leaves his leg bouncing uncontrollably. would you even answer if he called? the thought gnaws at him. god, he misses you. he misses the nights you’d stumble out of bars, dialing him with drunken, slurred words. how you'd insist you weren’t done drinking because the only thing left on your menu was him.

shit. the memories alone have him stiffening in his bed, blood rushing south faster than he can stop it. the sound of your drunk giggles, your uninhibited honesty spilling out between hiccupped words. the way your hands would roam without permission, needy and brazen. he exhales a shaky breath. the ache in his boxers is unbearable now.

he can’t take it anymore.

his fingers unlock his phone, navigating to the photos app to access the hidden folder only you know about. his secret stash. a digital gallery of you: alone, with him, under him, and on top of him. his free hand drifts to his leaking cock as his thumb swipes through the memories.

you knew about this folder, of course. you had your own—filled with matching treasures. you both had this shared indulgence, a mutual obsession. pictures and videos from every angle: your hands clutching the sheets while he buried his face between your thighs. you straddling him, his camera catching the perfect view of your curves. shaky, raw footage of backshots, his hands leaving fiery-red imprints on your skin as you moaned his name into the mattress.

you needed these to survive the nights apart, a remedy for the distance that stung like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

truthfully, even if you saw each other every day, you’d still keep these folders. you both had a thing for cameras, for the thrill of capturing your rawest moments together.

his fist wraps around his length, the other clutching his phone as he presses play. it’s a video of you riding him, your hips grinding against him in a slow, torturous rhythm. the camera shakes slightly—it’s shot from his perspective, the faint tremble of his arm betraying how badly he was already losing it then.

his lips part, breath hitching, and his heart pounds loud enough to drown out the rest of the world. but it’s not enough. it never is. he needs more.

he needs you.

he taps the screen, fingers shaking as he hits 'facetime.'

you answer on the second ring.

it’s 12:55 a.m.

your face comes into view, filling the screen with a teasing smile as you nudge open the door to your shared penthouse. the faint hum of city lights spills in behind you, but all your attention is on him. one glance is enough—his brows are knitted together, lips slightly parted, the cool glow of his phone illuminating his face and glistening off his glossy lips. you know exactly why he’s calling.

“hi, baby,” you slur, voice syrupy with just enough bite, “i miss you so much.”

“i miss you too, my angel,” he exhales, his voice barely more than a whisper, chest rising and falling in measured, aching pulls. from where you stand, you see everything—the way his shirt clings to his body, damp in all the right places, the faint quiver of his lips holding back words he’s too desperate to say. the sound of his breath, uneven and needy, fills the air between you. his gaze burns, molten and consuming, pouring his hunger into every inch of your skin.

you giggle, a sound light and teasing, as you saunter toward your shared room. "i can tell, lover."

his smile is shy, almost boyish, but not enough to stop the slow, steady stroke of his hand over his aching length. "home already?"

you nod, a quiet hum slipping past your lips as you step into the closet, the soft shuffle of your feet muted against the carpet. your fingers trail over the familiar fabrics until they find your favorite pajamas. as you pull them from their place, you cross the room to the dresser, propping your phone against its edge. the glow of the screen bathes the space in muted light, capturing him on the other side—his hand moving with practiced rhythm, his flushed face a picture of unguarded bliss, every gasp and twitch drawing you deeper into the moment.

"ya looked so beautiful tonight. fuck—" his words falter, the shaky gasp making your thighs press together. "y’know i love that dress on you. can’t believe i wasn’t—hah—there to fuck you in it."

you grin, a wicked curl tugging at the corners of your lips. “i could keep this dress on a little longer for you if you’d like me to, baekhyunie,” you purr, your voice a delicate weave of honey and innocence, teasing just enough to leave him craving.

his breath hitches, a sharp exhale breaking free as his head falls back, throat exposed in a display of surrender. “hah— fuck, s-say that again,” he rasps, eyes clenched shut like he’s bracing himself against the tidal wave you’ve unleashed. his hand moves faster now, the slick sound of his strokes filling the space between you.

you tilt your head, feigning naivety, your eyes wide and sweet like sugar dusted cherries. “huh? say what, baekhyunie?” your voice lilts with mock innocence, the act so it’s almost cruel.

as you shift, the delicate strap of your dress slips, baring your shoulder and collarbone—a canvas of temptation. soft, lickable, and oh-so-bitable. baekhyun's gaze sears through the screen, his mind unraveling with reckless fantasies, aching to bridge the distance and claim you, over and over again, losing himself in you until the sun rises.

the sight of you, the way his name drips from your lips—it’s his undoing. his rhythm falters, the once-steady motion of his hand becoming erratic, desperate. he’s unraveling, and you can see it in the furrow of his brow, hear it in the staggered cadence of his breath. you lean closer, your voice dropping into a sultry whisper.

“gonna cum f’me, baekhyunie?”

the way your voice softens his name, rolling off those plush lips, breaks him into pieces. the sensation crashes over him, an overwhelming rush that leaves him shaking, the heat of his release spilling in thick, white streaks across his toned stomach, splattering his shirt in wild, chaotic lines. your name escapes him in a breathless murmur as he rides the last tremors of his high.

you smile, satisfied with the mess you’ve made of him, the power you wield with nothing but your voice and a knowing glance.

as he comes down, his chest heaving, baekhyun peels his ruined shirt off, using it to clean himself up. when his face reappears on the screen, there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, a wicked curve to his mouth.

“your turn, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice still rough with pleasure.

[jerzwriter]

Thank you to @snoopdogcone for this prompt for @choicesprompts Angstgiving event. The prompt is highlighted in the text below.

Book: Open Heart (Book 2) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 3,363 Summary: Ethan's back from his mission in the Amazon rainforest, and it's time to face the wreckage he left behind.

A/N: Please note, this story is not part of my Ethan x Kaycee headcanon; it's part of my Casey MacTavish world where they are not end game.

@choicesmonthlychallengenov2024 - apology, regret

Casey was laser-focused on her task as she meandered through the packed maze of tables in Donahue’s beer garden. Nothing was going to come between her and her friends celebrating tonight’s victory properly, and securing a table was part of that goal. The place was packed, abuzz with the vibrant energy that seemed to define Boston during the final days of summer when the warm nights carried just a hint of the autumn breeze that would soon usher star-filled nights like this away. It seemed everyone had the same idea as they tried to soak in every last minute.

In the midst of clinking glasses, laughter, and the hum of dozens of conversations, Casey finally claimed victory. She flashed a bright smile when she spotted an empty table, waving furiously at her friends to join her. “Hurry up!! Hurry!” she beamed. “It’s almost time!”

Everyone quickly assembled, slipping onto the benches with their drinks in hand; the excitement was palpable. “Should we do a countdown first?” Elijah asked.

“Too late for that!” Casey replied. “It’s midnight!!”

 “Yeah! We made it!” Elijah howled with a raised glass. “Intern year is officially over!”

“And I say good freaking riddance!” Jackie chimed in. “We made it, and we did it with our medical licenses intact to boot!”

“Jackie!” Sienna frowned. “Don’t even joke about that! I was so scared Casey was going to have to leave Edenbrook! That’s one part of the intern year I want to forget!”

“I wouldn’t mind forgetting that part either,” Casey agreed. “But despite the low moments, I’ll still look back fondly on this year. After all, it’s when I met all of you!”

“Awww,” Sienna smiled, giving her friend a quick squeeze.

But Jackie wasn’t as moved. “How many of those have you had?” She laughed, motioning toward Casey’s empty glass.

Casey affectionately embraced her mortified friend. “Just enough to spill my emotions all over this table!”

Bryce arrived at the table and claimed the seat next to Casey, wrapping his arm around her waist as soon as he placed a fresh round of drinks on the table. “Well, it that’s where you are now, I’ll have you dancing when you finish this one.”

“As if getting me to dance is a struggle!” Casey chuckled. “But this is my last drink. I have a big day ahead!”

“Sure, rub it in!” Jackie smirked. “Now I can admit that part of me was hoping you’d lose your license because I would have swooped right in and taken your spot on the diagnostic team!”

“Not if I got to it first,” Elijah laughed, but his bright smile faltered when he glanced over Casey’s shoulder. “Speaking of the diagnostic team...” He nodded toward the entrance, and everyone’s heads turned.

Sienna looked like she saw a ghost. “Oh my gosh! He’s back!”

While her response may have been a bit dramatic for Sienna, it didn’t begin to express the turmoil stirring in Casey. The average person wouldn’t have noticed; she did her best to remain composed even as her body went rigid and her heart pounded in her chest. After two long months of absence, Ethan Ramsey was back, walking toward them like it was any other day, as if he hadn’t ripped Casey’s heart out just months before.

“He looks... different,” Sienna observed.

“Well, two months fighting an outbreak in the Amazon will do that to a person,” Jackie replied. Her eyes flickered in his direction, attempting to warn Casey that he was near.

But it was too late. He was already standing beside her, nodding a polite greeting to all, before his blue eyes locked on Casey’s for the first time since he had promised her they’d find a way to work things out.

“Rookie...” he stated, his expression unreadable.

If his presence flustered Casey, she hid it well. “You’re a bit too late for that, Dr. Ramsey,” she replied with a bravado she didn’t know she had. “As of sixty seconds ago, I’m not a rookie anymore. I’m officially a resident now.”

“Is that so?” he replied with a hint of a smile. “Then I take it you won’t be making any more rookie mistakes.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” she shrugged as her irritation began to crack her unaffected veneer. “If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that everyone makes mistakes, world-renowned attendings included.”

The table went silent, the friends exchanging nervous looks as Sienna bit her lip. But if they were surprised by her candor, Ethan was not; it was one of the things he had come to admire in her. Clearing his throat, he replied calmly.

“I see,” he mumbled. “Well, I’ll let you and your friends get back to celebrating.”

A hush fell over the table when he turned and made his way toward the bar. Casey’s eyes followed him as her friends remained in a state of shock. Jackie was the first to break the silence. “Well, that wasn’t awkward or anything.”

Bryce tightened his grip around Casey. He knew this had to impact her more than anyone. After all, he was the one who had sat beside her night after night, listening to her cry and wiping away the tears that never seemed to stop. “Hey, are you OK?” He whispered.

Casey looked at him with a forced smile and patted his knee. “Yeah. I’m... fine.”

Sensing her friend’s discomfort, Sienna quickly steered the conversation, and the friends continued chatting as if nothing happened. But Casey couldn’t forget. Her eyes kept wandering back to the bar where Ethan sat in his usual spot – a seat so synonymous with him that it had remained conspicuously empty during his absence.

His expression was distant, and there was a heaviness to him that wasn’t there before. Even Reggie’s lively banter didn’t seem to impact his mood. He looked older... tired, as though the mission had taken more from him than anyone knew. That’s what Casey assumed it was as she looked his way. She may have been a brilliant diagnostician, but right now, her assessment couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

The night went on, and before they knew it, Reggie’s voice rang out. “Alright people! Last call. You ain’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here!”

“Already?” Casey groaned, her voice tightening. “No! It just hit me... I’m starting on the diagnostic team tomorrow!”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Elijah laughed as Bryce offered Casey words of reassurance. 

“Well, I’m not starting on the diagnostic team, but I still need some sustenance to get through,” Jackie announced. “You guys want to hit the diner on the way home?”

“Why don’t you go ahead,” Casey replied. “I think I’m going stay behind and touch base with Ethan about tomorrow.”

She stepped inside the bar cautiously, so quiet that Ethan didn’t notice her until she took the stool beside him. “So... that last call thing doesn’t apply to you, huh?” she asked.

He turned to her, his eyes heavy with emotion, though his voice remained light. “Reggie and I go way back. We have... an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” She half-laughed, her arm crossed protectively before her. “Is that what most people would call friendship?”

“I don’t have friends, Casey,” he stated flatly before downing the remains of his drink. “But I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you’re so inclined.”

Casey sat in stunned silence. She had pictured the moment when he would return in her head all summer long. Through the heartbreak and tears, she had practiced the words she planned to say like a mantra. She had perfected them. Each word a unique piece of ammunition designed to pierce his heart the way his silent departure had shattered hers. She had dreamed about finally having the chance to unleash her fury. Letting him know just how much damage he had done, but now, sitting beside him, the words that were in her heart and mind refused to travel to her lips.

With an inaudible sigh, she diverted her eyes. “Sure,” was all she could manage to say.

Ethan nodded with a look of both relief and fear in his eyes. He reached over the bar and grabbed a half-empty bottle of the bar’s finest Scotch and two glasses. “Hey, Reggie,” he yelled. “We’re going to borrow this.”

“Why don’t we take this outside?” He said. “Winter will be here before you know it; we might as well enjoy it while we can.”

“Sure,” she said again, angry at herself for her inability to say more. He hurt so badly and ran off to avoid the fallout left in its wake. He deserved to hear them. Yet, here she was, rendered silent, following him like a loyal pet shadowing its master.

They settled into two chairs beside the fire pit, its flickering light casting a warm glow between them. Ethan poured two drinks, handing one to Casey. When his fingers brushed hers, the simple touch sent a jolt through both of them. Casey wanted to down her drink in one gulp. But, if she wanted to be sober for this conversation, a sip would have to do.

“You look great,” he said with a tentative smile.

“Thank you. You look... different,” she replied, taking him in.

“Different?” he asked, his smile morphing into a full grin. “Different good, or different bad?”

“Just... different.”

“Well,” he admitted with a faint chuckle. “I’ve been through quite a bit.”

“I’m sure,” she said, swirling her glass nervously. “We all have. But, it was brave of you to go on that mission.”

Ethan choked on his drink, reflecting silently for a moment. “That... that wasn’t bravery, Casey.”

The look in his eyes launched a swell of emotions in Casey: anger, sympathy, fear, pain, and mingled with something else - something she thought she already buried. No wonder she couldn’t lash out at him. She didn’t want to feel it; she didn’t want it to be there, but love was never something Casey MacTavish let go of easily. At that moment she knew, despite the anger and hurt, she knew the truth: she couldn’t pull the trigger on him if she tried.

Eventually, the reality of the situation hit her like a wave. After all this time, he was here – sitting in front of her - and she deserved answers. Her voice shook as she spoke, each word filled with pain she had been carrying.

“You left,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You left without telling me. Ethan, you didn’t say a single word.”

His expression crumbled, the weight of her accusation hitting him. He knew this confrontation was inevitable, but that did nothing to lessen its sting. Leaning forward, he braced himself; it was time to face the reckoning he always knew would come.

“Casey,” he started, his voice filled with regret. “I have no excuse to offer. I was... a coward. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran... I had to. I knew that if I saw you... if we had talked...I...” His words trailed as he turned away, unable to face the look in her eyes.

“If you came to me, you knew I wouldn’t have let you go with so much unresolved between us,” she replied. “I would have supported your choice if you wanted to go, but I wouldn’t let you use it as an excuse. I wouldn’t have let you run away. You would have had to face things... face me.”

“Yes,” he smiled sadly, “and that’s why I just... left.”

His words felt like a slap on the face. Insult added to injury. Casey was done shielding him from the damage his actions had caused. It was time for him to see it all. A bitter laugh escaped her, echoing through the empty space.

“Yes!” She shot back, her body trembling and her voice filled with rage. “You just... left. Left me! I stood in a conference room with all the other interns when Naveen announced your departure. I got to hear it like I was just anyone else... like I meant absolutely nothing to you!” She shook her head, eyes burning. “You told me we’d figure things out! You insisted we’d find a way to make it work, and I believed you! Then you were just... gone, without so much as a goodbye! Do you have any idea how much that hurt me, Ethan?”

“Casey, I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice and eyes filled with regret. “I know that was wrong. There is no excuse I can offer to make it right.”

“You knew it was wrong?” she seethed. “You knew! But then you remained silent the whole time you were gone? Two months, Ethan. Two whole months! I left you dozens of voicemails... I stopped counting how many texts I sent! Did you even listen to them? Did you hear the pain in my voice and choose to ignore me? Or did they mean so little that you just deleted them without a second thought?”

“Casey, don’t say that,” he pleaded. “Nothing you say could ever be meaningless to me.”

“Then why?” she demanded, her voice breaking as she fought back tears. “Why didn’t you contact me? You reached out to Naveen. You reached out to Harper. But me? Nothing!” She took a trembling breath. “You just ghosted me... after everything we’ve been through?”

“It’s precisely because of everything we’ve been through that I didn’t contact you,” he replied. “You know the stakes, Casey! We’re going to be working together - you’re reporting to me. Your professional development and reputation... they’re too important. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are to let it all blow up because of me. I couldn’t let whatever we had between us put you at risk.”

 “Whatever we had...” she snickered. “Past tense?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And the past is where it needs to stay.”

Casey felt the resolve that his presence had softened returning to life inside her. It was all coming together: the sleepless nights, the heartache, hearing the whispers in Edenbrook’s halls, enduring the pitiful stares, the loneliness she felt as she picked up the shattered pieces of herself one by one without so much as a word from the man who had caused it. He owed her... he owed her better than this. She steadied herself before speaking again, her voice defiant.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she scoffed. “The past is exactly where it will remain. But do me one favor,” she asked, her vulnerability peeking through once more. “Admit what it was that we’re losing. Tell me what “it” was, Ethan! Can you at least give me that?”

He leaned back, an exasperating sigh escaping him as he focused on the bright stars sparking in the dark sky. “Casey,” he murmured, trying to find the words. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” she yelled. “I want you to tell me the truth! You shattered my heart, Ethan, and left me to cope with it alone. If you ever cared for me at all,  then at least have the decency to admit what it was. Don’t leave me believing I was just some... mistake... tell me! Did you... did you ever love me at all?”

Ethan turned to her, his eyes filled with a sadness he couldn’t bring himself to admit. Gently raising a hand, he tilted her chin toward him, relishing the feel of her skin against his, knowing in his heart that he’d never touch her like this again.

She couldn’t see his internal battle - a battle between the part of him that knew she deserved the truth and the part that needed to protect her... protect himself. She deserved to know that she wasn’t the only one who had spent the summer heartbroken. She deserved to know about the dozens of letters he penned, each one confessing the feelings he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud – letters he knew he’d never send.

But what if he told her? Knowing Casey, she’d forgive him and do everything in her power to make them work, even if it meant sacrificing herself. Would she quit the diagnostic team? Leave Edenbrook? Go to a lesser program? Knowing her, she just might. She’d fought tooth and nail to get to this place in her career, and he couldn’t... he wouldn’t let her sacrifice it, not for him, and not for something as fleeting as love.

“Casey,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “Love is nothing more than proximity paired with a rush of neurochemical responses triggered by heightened stress.”

She pushed his hand away, his words cutting deeper than a knife ever could. The memory of the first time he said those words to her came rushing back. At that time, she thought it was just his cynicism talking. It was almost comical. But now? After all, they had been through... he still believed that? Had their time together taught him... nothing.

She took a deep breath as she rose to her feet; this was it, this was the end, and she could feel the sadness giving way to relief.

“Maybe that’s all love is to you,” she replied. “But that’s not all it is to me. I spent the past couple of months so hurt, so angry at you, but right now... all I can feel for you is pity. You want a reset? Ethan... there’s nothing to reset. We were over the day you stepped on that plane. I know my worth, Ethan, and I deserve so much better than this.”

She let the words hang in the air for a moment, then, standing tall, she met his eyes. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Dr. Ramsey. I look forward to working with you this year.”

And just like that, she was his colleague and nothing more. He watched her go, her silhouette framed in the soft light of the doorway, and his chest ached with the overwhelming urge to stop her, to say something, anything to pull her back. But as the door clicked shut behind her, he sank back into his chair, knowing she was right. This was the end. They were over.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, the weight of regret crushing his soul. With a deep breath, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled a weathered piece of paper, the latest in a long line of the unsent letters he wrote, and his eyes skimmed over the closing lines:

You’ll never know how much you’ve changed me, Casey. If only I had the courage to be a better man. You deserve someone who will meet you in the light instead of hiding in the shadows. I wanted to be that man for you, I did, but it’s not in me. I’ll always carry you in my heart, even though I have to let you go. I love you, Casey. Always -  Ethan.”

The paper shook in his trembling hands as he watched the flames dancing. Then, with a sharp exhale, he tossed it into the fire, watching as the edges curled and blackened before his words disintegrating into ash.

It was over. This chapter was closed.

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesprompts @choicesmonthlychallengenov2024 @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[vt-scribbles]

There is so much going on aaaaaaaa

[retiredteabag]

winter weight

synopsis: toji has gained some weight this winter - it seems you don’t mind

this is part two -> read about summer!toji here

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It's said that "happy weight" is a very real thing in healthy relationships. Toji had always prided himself on being a big man, he worked out frequently and ate like a beast. But his physique has mostly remained the same impressive form. This winter, however, seemed to have changed that for the very first time.

Toji had noticed these past few days that he'd seemed to have put on a couple of pounds. His shirts were tighter now than they used to be, some of his sleeves seemed to almost cut off circulation, and with a quick feel of his stomach, it was clear that his body was... softening up.

He was not "insecure" per say, just- not in love with his newly added weight. He found himself pulling at the flesh of his stomach, not accustomed to the added fat and he barely walked around the house shirtless as of late.

You'd comment on this newfound modesty of his and he'd play it off as if he had been cold, but you know that your man couldn’t get cold, even in this winter weather.

One afternoon as you both lounged on the couch, you saw him pulling at the front of his T-shirt, flowing it out and away from his body. He didn't seem to be doing it intentionally, eyes focused on the television, but you certainly noticed.

That night he even went to bed with a shirt on which might just have been the very first time he's ever done that in his life.

You went to bed with this notion on your mind. The thing was... the man was totally irresistible to you, so you couldn't quite understand if he was suddenly worrying about his figure.

Toji always awoke before you did in the mornings. When you heard him in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, you stumbled out of bed and came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his form.

Toji is a big guy, he always has been. Only now you notice, when holding the man’s torso, your two arms barely reach around to the mans abs now…

You hum as you feel him up, and he doesn't push you away. Once upon a time you would have tried to tickle his sides, but having been around Toji for awhile now, you know he's not the ticklish type. Even so, your cold hands dance under his shirt and grope at him.

"Too early, ya know." You murmur into his broad back. "Won'tcha come back to bed."

"Get yer paws off me" he jitters, "you're freezing." He turns around to look at you now, facing downwards to meet your tired pout.

"Come warm up with me then." You finish speaking. Smooshing your cheeks into his back muscles and opening your mouth to press up against him and breathe a lung full of hot air through his shirt. While the warmth meets his spine you roll your hands back to his pudgy tummy, his happy trail…

"Alright, alright." He grabs the back of your neck and walks you back to bed. When you're just about within throwing distance, he grabs you by the sides of your chest and tosses you onto the mattress.

In the following moments you curl yourself upon him, your body splayed above his. Giggling, you can't help your wandering hands. He's so warm, you know?

He grabs at your wrist though, "Enough, don't fondle me." His eyes are teasing but you wonder if he's starting to feel unhappy with his body.

"Can't help it, you’re so handsome, ya' know?"

You can feel his muscles tense below you at the confession. He runs a hand through his hair and avoids your eyes. "Thats a bad argument."

You just hum and squish your arms under his back, molding your body to his.

Suddenly he speaks up, "I wouldn't work out as much if I knew you still liked me all fluffy". You hear an annoyed tint in his tone and move up to look at him.

"I like you in all your forms, Toji." And you mean it.

"Ugh." He rolls his eyes at your words and pulls your hands away.

"Don't move me, you're so hot." You tug your wrists in his grasp.

His eyebrows raise

He holds your gaze for a long while, and lifting a brow he slowly speaks, "Get another blanket then."

You stare at him, smiling. "No." You smoosh your face to his chest, "I wanna crawl under your skin... and eat your flesh..."

Toji knew what was coming, he gently pressed on your forehead before you could latch your jaw around his bicep.

"Don't. Even. Think about it." He holds in a giant grin.

"You're too chewable. C'mon..... comeoneeeee." You smirk at him, his palm still flush to your skull.

There's a pause, and just as you think he's gonna give in, he maintains pressure, running his hands down your neck, onto your waist and traps your body under his by rolling on top of you. There are wails of descent from your crushed form beneath him, but he holds you there, wrists in his grasp.

"Lemme go Toji." You tug at your wrists.

"Thought you wanted me heating you up." He huffs into your neck.

"Yeah, but I deserve the privilege of caressing a little more." You flex your hands again.

"You gonna behave?" his fingers run over your palms.

"Not a chance."

He grins, releasing you. Quick as lightning, your hands are up and under his shirt, running over his back. He's groaning into the mattress, something about icy hands, but he's sporting a big grin, leaning down to take a tiny bite of your shoulder.

[bi-writes]

a hand for a hand | knight!ghost x f!reader

in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

type: one-shot (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits (18+)

It is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. There is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. Ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed–they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. By accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

That one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. Spoil it, and I'll have your fuckin' heads. His queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

And they haven't. They do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. But there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

You don't know him by any other name other than Ghost. The right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. There are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. You clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

His eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. They track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. He wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. And maybe you are–if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. Maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

There is always a party. Always a celebration for this brute. He is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. He does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. Sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. You wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

He seems like the kind of man to do so–like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

He has no face. He has no name. And if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. The only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. His sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

It is late in the evening when you hear it. There's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. You put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. The king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. They share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. They are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. They sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. They left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

You are not surprised by this. They aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. They aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. You have always hated this idea. Boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

You are surprised by the knock on your door. You think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "Are you awake, my lady?"

You tie your robe and scurry. When you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. You've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"Y-Yes, your majesty? I'm sorry for my appearance, I–"

"It's quite late," he says gently. "You don't have to apologize. Is it alright if I come in?"

You stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. You think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. He settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. He has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"I have a request of you," he says finally. You take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. Whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. You're not exactly allowed to refuse. "It is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. They deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

You swallow, "Yes, of course. You have such a fine army, your majesty. You must be...V-very proud."

He turns to face you, and he nods.

"These titles come with land. Money. Responsibility. And it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "One of these things can be a bride."

"They are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. He stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"You are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "I know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, I have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. Congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "By sunset, you are to be a duchess."

You're shaking when he goes. You clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. You cry because you know who asked for your hand. You know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it–

Your queen is ecstatic. She lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. She tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. Your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

Marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. You'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

You are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. Your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. Not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. You have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

He is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. He wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. He wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. He stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. Your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. You slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. He purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

You are a prize. A trophy. Nothing more. A gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

The ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. And then he gives you his first gift as your husband–a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. The intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

Because that is what this is. Not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. You've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, I'll feel myself again.

He narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. His response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. You observe this fact–the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. You are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. You are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

You are a prisoner, now. But perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. This is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

The party is lively. There is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. There is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. The king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

You sit aways from him. You don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. You think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

Men simply ask for, and then they receive. Women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

His eyes bore into your head. When you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. The beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

You'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. You'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. Although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

When the morning is early, you sneak out. You scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. You take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

You know who it is right away. Coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

You sit up straight, turning your head. Ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. You watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. His gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. You hear the leather of them move.

You have never spoken to him before. You've never heard him speak. You wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. You know why he's here, you know why he's come. You can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

But you have an idea.

"Y'abhor me," he says finally. He speaks. You swallow. At least he isn't stupid. It's rare that you see a brute with brains. Although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. He is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. He must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. A leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

But has he been taught to tame a cat? How to please a woman? How to love her, how to have her?

Love. What a silly dream.

"Not as much as I fear you," you admit. He hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. You watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"Wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. His voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"That you'll hurt me," you whisper. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"A beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "Need strong heirs. Which means I need y'fed and happy."

"I'll never be happy."

He grips your chin, shutting you up. A part of you wishes he would be meaner. That he would be the angry, possessive Ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. You want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. If anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"We'll see about tha'."

Your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"I know who you are," your voice cracks. "I know what you do. You're a pillager. You take women, and you kill men."

He tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. You aren't wrong. Since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. He's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. He takes, takes, takes–it tastes good and strengthens his bones. It puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

But you are no village in an unfortunate land. You are the gift that his king has given him. The forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. Poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. Ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. He had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request–no, his demand–to have you.

He did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. He did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"Just a matter of war, dear wife. They matter little," Ghost mutters. "Let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. He guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. He hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. His eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

You are surprised by the sensation. No one has ever touched you this way before. It feels...good. His hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. You lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. You watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. He uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. Ohhh–it feels so nice.

"Gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "All for our babe."

You don't know what comes over you. You don't know why you do it, but you do. You lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. The weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and Ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. There is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"Tha'sit...My beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "Tits of a fuckin' angel."

You squeeze your legs together. You know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. You feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. You've never felt it this strong. You whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"Y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. He reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. The praise, it itches you nicely. "Y'r m'prize, swee'eart. I killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "Cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

Why does it feel so good? Why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? Why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

It hurts, it hurts–

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "Shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. You swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. It barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. You hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

The corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. You want to feel shame, but you can't. You're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. The groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. He moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"Wait–" you meet his eyes. Your eyes flutter. "B-but...But I want..."

He eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"Want wot?"

You swallow.

"I-I..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. The squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "I want...Your mouth..."

He snickers, "Y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "Doesn't work tha' way. Besides..." he shrugs. "I don't reveal m'face."

You sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. His dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. You need to remind him that you are not one of his men. You need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"Please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. Killed a thousand men to have me, so show me–show me, show me, show me. You nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "Please..."

He sinks to his knees almost immediately. His armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. Your eyes widen a little at the position–the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"Turn around," he snaps. "On y'r knees."

You do as he says. You turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. You fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. He plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

He eats slow at first. Just drags his tongue through the slick there. He's exploring you, learning you. But then he is all-consuming. He hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. You can't help how wet you are–drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. He did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. Every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. His brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. Not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

He wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. But something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

What he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. Too real, too real, too real.

He pulls away. He smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. He stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. He tuts, turning you onto your back easily. You're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. You've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

He's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own–you could make him love you, couldn't you? Someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

Killed a thousand men to have me, so I'll put you on your fucking knees.

It's what you're owed. For all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. He may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

You will make him love you. You will make him love you. You will make him love you.

You sit up, a bit dazed. You're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. You know what a man like him wants. You have doted on men like him all your life. You know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

You just need to know how to make him purr. You need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"My husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. He likes that title. "I–"

"Did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "Your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

You bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. You drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. The smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. You have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"I've always been...Terrified of you," you whisper. "The way you come into court...The way you fight...Seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. He smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "But, I..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "I-I want more..."

He chuckles, "I know y'do," he echos. "Could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "A pretty face like this one...Wasted on her majesty."

"I don't think we're allowed to say that."

"I deliver entire countries at john's feet, I'll say wot I bloody please," he snaps. You just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

This disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. Strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. He is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. He is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

Ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. He may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. He may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. He may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

So you do what servant women do best. You appease, because at the end of the day, Ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"A baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. You dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. He growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "Want a baby..."

He cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. He's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. He is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. He's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

You reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. He flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper there. It's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. You roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "It's...It's everything I didn't know I wanted..."

He grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"I don't understand," he murmurs. Affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. That someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. His instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"You," you whine. "So big–" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "–there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

Ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. You lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"Naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. You whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "Not a virgin, are ya?"

"I-I am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"Mm. Not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

You shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"Good," he mutters. "Don't much feel like pettin' ya."

And he doesn't. He's a menace. He snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. He isn't gentle by any means–he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. He doesn't let you–his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

Despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. Your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. Your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"You'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. He's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "Cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"That so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask–you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "Have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"Fuckin' brat–" Ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. A ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. He will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

Ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. You had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. No one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

You start to think the same. You've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. You're floating–you're somewhere else, you think. There's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. His cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. You're crying, begging, asking him for more, please–! Nnghh–please!

He's never had a woman so wet. He has always had them for his own pleasure. He has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. There's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. He can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl–tha's it, just right, like tha'–

"I...I-I–!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. A crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. You're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine–

"Fuckin' hell–" Ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. You go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. You need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. He doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

You think you want this. You think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

He moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. You keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

Maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. Maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

You slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. His eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. Ghost aches, too–maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

Something gentle. Something soft. Something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. His hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore–there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

He's more human this way. Less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

What a waste. What a loss. He has to fuck you again.

He will never be bored of me, I don't think. Ghost will want me forever–even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

You don't seem to mind your new position. No kneeling, no curtsying–your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

In all your life, you have never wanted this. You endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. Marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. They would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

Your dream is freedom. It always has been. Your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. There is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. Before you had Ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. He was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. But you know now, you understand, that Ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

He is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

Ghost will hold the sword. And you will hold the leash.

NEXT

[dollgxtz]

Sleepy Crow

Word Count: 1.8k words

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, noncon, mentions of breeding, pet names such as kitten, sweetie, darling, reader is somewhat drugged but its her sleep meds!

AN: Hi all! This isn't my first time writing fanfics but I noticed a lack of Sylus fics with a darker undertone ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ". PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the tags and if this isn't something that interests you or is potentially triggering, please do not interact! I get this isn't everyone's cup of tea but this is a fic for people who like darker romance stuff!! Please enjoy, and I AM taking requests as I really want to get back into writing again. Do not hold back, this is a safe place! Ty!! <333

Sylus trudged through the pouring rain, his jacket soaked through and his hair matted against his forehead. The drops were heavy and unrelenting, pelting against the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed along the gutters. The barely lit streetlights of the N109 zone cast an eerie glow on the slick surfaces, reflecting off the wet asphalt like a distorted mirror.

As the man approached his mansion, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The warm glow of the lights shining through the windows beckoned him home. He fumbled with the keypad to the door, his fingers slightly numb from the cold, before finally hearing the click that beckoned his entrance.

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows followed him, a steady drumming that seemed to fill every corner of the place. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it up, feeling the weight of it pulling him down. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors, trying his hardest to be quiet. Mephisto was perched on his cage (not that he was ever really in it, it was more for decor) tilting his head when he saw Sylus brush past him but not making any sound himself.

He made his way to the bedroom chambers, deciding to make sure you were where you belonged. Peeking his head in the bedroom doorway, he saw your sleeping figure, chest rising ever so slightly with each breath. He smirked, closing the door behind him as he entered. He was happy you finally seemed to be getting some rest.

Your insomnia had been getting worse, and he'd been getting worried when he saw you were often messaging him at 4 am, sometimes as late as 8 am with no sleep. Of course he’d offer to have you over, to hold you and whisper sweet things in your ear until you succumbed to sleep, but he couldn’t always. Sometimes business was needed to be handled, and for those nights he had gotten you the best sleep medication that money could buy. You had been weary about taking them at first, but he had assured you that the side effects were basically none. He had made sure of it.

Sylus made his way to the bathroom, proceeding to rid himself of the damp clothes clinging to his skin. A quick shower and then he could finally curl up next to his little crow. Not that he would be sleeping yet, but it was nice to watch you dream. Sometimes you’d whine or make little noises, which he found absolutely adorable. He wondered what you dreamt about sometimes, but you had refused to answer much to his annoyance.

The hot water felt amazing after being gone practically all night. He washed all the blood and dirt from his skin, examining all of his various injuries. He had a run in with a few “pests” that he quickly exterminated, but they had managed to get a few nicks on him. He touched his arm where the biggest cut was, his Evol immediately snaking around it and healing it faster than he could blink. He did the same for the others, feeling brand new once more.

Some time passed before he finally turned the water off, dried himself, and slipped into a pair of boxers. He slowly made his way into the bedroom, hoping that he wasn't being too loud but you were out like a light. Sleeping like a rock.

Sylus slipped in bed next to you, sighing with pleasure as the soft mattress sunk beneath his weight. It felt heavenly. He turned to put his arm around you, trying to get as comfortable as possible so he could hold you. He softly kissed the corner of your ear, his head starting to swim with thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable enough to possibly fall asleep with you.

But he couldn't.

He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes just thinking. He thought about all the business arrangements he needed to finish. Tonight had been…messy. No doubt he had made some new enemies. How impatient he was getting about the new weaponry he had bought from Spain. They should be arriving soon, but it had been taking forever.

How he wanted to feel your tight cunt pulsing around his fingers.

Sylus stiffened, attempting to rid his head of these thoughts about you. His efforts were in vain though, as he was already rocking a semi hard on that was steadily growing into a full erection.

Obviously there was nothing he could do about it. You were sleeping after all. And not only that, it's not like he could wake you to do anything anyways. He hates quickies, they bored him. He likes to take his time. To take in your reactions, your faces, and your noises. Besides that, you were taking a pretty high dose of your sleeping meds and he kinda doubted he could wake you even if he really tried.

This thought stirred in his head for a bit.

Yeah...you wouldn't wake even if he tried. He sighed with a twinge of pleasure as he pressed his erection against the soft cotton of your underwear. The pressure felt immaculate, and if he hadn't been gone all night he probably could've finished just by pressing himself against you. You were the only girl ever that could make him finish that quickly.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. It had been a bit since he touched you like this.

You moved a bit in your sleep, letting out a small whine. He leaned over you to get a better look at your face. Still sleeping, mouth open slightly ajar. You were so fucking pretty when you slept.

“Such a sleepy kitten” he growled lowly, snaking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear. He didn’t know why, but the mere sight of your sleeping face was getting him worked up. You looked so docile, so vulnerable. He wanted you. Sylus began to tug them down slowly.

This was very wrong. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He kept going, making empty promises to himself that he would only take a peek. He just wanted to see you. All of you.

Sylus froze has he finally pulled your underwear down to your legs, practically breathless at the site of your cunt at his fingertips.

"Fuck..." he groaned, unable to stop himself from pressing a finger between your folds. He watched you carefully for any signs of discomfort or movement, but you were still fast asleep as he pushed his finger in. You were warm, inviting even. It's like your pussy was sucking his finger in, deeper and deeper. He slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Soon enough, your cunt was slightly wet, spots of your slick forming on the backs of your legs near your pussy. Pulling out, he practically shivered with excitement.

Sylus was quick to put his fingers in his mouth, savoring every drop of you. You tasted so sweet to him, the best flavor he ever had the honor to try. He wanted nothing more than to dive head first into the source and lap it up. But his erection was so starting to bother him. It was rock hard, and throbbing ever so slightly, begging to be freed.

He had to have you. And he had to have you now.

He pulled his erection through the hole in his boxers, beginning to stroke himself with an intense grip. Groaning as quietly as he could, he stared at your wet and welcoming cunt. He swore it was just begging to be filled by every inch of his cock. Still wanting him, even when you were asleep.

"You’re so pretty sweetie" he whispered in your ear, closing his eyes as electrifying pulses of pleasure crashed through him. Sylus told himself he should stop now, but it was past that point. He knew himself better than that. His mind was already made up, no matter how much he was trying to talk himself out of it.

Turning you a bit more on your side, he readied the fat head of his tip to your entrance. You stirred once again, mumbling incoherent nothings before becoming silent again. Sylus chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the tip of your ear as he stroked himself a few more times.

As he sinks his tip into your tight entrance, his precum smears all over your hole. He shudders with intensity, trying his best to hold back a groan, worried that making too much noise next to your ear would wake you. He pushes further and further until he can't possibly sink himself into you anymore. You squirm, letting out another whine, this one a bit louder than the last.

"Im sorry kitten…" Sylus coos, laying his head behind yours as he fucks you with a slow, rhythmic pace. "Just need to cum in what’s mine. Be a good girl and stay asleep for me”.

He rests one of his hands on your hip, trying to keep from shaking you too much as he continually plunges himself inside you. You were warm, your gummy walls constantly tightening around him. He moans your name over and over like a prayer, feeling lost in your walls. The soft clap of his skin meeting your ass echoes a bit in the room.

"You're fucking made for me. Look at you sweetie, tightening around me, trying to squeeze me dry even when you're sleeping" he whispers, feeling himself getting closer and closer to bliss.

His thrusts became sloppy and he had to slow himself, trying to savor every moment he had inside of what essentially felt like heaven. He had been wanting to fill you for days. Images of his seed erupting onto the walls of your fertile pussy, eventually giving you a nice, round tummy that would grow his baby filled his head and he couldn't stop himself from finishing anymore.

As his hot ropes of sticky cum shoot against the walls of your womb, he accidently grips your hip a bit tighter than he meant to. You yelp, and he quickly rubbed his hand over the spot he'd hurt you, ensuring you remained asleep. He checks the spot and sees some slight bruising already starting to form and curses himself silently for losing control and hurting you. His Evol was quick to move over the injury where his hand lay, instantly restoring your skin back to a healed state. Sylus was amazed he could even do that. His Evol had only ever healed him. It wasn’t until you came along that it had ever revealed that kind of power and it didn’t work for anyone else either.

"Shh shh, its ok. Just be still, I'm almost done filling you up darling…”

Once his orgasmic high subsided, he took a moment to catch his breath before watching as his cum pooled out of you. He took his finger and scooped as much of it as he could gather before gently pushing it back within your folds. Feeling satisfied with his work, he pulled your panties up before finally pulling the cover back over you.

"There you go. Gotta keep my seed where it belongs so you can make us a baby. Right kitten?" he chuckled, finally feeling tired enough to cuddle you and fall asleep.

[hekateinhell]

BREAKING CHARACTER REAL QUICK FOR A SLEEP SUPPLEMENT PSA FOR MY FELLOW VAMPIRES AND NIGHT OWLS:

so I've had chronic insomnia since early childhood and the only thing that helps me fall asleep without the "oh, I've been drugged" feeling is melatonin

and never once have I seen any instructions on the bottle anything beyond "take at or before bedtime"

EXCEPT

my doctor tells me last week that you're not supposed to do this otherwise it really fucks with your circadian rhythms! apparently the optimal time to take melatonin is around sunset (if you want to be asleep by 10pm-12am) because darkness is what naturally stimulates the brain to secrete melatonin

taking it too late (i.e., past 9pm if you intend to sleep around 11pm and wake up at 7am) can majorly screw up your circadian rhythm and keep you feeling groggy and sleepy af well into the day!!! which explains a lot for me personally — not the whole picture but certainly some of it! 

so what I've been doing is I take my regular dose as soon as I notice it's dark outside (around 7:45pm these days) and I start getting sleepy around 10pm-11pm depending on the day I've had. I'm fucking full on passing out by midnight, like phone falling on my face, gotta sleep now. and my sleep isn't perfect but it's a lot better than it was! I get a solid unbroken 6-7 hours stretch which is huge for me and I don't feel like death warmed over needing both vyvanse and caffeine to even think about functioning!

anyway if you already knew this then GOOD FOR YOU BUDDY WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME AT ANY POINT IN THE PAST 15 YEARS and if not, I hope you try it out and it helps even a bit! 🖤

[sinner-as-saint]

drag me under

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader 

Run-through: After what has to be one of the most exhausting and exasperating meetings he’s ever had with the Bishop and Mother Superior, Father Charlie desperately needs a quick release. It was wrong, he knew and he’d repent for it later. Except, what he thought was going to stay as a secret between him and God ends up involving a third witness – you. 

Themes: smut, explicit language, mentions of infidelity, degrading kink

Fuck. He was close. 

He’d shut himself inside the confessional booth a few minutes ago because he absolutely needed to get his mind off certain things. Those meetings always left him feeling like a damned pressure cooker, and he always needed to let out some steam after. 

All that arguing, and having to keep his cool and maintain composure when all he wanted to do was yell and tell them all that he was right and they were wrong. It had to be the generational gap, but sometimes he felt like he was being tortured with how much his mindset differed from those of his superiors. Why couldn’t they just let him do things his way? 

But he pushed all that aside for a moment. Just a moment, that’s all he needed. Fist wrapped around his throbbing cock, his spit and precum giving him just the right amount of lubricant, his head thrown back against the thick wood as he worked his fist up and down his cock, as fast as he could. 

He tried to keep his gasps and moans as quiet as possible. It was late in the afternoon, there wouldn’t be anyone around during this time, but just in case. A groan left his lips anyway, and he bit his lip immediately after. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck… 

He could hear how fast his fist moved, the friction was almost just as good as how he remembered sinking into a warm body felt like. Almost, not quite as exhilarating though. 

Fuck! 

A few more tugs, a couple more unrestrained moans later, and he came with a loud sigh. Spilling all over his hand, gasping for breath as he blinked a couple times, already feeling his thoughts flowing much easier. His all black suit, his collar around his neck didn’t feel as tight and constricting anymore. 

He quickly cleaned himself up with a handkerchief he’d have to put in the trash later, he sighed one more time as he made sure to fix his clothes and was about to walk out of the booth when he heard a timid, soft, almost hesitant voice ask: 

“Are you done, Father?” 

He froze. 

Shit. 

He cleared his throat. It sounded like a young woman on the other side. He tried to look but the screen only allowed him a partial view of your face. Okay, okay, don’t panic. He could still get out of this situation. Maybe you didn’t hear what he was doing. Maybe you’d just gotten in here. Maybe you were too naive to even know what those sounds were. 

He cleared his throat again, “How, uh, how long have you been waiting for?” He tried his hardest to sound apologetic for making you wait. 

A moment of silence. Then you replied, “Long enough.” 

That voice. He knew that voice, didn’t he? 

He said your name out loud. A pause then, “Is it you?” He asked. 

A sigh. Then, “Yes, Father.” 

Ah. He let out a quiet breath, relieved. 

He had no reason to worry if it was you. You were what he called a lost little lamb, too innocent for her own good. He knew your family. They were nice people who frequented the church, and lately your parents had been worried about you since they found out that you had a troublesome boyfriend who was nowhere near the god-fearing type your family wanted you to date. 

He also knew that you, unlike your parents, were not seen very often at church. He saw you here and there, sometimes at charity events, or sometimes at the tennis court with your mom. But never in the confessional booth. 

Father Charlie sat up straight, looked ahead at the wooden door and asked, “This is your first confession?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“And what would you like to confess?” He asked, knowing he was going about this all wrong. No signs of the cross, no ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned’, but he was impatient and… intrigued. What could a shy, timid girl like you have to confess?

“I… I slept with my boyfriend.” 

He couldn’t help but turn towards the screen. He watched you as you fidgeted and squirmed. “Did you?” He didn’t recognise his own voice. 

“Yes, Father.” You answered. “But that’s not all.” 

“Oh?” 

A trembled sigh left your lips, then you said, “While we were, um, when he was...” You struggled to speak. 

And Father Charlie felt weirdly interested all of a sudden, so he urged, “It’s okay, you’re safe here.” He cooed gently, using the soothing voice he always used with everyone. “Use your big girl words, come on. When he was, what?” 

“Father, I cannot say it.” Your words sounded heavy with shame. 

So he urged you even further, “Like I said, you’re safe here. Now tell me. When he was, what? On top of you? Fucking you? What happened, did he hurt you?” 

“No,” You said quickly. “No, he was… gentle.” 

Father Charlie raised an eyebrow, “And?” 

You let out a shaky breath and confessed, “I wanted him to…” You trailed off, “I know it’s wrong to want these kinds of things, but I didn’t want him to be gentle. I wanted him to be rough. To make it hurt.” 

Another shaky breath left your lips, and this time Father Charlie felt like he was the tormented one. He frowned as he looked down and noticed that he was hard again. Shit. 

He cleared his throat again. “I see.” 

But you were quick to add, “It’s wrong, isn’t it? To want things like that? Isn’t it, Father?” 

There was a strangely innocent desperation in your voice even as you referred to sinful things. The kind of innocence he wanted to take into his hands and crumble it into pieces but also preserve it at the same time. 

Fuck, he was hard. And it was painful because you were right there. 

“Depends,” He answered, “What other things do you find yourself wanting?” A small, quiet gasp left your mouth. Father Charlie caught himself smirking at the sound of it. “And don’t lie. I can’t help you if you lie.” He noticed movement on the other side of the screen. Maybe your hand touching your neck out of nervousness. 

“I… I like being told what to do. I like authority. I like…,” You gasped, as if not believing you were actually saying all this out loud, “I like it, I mean I like the idea of men being mean to me, in bed. I want them to take what they want from me, with consent of course. But I don’t want them to be gentle about it.” 

Oh fuck. 

“That’s, uh…” He found himself at a loss for words. His cock was making his trousers tighter. His hands were shaking with the need to grab and feel a warm body. Preferably that of a shy young woman who thought she should be ashamed of her desires. “Yes, that’s not right.” He did his best to sound stern and disappointed. 

A soft sound came from the other side. Sounding a lot like a sniffle. “I’m sorry, Father.” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “I should go.” 

It all happened too quickly. The sound of the door opening, the sound of you trying to rush and get out. Before he knew it, he was out of the booth as well and stopping you from leaving. Your wrist in his hand, his chest heaving, tears down your face, a shocked look in your eyes. 

“Did I say you could leave?” He asked, looking down at you and noticing the way you didn’t even fight him. Aww, a lost little lamb indeed. 

“No.” You whispered, going along with the movement as he walked you backwards until your back hit the nearest wall, beside the booth. 

“You’re disobedient,” He noted, “I should punish you for that.” 

“Yes,” You mumbled, like you were ready to be punished for your sins. 

“Yes, what?” He chided. 

“Yes, Father.” 

And oh, how he would’ve loved to have you on your knees in front of him. To have his cock in your mouth. To make real tears stream down your face, ruining your makeup. But he didn't have too much time. 

He stepped closer, trapping you between the wall and his hard body. He noted the way your eyes remained fixated on his white collar, those teary, innocent eyes. You didn’t even know the treasure you were. 

“Look at me,” He ordered. 

You did. Unable to look away once you did. 

“You’ve been a bad girl, you know that, don’t you?” He asked. You nodded at him. “And I need to punish you, because I need to make sure you’re good from now on, don’t I?” You nodded at his words again. “Good,” He whispered, then grabbed both your hands and placed them on his shoulders as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours. 

He fucking that little gasp of surprise that left your mouth as he kissed you, hot and messy. His hands reached down and bunched your dress up before he slipped his hand in between your legs.

He chuckled into the kiss when he felt your flimsy underwear. “See now, good girls don’t wear things like this. You understand?” He whispered, running his knuckles along your wet folds and smearing your arousal around through the thin fabric. “I’m gonna have to take it off, okay?” 

You nodded again. 

And he did, he slid your underwear down until it fell to your ankles. He watched as you stepped out of them and he immediately slid his knee in between your legs, followed by his hand again. “This is all part of your punishment,” He whispered into your ear, and watched how you shivered upon feeling his warm breath. He slipped his two fingers into you with ease and smirked against your skin as he felt your arousal coating his fingers, which he curled inside of you, hitting all the spots which made you gasp and moan.

You whimpered and closed your eyes, sighing and moaning when he leaned down and nibbled on your skin around your throat. He chuckled, sliding his fingers in and out of you, “See what a little slut you are? Cheating on your boyfriend, and letting me touch you however I please,” He scoffed, “Is this what you came to do? Was this your intention?” 

You bucked your hips against his hand impatiently. “Please,” You murmured. 

He pulled his fingers out, and messed with his belt, undoing it and the zipper on his trousers until he pulled his cock out. “Please what?” He asked, rubbing his wet fingers along his hard cock, “Huh? What do you want?” 

You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes. 

“Oh?” He taunted, “You want this cock? Huh?” He leaned in and grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks together, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a lowered voice that sent shivers down your back, “Does this little slut need a cock in her?” 

“Yes,” You murmured, unable to take it anymore. 

“Yes, what?” He growled. 

“Yes, Father.” You quickly corrected yourself. 

He smirked, smug. Then he lifted you up until you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your back against the wall, and the two of you partially hidden by the booth. His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you moaned out loud. 

“Shh,” He reminded you, “Quiet.” 

“Please,” You whined, eyes shut. “Please, Father…” 

“Shut up,” He hissed as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. “Shut your needy little mouth up.” 

You moaned as he pushed himself into you. Stretching you out as he went. His nails digging painfully into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours sliding into his hair as he filled you up nicely. 

“So fucking wet for me…” He whispered against your cheek as he rocked in and out of you. “I bet you’re not this wet for your little boyfriend, huh? Does he feel this good? This big?” He chuckled. “Does he know you let random men fuck you?” 

You were a mess, moaning and whimpering when he began moving in and out of you. His cock reached places that had you whining out loud. 

“Shh,” He hissed again, “Shut up, you little slut. Shut the fuck up.” He groaned as he fucked you. He kept an eye on your surroundings, just in case someone wandered in. 

But you kept moaning like crazy so he did the only thing his lust-filled brain could think of, he brought out his soiled handkerchief from earlier and shoved it in your mouth, and slapped his hand over your mouth. “Yeah, that’ll shut your filthy mouth up, huh? Is this what you wanted? Your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you like the needy little whore you are, does he?” 

Your moans sounded muffled now, and he fucked you relentlessly, earning more and more muffled whines and moans and whimpers out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. He loved the way your eyes rolled back when he fucked you harder, reaching deeper. 

He pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the wall with each thrust. “Filthy girl.” He sped up into you again, making you cry out. “So fucking desperate, aren’t you? You couldn’t help but spread your legs for me, huh? Even for a man of God? You couldn’t help it.” He taunted. “What else would you do for me? Would you come here everyday and let me have you? Hmm? Would you let me fuck your needy little pussy like your boyfriend can’t?” 

He knew you couldn’t answer him, so he chuckled and continued as he felt your walls clench around his cock. Fuck, he had missed this. He’d missed making a beautiful girl lose control while he was inside her. He knew you couldn’t think right, he was so fucking deep inside you that all you could do was whine and cry, and let him take what he wanted from you. Which is exactly what he did. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you harder and faster against the wall. 

His hand left your mouth, making sure his handkerchief remained nice and snug in there, and reached down until he wrapped his fingers around your throat, he squeezed just enough to make your eyes widen. “Yes,” He goaded you, “You like that, don’t you? Your messed up little head likes this,” He taunted. “It’s filthy in there, isn’t it? You think about these things at night? When you touch yourself before going to bed? Is this what you’ll be thinking about from now on?” 

Your body shuddered, trembling in pleasure. He looked down and noticed the slight cleavage of your sweet little dress. Fuck, he wished he had time to really peel it off your body and have you crawl around naked just so he could look at you. He was sure he could spend a lot of time just looking. 

“He doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” He chuckled, his body moving expertly against yours, “No, how could he? He’s just a boy. He wouldn’t even know what to do with a dirty girl like you.” He leaned in, whispering against your wet cheek, “This is what you needed. I’m what you need.” 

Your mind was a foggy mess already, and he could tell by the muffled by wanton moans that he could still hear that you were so, so close. 

“I bet he doesn’t even come inside you, does he?” He scoffed, “I think he’d be too scared to do that.” He pulled away and looked into your eyes. “But you want me to come inside you, don’t you? Remember, it’s all part of your punishment. You wanna be a good girl and take all of it, don’t you?” 

You nodded quickly, more tears streaming down your face. 

“Go on then, you little slut. Come for me. Come all over this cock like the needy, desperate whore you are.” He let out a strained moan, “I said,” He spoke, menacingly, “Come for me!” 

Your body tensed up, legs tightening around his waist, hands tugging at his hair, before you let go and came undone around his cock. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching his neck and a loud muffled moan erupting from your mouth as he made you come hard. 

Father Charlie groaned as he came shortly after, spilling inside of you. And fuck, even he could feel how much he filled you up. 

He pulled the now wet cloth out of your mouth as you both felt his warm cum dripping down your inner thighs. He replaced the handkerchief with his fingers, gliding two of them across your tongue, in and out of your lips as he said, “You’ll come back, won’t you?” He whispered against the corner of your mouth as you caught your breath while sucking on his fingers. “Now that you got a taste of what it’s like, you’ll be back as often as you can just to let me fuck you again. Won’t you, little lamb?” 

—

a/n: call me sister megan bc i’m frothing–

[innerfare]

Kisses - Part 1 

Summary: How do they kiss you?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff, Slight Smut

CW: Slight Smut so I'll say NSFW // messy kisses, hickies, brief implication of oral sex

——— 

Luffy:

So greedy, probably the greediest kisser in history. Uses lots of tongue, too. Grabs you by the hair and jerks your head back so he can better shove his tongue down your throat. The sloppiest kisser known to man, not that anyone would ever know. He always gives you sweet pecks when there are others around that leave them unaware of just how hot and heavy it gets behind closed doors. Gets annoyed if you try to kiss all over his face and bats you away, but if you want to rile him up, this is most definitely the way to go. 

Zoro:

His kisses are a bit lazy, but deep. Also lots of tongue, to the point he’s used tongue when kissing you on the cheek without even realizing. Takes kissing you very seriously, gets grumpy if you two haven’t made out a little bit during the day, expects to make out with you at bedtime. If you try pulling away before he’s had his fill, he’ll tell you to stop and put a big, calloused hand on your cheek to pull your lips back to his. His eyes actually roll into the back of his head when you kiss his chest and shoulders. 

Sanji:

Always starts out sweet, mostly because he’s paralyzed by the fact that you’re kissing him. Even if you’ve been in a relationship for years, pressing your lips into his makes him freeze because he’s worried that if he moves, his heart will explode. As he gets used to it, he’ll gingerly place his hands on your cheek, maybe even experiment with tongue. He can’t get enough of your kisses, but he also lets out a breath when you stop kissing him because he can finally breathe again. Actually lost it one time when you kissed his knuckles. 

Ace:

Usually pretty slow, savoring every bit, but that doesn’t mean the kisses are sweet or soft. They’re deep, the kind that devolve into almost pure tongue. He’ll put his hand on your chin and tilt your head up, leaning in like he’s going to press a modest kiss to your lips, only to leave you got and bothered. A very good kisser, too, not even from experience but simply because he has a natural gift. Has a good rhythm, can get you worked up with his hands tied behind his back. Almost always smiles into it. Melts when you’re on your knees and press gentle kisses into his thighs. 

Sabo:

Lots of stolen kisses. They’re quick but heated, the sort that always promise more to come. He’ll catch you in a narrow hallway and pull you around the corner or else into a store room or empty RA classroom for a bit of privacy and shove his tongue down your throat. If he can’t get any privacy, he’ll place a quick kiss on your cheek or temple, so quick nobody else even notices. But you do, and it drives you crazy. Every kiss is like it could be your last, and it feels so incredible you’re determined to have another. Sweet kisses in NSFW places will earn you his unwavering loyalty. 

Law:

Deep and warm, but not very sloppy. It takes a bit for him to use tongue, but when he does, it’s measured. Doesn’t shove his tongue down your throat, just pushes it slightly into your mouth. Pretends to be annoyed if you get sloppy but secretly lives for you biting and licking his ears. So many hand kisses, too. Often catches your hand when you pass each other in the hallway and place a warm kiss against your palm. Will also mutter things into your neck between pressing kisses into the crook of it. Kiss him on the cheek if you want to see him blush.

Kid:

So messy, so sloppy, will definitely bite your lips and tongue. He’s everywhere all at once, going down to your neck to replace any of your hickies that have faded before going back to your swollen lips. What people don’t know (and he’d kill you if you told anyone) is that, when he falls into bed late at night, completely exhausted and smelling of sweat and motor oil (basically his cologne), he gives you the sweetest, softest kisses, pulling back to gently brush his thumb over your lips before leaning in to give you another. He has also, on very late, drunken nights, allowed you to kiss his most sensitive scars.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[auroralwriting]

spencer smut perhaps? he's all shy but the second your lips touch his he snaps?

guilty as sin

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (18+)

you think spencer's too shy to do anything, until he gets a taste of you

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, dirty talk, p-in-v, wrap it before you tap it, sort of dom!spencer, multiple orgasms, spencer is whipped, season seven spencer is implied, soft and fluffy but also a smidgen kinky, spencer’s a gentleman, he’s still a nerd, begging, orgasm denial, he’s also a tease, light praise, it’s smut you get the gist

"Oh, come on? You're seriously going to sit there and tell me nothing happened with Lila Archer?" Emily laughed as she sipped on her beer.

It was a chilly autumn night. Your team had just returned home from a case a few hours prior. You were still dressed in your work clothes, like the rest of our colleagues. Somehow, you were convinced to go to the bar before it got too late into the evening. A sort of celebration that you all had caught the killer so quick with only two casualties. That was rare. Emily had even convinced Hotch to join you all. Since meeting Beth, he'd began to grow out of his shell. It was nice to see him happy again.

The liquor in all of your systems was enough to allow the silly conversations to flow with ease. Seeing as Emily and you had not been on the team when the Lila Archer stalking case was worked on, you had a fair amount of questions.

"You were with Lila Archer, alone, for hours on end," Emily took a sip of her drink as she continued her mini-rant. "and you didn't bang her?"

Derek emitted a slight chuckle, "Well, she did make out with him in the pool."

"The pool? Spence, you dog!" You gasped, quickly following it up with a laugh.

Deep down, this conversation bothered you. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had the biggest crush on Spencer. Or it could have been the way JJ was staring at you, no doubt profiling you. She was the only one who knew of your feelings for the genius. Of course, she was nothing but comforting and supportive. JJ was trying to catch a read on if she should end this conversation before it really got to you.

"I- She initiated it," Spencer weakly defended. "I just, well, kissed her back." The whole table erupted in oohs and laughs.

You kept your longings locked from the man. Kept in faded color, lowercase, locked away inside some secret vault you kept in your heart. It was better this way.

"You don't have it in you to do anything more, my man." Derek slapped Spencer's back. His words, meant to be supportive, just plain were not. "A man of honor, truth, justice, pat-"

"All right, I think we've all had enough to drink tonight." Hotch cut off Derek's drunken ramble. "Let's all make sure to call cabs home."

You grabbed your belongings, just a jacket, purse, and scarf, and stood up along with the rest of your friends. Everyone bid each other goodnight, small hugs passed along. Reaching in your purse, you went to grab the twenty you'd left, just in case. Your purse, however, was seemingly empty, besides a lipstick and your wallet. "Oh, shit." You muttered, having no way to pay for a ride home.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Spencer asked, hearing your call of distress.

Shaking your head, you pursed your lips. "I don't have any cash to get home."

Spencer was quick to reply, "Oh, well why don't you just ride with me? Riding with another person is thirty to fifty percent more safe than being alone, especially while intoxicated. Uh, you can just spend the night, I know you live further away and I'm sure you're tired."

"Thanks, Spence. I'll pay you back," You offered as the two of you walked outside. You felt a chill run up your spine due to the cold, September air.

"It's no problem." Spencer nodded, reaching over to slightly tighten your scarf. The touch of his fingertips on your neck was enough to warm you up completely.

Penelope gave you one last squeeze as you hopped inside the cab with Spencer. The ride would only be fifteen minutes away from his apartment, which wasn't bad.

You stared out the window, watching as it fogged. You dragged your finger over the condensation, drawing yourself a little picture to keep occupied. Your eyes cast up on their own, deciding to focus on the reflection in the window. You were sure glad they did. Spencer was staring at you, unaware that you could see him. His stare sent another round of shivers down your spine.

Always the gentleman, Spencer helped you out of the car once you'd arrived to his apartment. It hit you that you'd actually never been to Spencer's apartment before. You wondered if it looked anything like you'd imagined.

And it was. Exactly as you'd imagined, actually. Dim, warm lights that gave a cozy feeling. He had a brown, leather couch with a green blanket over the top. Books were scattered all over the apartment, but it was done neatly. They were probably organized in a way that would only make sense to Spencer.

"Sorry it's such a mess," Spencer apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not at all," You replied. "I guess you've never seen my place."

Spencer hummed, "I haven't."

Being a good host, Spencer offered to make you some tea. You sat at his island while he poured some water in a kettle to heat up.

"So, you know you can be honest with me, right?" You decided to awkwardly start a conversation. The silence was just not doing it for you.

"Of course I know that," Spencer nodded. His back was turned to you as he prepped your mugs.

You shook off your nerves, "Did you actually not sleep with Lila Archer?"

Spencer turned around at your words. "I didn't sleep with Lila Archer." He confirmed. "If I did, you know Morgan wouldn't stop talking about it for the rest of our lives."

A small chuckle came from you. "He really wouldn't." You mused.

"Plus, she's, uh, not my type." Spencer boldly continued after a pause of silence.

"What is your type?" You asked curiously, heart increasing, a deep hope he said you were his type.

"I don't know." Spencer mumbled.

The kettle began to whistle, you could see Spencer's body physically relax at this. A distraction. He passed you the tea which you graciously thanked him for. The two of you sat in a comforting silence as you drank.

Spencer looked so gorgeous in this way. His hair was a bit disheveled, untamed from the long flight. His eyes held no signs of tiredness. Your case was in California. You'd left this morning. He must've also slept the whole way home. His brown locks mesmerized you. Oh, how you wanted to curl your fingers in them. Not to mention the ghost of stubble on his face. You imagined tracing your fingers over it softly, wishing to feel him shiver under your touch.

Maybe it was the remaining alcohol still in your system, or maybe pining after him wasn't doing it anymore. You don't know what came over you when you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his.

Spencer didn't move, you didn't move. It was an odd standoff. "Spence," You softly mumbled his name. You could see his eyes staring down- oh. At your lips. Somehow, you knew he wouldn't do it You watched the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of nerves.

It was like he couldn't speak. But you knew it the moment you locked eyes again. You'd know that look anywhere; desperation. It was probably gleaming in your eyes, too. You could definitely feel it.

A sudden wave of confidence crashed over you and you felt yourself pushing your lips against Spencer’s. It took him maybe a full second to process what was happening. His large hands came to grab your face, pressing you closer to him. The kiss felt like nothing you’d expected of Spencer. He took control over the situation quickly. He pushed against you hard, slipping his tongue between your slightly parted lips. It was messy, rough, yet filled with such genuine passion it was dizzying.

“Spence,” You pulled back breathlessly. His eyes were filled with something new, something more lustful.

He softly shushed you, hands still on your face, pulling you back in. It was slightly teeth-clashing, hot. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Spencer muttered between kisses, his voice a near whine. “Just couldn’t make the first move.”

Spencer pulled back, rushing around the counter to where you sat. He pushed apart your legs to stand in between them. His fingers grabbed your chin, thumb on it and his first finger under your chin. He gently forced your head to look up to him. His cheeks were flushed, and you assumed yours were a near identical reflection.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer whispered. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“You, I just want you.”

That’s all it took for Spencer to kiss you again. your hands went around his neck to pull off his tie, your hands then moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His worked just as quickly to undo yours.

“Not here,” Spencer muttered, eyes falling to your half-bare chest. “My room’s down the hall.”

With Spencer’s hand in your own, you quickly ran to his bedroom, a soft giggle escaping your lips and how cliché this all felt. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at your amusement. You leapt onto his bed, landing on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair that ended on the back of his head.

“Hi, boy genius.” You smiled, voice soft and warm. It reminded Spencer of a hot vanilla latte, or maybe something like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, warm, delicious.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Spencer replied, thumb rubbing sweetly over your cheek.

You both stared into each others eyes for a moment, taking in the delicacy of the intimate moment. Spencer slowly pushed his lips onto yours. It was the most gentle kiss of the evening, and it reminded you that Spencer wasn’t doing this because he felt like it. No, you were his type. Not Lila, you.

Spencer and you slowly discarded the rest of your clothing, allowing Spencer to slowly drag his fingers over your bare skin, admiring your beauty. “You’re almost as beautiful as Aphrodite,” he muttered. “I would say prettier, but the ancient Greek believed it would curse whomever was called more beautiful because Aphrodite wanted to remain the most beautiful.”

Even during moments like this, you loved Spencer’s rambles. Slowly, Spencer began to kiss all around your jaw, moving down your neck and to your chest. Your hands found his hair as you arched into him. He spent some time licking and sucking on your chest, loving the way you sounded for him, the way you pulled on his hair. He loved the smell of your skin, how soft it felt beneath his lips and tongue.

“Spencer,” you whined, pulling harder on his hair.

The man looked up to you, eyes gleaming as his mouth popped off you with a small pop. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need more,” you replied.

“Like what?” Spencer teased, slowly dragging his finger down your stomach. “Need more here?” He asked, playfully biting at your chest. “Or… here?” Spencer’s fingers trailed over your thigh, slowly moving from the inside to the out.

You groaned, “Oh, there! Please, there!”

Spencer also groaned in reply, “Didn’t take you as a begger,” he muttered. “but I love it.”

Slowly, Spencer moved his finger to your aching core. It slowly ran through your folds, causing you to moan loudly. “Spence,”

“Is this all for me?” Spencer cockily asked, referring to your wetness. You nodded quickly, pulling him down to kiss you once more. As he kissed you, he slid a finger inside, just to the first knuckle to gather some of your slick. He brought it back out and slowly began to circle your clit with it. Pulling back from the kiss, you became a mess of moans, whines, and breathy sounds. Spencer slowly kissed up and down your neck as he played with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “This enough for you, baby?”

“Inside,” you stumble out. “Please, inside me.”

Spencer couldn’t help but give you exactly what you wanted. How could he when you begged so nicely for him? He brought that same finger back inside, plunging it until it reached his final knuckle. Slowly, he began to pump it in and out of you, allowing you grace to adjust to the new object inside you.

“How’s that?” Spencer asked.

“Good, so good,” You babbled.

His finger multiplied and became two. They pumped in and out, adding slight curls to his fingers every now and again. His thumb went back to your clit, slowly rubbing it for added pleasure. “This what you wanted, sweet girl? This what you’ve imagined me doing to you?”

“Yes, yes!” You moaned.

Spencer smiled, “I’m not going to lie, I’ve imagined this moment for the last year.” In any other occasion, you would’ve became bashful at the declaration, but you were already too far gone with the alcohol and pleasure in your system.

It was then Spencer’s fingers hit your soft spot, causing your back to arch. “Oh, baby!” You cried out, grabbing onto the man above you and wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

“There?” He asked.

“Oh, yes! There!” You answered quickly.

Spencer worked his magic, adding another finger as you stretched for him. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to hit you like a sea of stars. Spencer softly shushed you, helping you relax.

“You okay?” Spencer smoothed your hair as he looked at you carefully.

You nodded, “Please, Spence. I want you.”

Spencer wasted no time lining himself up with you, allowing some of your slick to gather on his hard-on. He pushed in, causing you both to groan in unison.

“Oh my god,” he breathlessly said. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Baby, you feel so good.” His voice raised, slightly higher than normal as he resisted the urge to move until you said so.

“Move, move, please,” You told him. He wasted no time pushing his hips forward and backward, pulling your legs up around his hips once more.

He fit you so good, so right. Everything in that moment felt perfect, like he was made for you. You were made for him. It took Spencer less than a minute to be snapping his hips in record time. You felt like your eyes were going to roll back at the pleasure.

Spencer grabbed your chin the way he did earlier, “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Still reeling from your last orgasm, it took you no time to feel your climax approaching once more. “Spence, I need to come,”

“Not yet,” He groaned. “‘M almost there, baby. Hold on,” You felt a loud whine emit from your throat. The sound of it made Spencer’s dick throb, and you felt it. “Doing so good for me, honey. Oh, god, I’m almost there. So good.”

You were on the brink of orgasm. You weren’t sure if you could hold it any longer. “Spencer!”

“Where?” He asked.

“In, oh my god,” You practically were yelling at this point.

“Let go, baby,” Spencer’s words were all you needed to finally reach that sweet, sweet release again. You felt him spill inside you, the warmth making your orgasm feel even better. Spencer’s arms slowly gave out above you, and he slowly fell onto your chest. He pressed his lips to your hair, a sweet gesture.

The two of you laid there, catching your breath. You played with Spencer’s curls as he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I kind of have a crush on you,” You admitted jokingly, knowing he knew.

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I do too.” He sat up, pulling out of you. You wished he didn’t; it felt so empty. “You gotta go pee, right?”

“Yeah,” You groaned lazily, slowly sitting up. “Hey, you’re gonna take me on a date after this, right?”

Spencer nodded with a smile, “I already have it planned. Now, go use the bathroom so we can fall asleep together.”

You mock saluted at him, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Who knew your night out would lead to the best night of your life?

[reidmarieprentiss]

Always You

Summary: Spencer is in love with his best friend, you already have a boyfriend.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: being called a bitch (not by spencer), sharing hotel rooms, pining, love confessions, break ups, (un)requited feelings, HAPPY ending

Word count: 4.6k

a/n: if your partner of multiple years does not know your basic likes and dislikes ..............

main masterlist

For two years, seven months, two weeks, and six days, you have been a dedicated member of the BAU. For two years, five months, two weeks, and four days, Spencer Reid has been hopelessly in love with you. But for two years and four months, and one week, you’ve been in a relationship with Duncan Cody, the Counter-Terrorism agent who everyone not-so-secretly despises. Spencer was just too late to tell you how he felt, and for two years and four months, that regret has gnawed at him, leaving him haunted by what could have been. 

—

The team was on a case in a small, dusty town in New Mexico, and the accommodations were limited, forcing everyone to double up on rooms. Naturally, you chose to bunk with your best friend, Spencer. But he was unusually tense about the arrangement.

“Hey, JJ, can we switch?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

JJ looked up from her phone, puzzled. “Huh? Why? I thought you liked rooming with Y/N.”

Spencer swallowed, trying to keep his voice low and steady. Usually, he did love sharing a room with you—it was comfortable, familiar. But the oppressive heat of New Mexico had driven you to wear lighter, more revealing clothes, and Spencer had been struggling with the sight of you all day. The thought of what you might wear to bed, or worse, the possibility that you might wear nothing at all, had his mind spinning and his temperature rising.

“Yeah, no, I do. It’s just… I thought you might want a chance to room with her instead of Hotch,” he stammered, attempting to sound casual.

JJ smiled warmly, shaking her head. “Aww, thanks, Spence, but I don’t mind. Hotch and I usually just talk about the boys until we pass out. It’s actually been pretty nice.”

Spencer forced a tight smile, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten as JJ cheerfully dismissed his suggestion. He could hardly blame her; in fact, he would normally jump at the chance to room with you. But the idea of spending the night so close to you, especially in the sweltering New Mexico heat, had his nerves frayed.

Back in the room, you were already making yourself comfortable, tossing your bag onto the bed with a carefree smile. "It's like a sauna out there," you groaned, fanning yourself with your hand. "I might just sleep in my underwear tonight."

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing at the mental image that followed your innocent comment. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. "Y-yeah, it's definitely... warm."

You flashed him a grin, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. "At least the AC is working, right?"

"Right," Spencer echoed, swallowing hard. This was going to be a long night.

“Do you mind if I take the first shower? I’ll be quick, I want to get right to bed; I’m beat,” you asked, glancing up from your go-bag as you rummaged through it for your toiletries.

Spencer, trying to keep his cool, nodded quickly. “Ye–yeah, that’s fine.”

You smiled, seemingly unaware of the effect you had on him. “Oh, and which bed do you want?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Um, whichever is fine.”

“Thank god, I want the one by the window. Thanks, Spence!” You flashed him a grateful grin before grabbing your things and heading off to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Spencer exhaled a breath he’d been holding. It was wrong to fantasize about his best friend, especially in the very not-safe-for-work way that he often did, and especially when you had a serious partner. But he couldn’t help it. You were the kindest, most genuine person he knew, and the fact that you were also the most stunning person, inside and out, only made it that much harder for him to keep his feelings in check.

Minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, keeping your promise to be quick. However, Spencer’s pulse skyrocketed when he saw you—dressed in nothing but your underwear and a thin tank top that left little to the imagination. He could feel his face flush as he quickly averted his gaze.

“I’m all done, Spence. Shower’s all yours,” you said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“Uh, thanks!” Spencer blurted out, nearly tripping over his own feet as he shot up from the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. He knew there was only one solution to his current predicament—a long, cold shower.

Once both of you were settled in bed with the lights off, you couldn’t resist starting a conversation. Sharing a room with Spencer always reminded you of those childhood sleepovers—giggly, fun, and safe. The quiet darkness seemed to invite whispered secrets, the kind that felt easier to share when you couldn’t see each other’s faces.

“I think Duncan is going to break up with me,” you whispered, your voice just loud enough for Spencer to hear, but soft enough that it felt protected by the shadows.

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

You hesitated for a moment, as if hearing the words out loud made them more real. “I hadn’t said it out loud yet. It sounds crazy now that I have.”

“Why do you think he’s going to break up with you?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle, though he could feel a tightness in his chest.

You sighed deeply, the weight of your thoughts evident. “He’s been pulling away recently. Fewer date nights, less texting during the day… I haven’t spoken to him on the phone once since we got here.” You paused, gathering the courage to continue. “We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Spencer felt a sharp pang of something unpleasant in his stomach at that comment—jealousy, frustration, regret—he wasn’t sure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Thanks, Reid,” you replied, your tone quiet and resigned.

For a long moment, silence hung between you, thick and heavy, as if neither of you knew what to say next. Just when you began to drift off, almost convinced that sleep was pulling you under, you heard Spencer’s voice, low and tender, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“If he lets you go, he is the single biggest imbecile on this planet.”

You blinked in the darkness, half-convinced you were imagining things. Did Spencer really just say that? But before you could ask, the silence returned, leaving you to wonder if it was just a dream after all.

—

No more confessions were made during the case, and within a few days, the team was back home. But for Spencer, the case hadn’t been the only thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you might be single soon. The possibility gnawed at him—would he have a chance? Could he ever muster the courage to tell you how he really felt? Who knows?

What he did know, however, was that you had been using him as a frequent escape from your shared apartment with Duncan. Spencer didn’t mind; in fact, he cherished every moment with you.

“Hey, Spence, do you want to order pizza and watch a movie tonight?” you asked casually as the workday began to wind down.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Spencer replied, his smile brightening his features.

As soon as you walked away, Derek strolled over to Spencer’s desk, a look of mild concern on his face. “Uh, Reid?”

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, glancing up at him.

“I thought you had a date tonight?”

Spencer blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“With that girl from the post office?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s eyes widened as he realized he had completely forgotten about the date. “I completely forgot.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, surprised. Spencer never forgot anything. “Listen, Reid. I know we all have our feelings about Duncan… but be careful, okay?”

Spencer frowned slightly, unsure what Derek was getting at. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just—she’s hurting right now, but what happens when they make up? I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Spencer’s mind began to race as he processed Derek’s words. “We’re just friends, Derek. I’m just supporting her in her time of need.”

Derek gave him a look that was equal parts sympathetic and skeptical. “I hope you’re right, Pretty Boy.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Was Derek right? Was he setting himself up for heartache? He didn’t know the answers, but one thing was certain—he was in too deep to turn back now.

—

You were sitting on Spencer's couch, enjoying a slice of pizza, when his phone started ringing on the coffee table. Since Spencer was in the bathroom, you reached over to grab it, assuming it might be work-related. But the screen flashed a name you didn't recognize: Amanda. Who's Amanda? you wondered, feeling a twinge in your stomach that you quickly tried to dismiss.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom, you waved his phone with a teasing smile, trying to mask the discomfort you felt. "Who's Amanda, Spence?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

His face dropped instantly, a look of confusion and then realization washing over him. "What?"

"You got a call from someone named Amanda," you repeated, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer's shoulders sagged as he took the phone from you. "Oh shoot, I forgot to cancel our date tonight. She probably thinks I stood her up."

Your heart sank a little. "Wait, Reid, you had a date tonight? Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone home!"

The mix of surprise and a slight sense of betrayal hung in the air. Spencer looked genuinely apologetic, his eyes wide with concern. "I... I just forgot. With everything going on, it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here if you had other plans."

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. "It's okay, I just... didn't realize." Inside, you were conflicted, feeling foolish for how comfortable you’d become in his space, reminding yourself once again that you were just friends, despite the years of ignoring that pit in your stomach.

—

The entire team had taken note of the significant amount of time you and Spencer had been spending together, and they were all too aware of his long-standing crush on you. Their concern for their friend was palpable, which made the next rooming arrangement all the more telling. When the opportunity arose again for team members to share rooms, JJ immediately claimed you as her roommate. You caught the unmistakable look of relief that Spencer sent her way. What the hell?

That night, as you settled into the room with JJ, the question that had been nagging at you finally spilled out. "Why did Spencer seem relieved not to room with me? Did I do something wrong?"

JJ looked at you with her soft, comforting eyes, shaking her head gently. "Oh, I don’t think so," she reassured you in her calming tone. "Last time he asked me to switch, I think he just wanted a break," she added, her words kind but straightforward.

"Got it." The words felt like a punch to your gut. Your best friend didn’t want to room with you? The thought made you feel nauseous, or maybe it was the urge to cry that was overwhelming you.

"Is everything okay?" JJ noticed the tears brimming in your eyes.

"Yeah," you waved her off with a forced chuckle. "I’m on my period, just overly emotional," you laughed it off, masking the true turmoil you felt.

JJ immediately responded with a warm smile. "Aw, honey, I have pain killers and tampons if you need anything!"

"Thanks, JJ," you muttered, grateful for her kindness but still reeling from the emotional sting of the evening's revelations.

—

After the case, you found yourself withdrawing from Spencer, the sting of feeling like an imposition too sharp to ignore. Instead, you poured your energy into mending the fraying edges of your relationship with Duncan. Spencer, on the other hand, was left puzzled by your sudden distance, unable to pinpoint the cause of this shift in your dynamic. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of a faint hickey peeking out from under your collar that he understood—or thought he did.

“So you fixed things with Duncan?” he asked one day, trying to sound casual as he joined you for coffee in the breakroom.

“Yup. I’ll be out of your hair now, don’t worry,” you replied with a tight smile, and without waiting for his response, you walked out, leaving Spencer bewildered in your wake.

“What was that about?” JJ inquired, having witnessed the interaction from her spot by the vending machine.

“Not sure, she’s been giving me the cold shoulder since the last case,” Spencer murmured, frowning deeply as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

“Oh, I might know why,” JJ said, her voice lowering slightly.

“Why?” Spencer looked up, his interest piqued.

“Well, she knows you didn’t want to room with her,” JJ revealed, her expression sympathetic.

“What? You told her?” Spencer’s voice was a mix of surprise and slight irritation.

“She asked, Spence. She was really upset about the whole thing too. You should talk to her,” JJ advised, her tone earnest.

Spencer nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. I will,” he agreed, his mind already racing with what he would say to you, hoping to mend the unintentional hurt he had caused.

—

"Y/N, can we talk?" Spencer caught up with you just as you were about to step into the elevator on a quiet Friday evening. The office had already emptied, leaving you both as the last on the floor.

"Sure, what's up?" you asked, pausing to face him, noting the serious look on his face.

Spencer opened his mouth to explain the hotel room situation, his mind racing for the right words that wouldn't betray his deeper feelings. "Well, you see, it's about the hotel room situation on the last case, and I just—uh, I mean, when we were assigned to room together, I found myself in a bit of a predicament, or rather, a series of considerations that perhaps aren't usual, or rather aren't typically problematic in ordinary circumstances, but given the nature of—"

"Spencer, it's fine. You don't have to room with me on every case. I'm sorry I never asked first," you interjected, misreading his hesitation.

"No, no, I want to room with you," he blurted out, more forcefully than he intended.

"Then why did you ask JJ to switch?" you asked, your confusion evident.

Spencer felt trapped between his desire to comfort you and his fear of making things awkward. "Um...it was just really warm on that case, and I—I didn't want to see you in your underwear," he admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"What? Spencer, you could have just told me. Oh my god! I was walking around in my underwear!" you exclaimed, half-amused and half-mortified.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking genuinely apologetic.

"No, Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Is it because I have a boyfriend?" you asked, your tone laced with concern.

Spencer scoffed at the mention of Duncan. "No."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, your gaze steady on his.

Caught with no more excuses, Spencer knew he was cornered. His heart raced with the realization that there was no turning back. "Because I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

—

Spencer Reid's confession echoed in your mind, each word reverberating through your thoughts like a bell that couldn’t be unrung. Spencer Reid is in love with me? The realization sent your thoughts into a tumultuous spiral as you drove home, the familiar streets blurring past. You considered pulling over, needing a moment to process the swirling chaos in your head, but you pushed on, driven by a need to just get home.

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the atmosphere struck you immediately. It was dimmer than usual, the air filled with a scent that was distinctly not yours. The smell of soy candles—a scent you distinctly disliked—mingled with the scent of red roses, another thing you didn't care for.

"Duncan?" Your voice was hesitant, almost wary as you set your things by the door and walked deeper into the dimly lit space.

"In here, babe," Duncan called out from the living room.

Following his voice, you found him standing in the center of a meticulously staged scene, surrounded by the roses and candles. The setup was so unlike what you would have wanted, so disconnected from who you were.

"Uhhh, what’s going on here?" you asked, your tone a mix of confusion and a growing sense of disconnect.

Duncan turned to you with a smile that didn’t feel genuine, the ambiance around him feeling more like a set piece than a gesture of genuine affection. "Y/N," he began, his voice taking on a rehearsed quality that made your heart sink even further. "I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I just really think it’s time we take the next step together. What do you say?"

The words, meant to be romantic, felt hollow and oddly generic, as if they were pulled from a script rather than from his heart. Standing there, with Spencer's heartfelt confession still burning bright in your mind, Duncan’s display felt even more jarring.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows as Duncan's unexpected question hung in the air. “What?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

The word slipped out before you could even think, a reflex born of surprise and clarity. “No.” It was firm, decisive, echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Duncan’s face crumbled, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. “What?” he echoed again, his voice a blend of disbelief and dismay.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. “Uh, this is just so out of left field. I mean, we have never once talked about marriage.”

Duncan’s response was quick, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “But, babe, we live together,” he reasoned, as if cohabitation alone was a precursor to marriage.

“So? You basically ignored me for a whole month,” you countered, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you.

“Right, but then we fixed things, so we know we work together,” he argued, trying to paint a picture of a resolved partnership.

You couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Solid logic,” you replied sarcastically, the absurdity of the conversation becoming more apparent.

Duncan's frustration was palpable. “Are you really being sarcastic right now?”

“Yeah, and I wish you were too,” you shot back, wishing the whole scenario was just a bad joke.

Duncan’s next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Fuck you, bitch.”

You froze for a moment, the harshness of his words striking deep. “What did you just call me?” Your voice was calm, almost eerily so, as you fixed your gaze on him.

“A bitch,” he repeated, his voice cold and hard.

“Get out,” you said, your tone final. You stood up, your posture rigid with resolve.

“No, I live here too,” he protested, but there was a waver in his voice now.

“Whose name is on the lease? Get out before I call my team. Do you want Derek and Emily to escort you out?” Your words were a clear threat, backed by the certainty that you would follow through if needed.

Duncan hesitated, his anger giving way to a flicker of fear as he considered your words. Then, in a sudden burst of spite, he hurled the ring box at you. “Keep it, I don’t want your bad juju.”

With that, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a force that seemed to shake the apartment. Silence descended, heavy and absolute, as you stood there, the ring box at your feet, a stark reminder of the relationship that had just disintegrated before your eyes.

—

Spencer Reid had cried more times in his life than he cared to count. He cried when he was bullied as a child, when his father walked out on him and his mother, when he made the heartbreaking decision to place his mom in a care facility. He cried when he was kidnapped, when Emily died—or so he thought. The list of tears was long, but today, he added another entry: the day he told his best friend he was in love with her, only for her to stand there as still as a statue, silent and unmoving, until his heart shattered so completely that he had to leave before she saw him break down.

Now, he lay in bed, the lights off, his eyes puffy and wet, replaying every scenario he wished had happened instead of the painful reality he’d experienced. He sniffled, whimpered, and curled into himself, desperate for a do-over, a second chance to make it right. But life wasn’t that kind.

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his misery. He ignored it, too consumed by his sorrow to entertain company. The knocking persisted, three more times, before it finally ceased. Relief was short-lived, however, as his phone began to ring. Without checking the caller ID, Spencer answered, his voice sharp and uncharacteristically harsh. “What?”

“Spence, it’s me. Please open the door.”

He’d never moved so fast in his life. Leaping out of bed in such a hurry, he promptly tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor with a thud. “Ouch,” he muttered, pushing himself up with a wince. Ignoring the ache, he scrambled to the door, swinging it open with such force that it nearly bounced back. His heart clenched at the sight of you standing there, your expression filled with concern as you took in his tear-streaked face.

“Hi, Spence,” you greeted softly, your voice gentle as if trying not to scare him away.

“Hi,” he croaked out, barely holding himself together.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your tone tentative.

He nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, you turned to face him, clearly gathering your thoughts.

“So, uh, I’m just going to talk. You can listen or interrupt, whatever you want,” you offered, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer nodded again, still too emotionally raw to form coherent words.

You took a deep breath. “Duncan proposed to me.” The words hung in the air, a bombshell that detonated in Spencer’s chest. His heart broke all over again, shattering into a billion pieces. “I said no.”

His head shot up so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. “What?”

“Yeah, it was bad. He had red roses and soy candles set up in the living room.” Spencer’s nose scrunched in distaste; he knew how much you hated those things. “And when he left, he called me a bitch and threw the ring at me.”

Spencer’s fists clenched, a protective anger surging through him. “I’ll kill him.”

“Nah, someone else will. I’m sure of it,” you replied with a small, rueful smile.

His anger softened, replaced by confusion. “So…what are you doing here?”

You looked at him with determination and vulnerability. “What ring would you buy me?”

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, taken aback by the sudden question.

“If you were to propose to me, say tomorrow. What kind of ring would you buy for me?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

“A round cut diamond with a thin silver band,” he answered without hesitation, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“I’m in love with you too,” you confessed, your voice steady, but your eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Wait, what?” Spencer was incredulous, his mind racing to process what you’d just said. But even as his heart tried to catch up, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Duncan got me a thick gold ring with a pear-cut lab-grown pink diamond,” you explained, shaking your head at the mismatch.

“Did he know you at all?” Spencer asked, the smile growing despite the shock still coursing through him.

“Apparently not. I’m going to kiss you now,” you declared, stepping closer, leaving Spencer no time to overthink, no time to doubt—just enough time to feel the world tilt as your lips met his.

It was gentle at first, a tentative brush of lips, as if testing the waters. But then something shifted, a dam breaking as all the unspoken feelings, the years of longing and missed chances, came rushing to the surface. Spencer responded in kind, his hands lifting to cradle your face with a tenderness that belied the storm inside him. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped in the heat of the moment.

He poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss—all the love, all the fear, all the hope. The kiss deepened, growing in intensity, but it remained sweet, a quiet revelation of the love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly trembling, your foreheads rested against each other’s, both of you taking a moment to simply exist in the aftermath of the kiss. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with wonder and relief.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“Better late than never,” he said, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the last of the tension between you. With your hand still resting on his chest, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart, mirroring your own.

Spencer’s hand slipped from your cheek to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours as if afraid to let go. “So, where do we go from here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of hopefulness.

“Wherever you want, Spence,” you replied, your smile reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with affection and mischief, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I never want to room with Hotch again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. “Just me?”

Spencer’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he responded with quiet sincerity. “It’s always been you.”

The words hung in the air, filled with all the meaning and truth he had held back for so long. Before you could fully process the weight of his confession, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second, every sensation.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s embrace. This kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a confirmation of everything that had been unspoken until now.

When you finally parted, both of you breathless but smiling, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. And that was perfectly okay.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Pairing: Sylus x reader

Tags: mostly fluff, some suggestive content

A/N: LMAO ik I’ve been MIA forever a lot happened BUT lnds has restarted my brain rot so I’m boutta get REAL ANNOYING HAHAHAHA this game has me in a chokehold

Sylus the man that you are 😩

Sylus had been gone for a few days. It shouldn’t have bothered you but it did.

You didn’t know where he went or when he’d come back. Mephisto was gone, even Luke and Kieran had disappeared.

It didn’t feel the same going out into the N109 zone without your second shadow. You haunted the Onychinus base. More specifically Sylus’ wing of the base.

You couldn’t stop yourself from walking into his room one exceptionally lonely night. Or from going into his closet and sneaking his soft grey sweater that you’ve only seen him wear maybe once. It smelled like him.

There was something blossoming between the two of you. Your distaste for him had slowly dissolved. After everything he did to help you it was hard to hate him.

Lately the two of you had become more intimate. There were more soft touches, sneaking glances, many almost kisses but there was some sort of barrier, a line both of you seemed hesitant to cross.

Wearing nothing but his sweater and some underwear, as it went almost down to your knees, you curled up in his bed. It made you blush to think about the time you were trying to steal the brooch from him. After he had evaded his handcuffs and pinned you to the bed, you two had been so close to doing something.

It quickly got ruined when Luke and Kieran came barreling in and then everyone was blushing. Sylus some how kept a nonchalant face.

The softness of his silk sheets and comfortable mattress lulled you to sleep.

Movement in the room started to rouse you. Rubbing your eyes against the soft glow of a lamp, Sylus’ large figure came into view.

“Sorry darling I didn’t mean to wake you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, having a hard time adjusting to the light. Sylus chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

His touch vanished, you squinted trying to see where he went. As your vision cleared, you watched the way his deft hands made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. As he laid it across the chair beside him he turned and made eye contact with you.

A smirk played on his lips as he stalked over to you. He sat down beside your head and cupped your cheek. “Don’t you have your own bed kitten?”

You sleepily giggle, your eyes fluttering closed again. His touch was soothing and warm. “And this sweater looks quite familiar. I think I have one just like it.” His hand left your cheek and went for your exposed thigh.

Sylus massaged the soft skin and slowly you felt the sweater rise with the warmth of his touch as he came to your hip. He gave the area a squeeze before pulling the sweater back down. “Not only do you lay in my bed and steal my clothes but you’re also wearing practically nothing underneath.” A deep laugh sounded from his chest. “Maybe I should leave more often.”

Your eyes opened and your mouth fell into an O. “That’s not nice.” Dramatically you pouted, jutting out your bottom lip. Sylus only smirked and flicked it before standing up and walking into his closet.

He came back out moments later in just his underwear and you couldn’t help but eye him. His steeled abs flexed as he moved about the room. The scars on his skin glowed like stars against the lamp light.

“You’re staring.” His crimson eyes flared a little brighter as he stalked toward you. Your eyes couldn’t help but flick down to the bulge of his underwear.

He laughed as he slid overtop of you and hovered to get a good look at you. Your skin heated against his gaze. The sweater you wore suddenly feeling too hot. As you reached out to touch him he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Bed time for such a sleepy kitten hm?” He stood up and grabbed your hips pulling you to the edge of the bed. Squealing he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You kept a strong grip around his neck as you snuggled into his skin. Sylus always smelled good. It was addicting. One strong arm gripped your ass as he pulled back the blankets on the bed before laying you back down again.

He released you ready to pull away but you kept your grip around his neck, refusing to let him go. Sylus chuckled, the sound vibrating deliciously throughout your body.

“Come on darling. I’ll lay with you.” Huffing you started to release him. Quickly you planted a kiss on his cheek before he could pull too far away. He kissed your forehead in return. Hesitating at the way you licked your lips but he still pulled away.

Sylus flicked off the light. Dousing the room in completely darkness. You couldn’t see him but you could hear him walk around the bed and pull back the blankets. You stayed facing away from him as he got settled.

There was a moment of silence no movement or words. His hands came out of no where, gripping your hips and pulling you back against him. A giggle passed your lips, he tightly wrapped himself around you, resting his chin on the top of your head.

You squirmed in his hold, pushing your ass against him as innocently as you could.

“If you keep doing that, the last thing you’ll be doing is sleeping sweetheart.” His voice brushed your ear sending a chill down your spine.

You didn’t feel like sleeping anyway.