#he has never even told me it's okay with him or that he still loves me or any of the standard platitudes

[reidsbabyhoney]

second chances | s.r.

the one where Spence regrets everything that’s happened in the past six months.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.3k a/n: this took forever too write because every time i tried writing it i absolutely hated how it came out. i’m hoping i gave them the ending they deserved and that you all love it! also please let me know if there's any warnings I should add.

pt.1 masterlist spencer reid masterlist

The entire car ride home was a blur, and you mean that literally. The tears that coated your eyes never seemed to stop even after you arrived back home. The dull hum of the engine couldn't seem to drown out the noise-deafening pounding in your chest.

You couldn't help but replay every moment from tonight on a loop, the gut wrenching realization that Spencer moved on so quickly, so easily. It felt as if your entire world had been tilted on its axis and you were left to live in a reality that didn't make any sense.

Maya. You hadn't been able to look at her without a sharp pang of jealousy making its way though your chest. The way she spoke to Spencer, so casually, so possessively like you were going to take her from him at any second. But in reality that's what she did to you.

You told yourself that you were fine, that you had enough time to move on and get over that relationship, but its clear you were lying to yourself. Every moment you were in his presence were the few moments of bliss where you could pretend everything with him was normal.

You had loved him. You still did. The harsh truth of that might've hurt worse than tonight's events.

Once you finally arrived home you didn't bother to go inside right away. Turning off the car you sit staring at the dashboard, trying to ground yourself in something, anything but the whirlwind of emotions going on in your mind right now.

As your about to open the door, your phone buzzes in the passenger seat. Picking it up you see it's a message from Penelope.

From: Penny

Are you okay, sweetheart? If you need anything I'm just a phone call away. Please don't let his stupidity ruin your night, we all know how much of an amazing person you are!

A small smile painted its way across your features, though drained and not very genuine.

You quickly texted her back letting her know you were okay and just needed some time to process everything. With that you finally got out of the car making your way inside, preparing for another sleepless night.

-

You had taken the day off. Well technically you didn't request it, it was given to you by Hotch. The team had just gotten back from a long gruesome case and he decided that everyone needed some time to decompress.

It had been a couple weeks since 'The Incident' as Emily has so kindly labeled it. Since then the unkind thoughts hadn't left your mind.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch barely able to focus on the movies playing on the TV. Your mind was a storm of thoughts that blossomed from that night, though not into flowers, more so like weeds that didn't want to fully be pulled from the ground.

You replayed every word he said that night. Every glance, subtle expression. There was no warmth in his tone, nothing that suggested the gentle, awkward genius who had found solace in your presence.

You knew it hurt, but what hurt more was the realization that Spencer wasn't the only thing you lost that night. You were mourning the loss of what had been,  what could've been.

-

The next morning, you showed up at the office. The decision half-hearted, debating on requesting for another day out of the crowded space. You're not sure what you were expecting, for something to just change overnight, or if you needed to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

You walked in to see the team gathered around the bullpen. Derek was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly to JJ, while Penelope was chattering away in her usual high-energy manner. They all seemed fine, but you knew they could feel your emotions. You had always worn them on your sleeve, and the team was nothing if not perceptive.

And Spencer? He was nowhere to be found.

Your heart dropped, but you quickly masked the disappointment with a neutral expression. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him right now, not with everything else going on.

As you slid into your chair, you could feel their eyes on you every now and then, but none of them dared to speak up. It was only when the elevator doors opened that you saw Spencer walking toward the bullpen. His usual awkward stride was missing, replaced by something… hesitant. His eyes briefly met yours, but instead of the usual spark of familiarity, there was something different. Something strained.

He was carrying a large coffee cup in his hand, but it seemed like he was just holding it for the sake of holding it.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that had been present in his eyes. You barely met his gaze, your stomach doing somersaults at the sight of him.

“Spence,” you said, offering a forced smile. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, but you couldn’t let yourself show it.

“I, uh, can we talk?” he asked, his words tumbling out in that way that was so quintessentially Spencer.

Your gaze flickered around the room, but you didn’t want to make a scene. “Now’s not the best time.”

He nodded, but you could see the disappointment in his face. He hesitated for a moment before turning away and heading to his own desk. You didn’t watch him go, how could you?

-

Hours passed, and the tension between you and Spencer lingered like a heavy fog. Every now and then, you caught his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away.

You were exhausted. Your mind was scattered. And when you finally gathered the courage to step away from your desk to grab a coffee, it was then that Spencer decided to approach you.

“y/n,” he called out gently, his voice softer now, less urgent.

You paused mid-step, not sure how to respond. His presence was overwhelming, and even though you wanted to retreat, you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding him forever.

Turning around slowly, you nodded. “Spencer.”

“Can we talk?” he asked again, this time with more sincerity in his voice.

You studied him carefully, unsure whether you could trust yourself to keep calm. “Do we really need to? I think we’ve said everything we need to say.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have. At least not yet.” He paused, looking down at his feet. “Please.”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, and for the first time since that night, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. You didn’t know what had changed, but you knew it was something important. You had loved Spencer for so long, and maybe it was time to let him explain himself.

“Alright,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s talk.”

-

The conference room door clicked shut behind you, and for a brief moment, you felt like you were trapped. The silence was thick, oppressive. Spencer stood by the window, facing away from you, his shoulders tense, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The space between you felt impossibly wide, like an ocean stretching between two distant shores.

You wanted to scream. To demand answers. To ask why. But you couldn’t, because the truth was, you were too scared of what might come next. The flood of emotions coursing through you felt like too much to bear. And the pain? The pain was undying.

Finally, Spencer spoke, but his voice was soft, almost trembling. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his words breaking the stillness in the room, but they did little to ease the ache in your chest.

He turned slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I’m so sorry. For the way I ended things... for pushing you away.”

His gaze finally met yours, but there was no spark there, no warmth. Just an empty, hollow ache, the same one you felt. The distance between you both was palpable.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was giving you space to breathe… to move on. To get away from the chaos that’s always been a part of my life.”

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. Protecting you? Was that what this was? Did he think he was being noble by choosing to shut you out?

“You pushed me away, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with the rawness of everything you were holding in. “I didn’t ask for space. I didn’t ask for you to shut me out. I was here… I've always been here.” The anger, the hurt, it all poured out of you, and you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “I just needed you to be honest with me. To tell me the truth, not hide behind your fears.”

His face faltered at your words, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble under the weight of your pain. “I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking as if he hadn’t even meant to say it. “I was scared that if I kept you close, I would ruin everything. That I’d hurt you more. I thought if I pulled away, you’d be better off without me. But all I’ve done is hurt you even more.”

The truth of his words hit you like a wave, but it didn’t bring relief. Instead, it left you feeling raw, exposed. How could he think that? How could he think leaving was the solution? You had been through so much together. But the thought of him choosing to walk away, of him choosing her, it crushed you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Spencer,” you whispered, the tears you had been holding back threatening to spill over. Your heart was breaking, the weight of everything that had happened too much to carry anymore.

“You didn’t just break my heart… you broke me. I was waiting for you. I thought... I thought we could work through this. But you didn’t give me a chance. And now you’re asking me to just… what? To just forget?”

Spencer’s face crumpled as if your words were a physical blow, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He was broken too, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable, scared even. “I don’t want you to forget,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I just want a chance. A chance to prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I’m not the one who left you… that I’m the one who’s ready to fight for us.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping before you could stop it. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore, Spencer. I don’t know if I can trust you after everything.”

He stepped forward, his hands trembling as they reached out toward you. “Please,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’ve spent every second of the last six months thinking about how much I screwed up, wishing I could go back and do things differently. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, erratic, unsure whether it was breaking or yearning for something—anything that might bring you peace. You knew Spencer had made mistakes, but he wasn’t the only one at fault. You had kept yourself at a distance too, not because you wanted to, but because you were terrified of what this might mean. Of what letting him back in might cost you.

“I’m scared, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m scared that if I let you back in, you’ll leave again. That you’ll hurt me again.”

He closed the distance between you, standing just inches away now. You could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the way his face was etched with guilt and regret. He reached for your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him. You let him hold you, as fragile as it felt, as broken as you both were in that moment.

“I won’t leave again,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. I’ll fight for you. For us. I’ll fight for as long as it takes.”

The raw honesty in his voice, his words full of pain, of hope. It made something inside you snap. The walls you had built around your heart were crumbling, piece by piece. You didn’t know if you could ever go back to the way things were, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something better.

“I’m not asking for things to be perfect,” Spencer continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, the small touch making your pulse race. “I just need you to know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze then, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, but this time they weren’t just born from hurt. There was something else there. Something like hope. “I’m not ready to forgive you yet, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to see where this goes. If you really mean it.”

His face softened, the tension easing just a fraction. “I do,” he whispered, his hand still gently holding yours. “I mean it. More than anything.”

And as he pulled you into his arms, you let yourself hold on, just for a moment. You weren’t sure where this would lead, or if you could ever truly forget the pain. But for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone. And maybe that was enough.

-

It was one of those quiet mornings that felt like a small slice of heaven. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow through the windows, and the only sound in the apartment was the rhythmic hum of the coffee maker.

The air was still cool from the night before, but the warmth of the morning sun slowly crept in, filling the room with a gentle golden light.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, your bare feet tucked under you, a mug of coffee warming your hands. Your hair was messy from sleep, but you didn’t mind.

You had gotten used to waking up next to Spencer every morning, and the sight of him, still half-asleep, a little rumpled, and incredibly endearing, was one of the small things you’d grown to cherish.

Spencer was at the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he flipped through a pile of paperwork. The clutter of his case files and textbooks was a normal part of your life now, but the way he had rearranged things over the past few months, more neatly than ever before, was a quiet testament to how much he had changed. He wasn’t perfect, but he was working on it. He was trying, and that was all that mattered.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked up from your coffee, meeting his soft brown eyes. He was still wearing his sleep-filled smile, the one that only appeared after a good night’s sleep, when he wasn’t overthinking or buried under a pile of cases.

“I was wondering… would you mind helping me with something later?” His voice was tentative, but there was something else there now, something more confident. He wasn’t afraid to ask for help anymore.

You’d noticed that shift in him over the past few months, the way he wasn’t afraid to lean on you, to let you in when before he would have kept his distance. It had taken time, but now, when he needed you, he knew how to reach for you without hesitation.

“Of course,” you said with a smile, your heart swelling at how far you’d come since that difficult conversation. “What do you need help with?”

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, glancing down at the paperwork. His fingers hovered over the pile, as though unsure how to ask. “I’m working on this case… and I just need to go over the details. I know you’ve got that… special way of seeing things,” he said with a playful grin, using the affectionate nickname you’d earned after countless cases where your instincts had been spot on. “You’re better at spotting the details than I am.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, playfully teasing. “Oh, so now I’m the expert, huh? I thought you were the genius here.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he shook his head, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from you. He didn’t even try to hide the fondness in his gaze as he looked at you. “You are the expert,” he said softly. “And I’m just the guy who gets to learn from you every day.”

The words lingered between you, warm and comfortable. You reached across the table, brushing your fingers over his hand in a simple, affectionate gesture. A small smile played on your lips as you felt his fingers intertwine with yours, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hold anything back. There was no fear of losing each other, no worry that the cracks would reopen. Everything—every single piece of you—had found a place next to him, and for once, it felt right.

“I’ll help you,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Just like I always do.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet sense of gratitude. You knew, deep down, that he wasn’t just thankful for your help with the case. He was thankful for everything—for your patience, for your trust, for the fact that despite all the mistakes and misunderstandings, you were still here. You had come through the storm together, stronger than before, and you could feel it in every touch, in every glance. There was an unspoken understanding between you now. A promise that no matter what came your way, you would face it as a team.

“You know,” Spencer said, his voice low, “I never thought I’d have something like this. Something so... real. So comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had plagued your earlier months together. “I think we’ve finally figured out how to make it work,” you said, your voice steady and full of warmth. “No more pushing each other away. No more running. Just… us.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze softening as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. “I’m not running anymore,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice bringing a warmth to your chest. “I’m staying. For good.”

There was no need for more words. You leaned across the table, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and full of meaning. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desperation, but one of quiet comfort. One of trust and affection. One that said we’re here, and that was enough.

As you pulled away, you saw the same sense of contentment reflected in his eyes, a peacefulness that had taken months to build but was finally here. You didn’t need anything else, because with Spencer, you had everything you’d ever wanted.

The coffee and case files were long forgotten as the two of you sat there, simply enjoying each other’s company. There was no rush to get to the day, no lingering doubt or fear. Just the warmth of his presence beside you, and the certainty that no matter what the future held, you’d face it together.

all notes and reposts are appreciated!! loving you always xx

divider: @fairytopea

tags: @floralemi12 @laviatia-blog @reggieswriter @hazzarules @spencerreidsglasses @notarobotipromise @gghostwriter @taygrls @powerline-valley @october-baby25 @forevermorepassionate

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[absolutepokemontrash]

Ignore how late I am but I saw the post and I feel the the need to complain about this. A squick I have when it comes to fics and headcanons is when Belphie is completely villainized while the rest of the brothers hate him with their whole being while also depicted as perfect. And while that's annoying on its own, whenever this happens everyone else in the work also gets fucked over.

I specifically mean works where Belphie gets reduced to "the cold and callous villain who killed MC" and that's it. No acknowledging any circumstance around or about why he did it and making being manipulative his entire personality trait. And the rest of the brothers hate him for killing and manipulating MC, which I would understand more if this didn't so frequently come with them acting like they've never even hurt MC before.

The brothers love and protect MC by lesson 16, yeah, but they also almost put MC six feet under on multiple occasions themselves and only just got used to seeing humans as equals. They would be upset with Belphie for killing MC, but they wouldn't hate or never forgive him because they've been brothers long before MC got there and it would be hypocritical.

And this causes the rest of the brothers to act extremely out of character as well. Especially when it comes to why the brothers can't forgive him. Sometimes the brothers will hate Belphie for "killing Lilth" or hurting her descendant which is??? Or they'll treat MC like they're a replacement for Belphie, which is also???? And in these situations, MC acts like they're the antagonist of a replacement AU.

For some reason in works where Belphie's personality or lore gets tossed out of the window, so does everyone else's and both of these are so nerve grating to me. Okay, done complaining.

I have so many thoughts and opinions on Belphie and the fandom’s treatment of him, that I could deadass write a peer reviewed thesis on him…

TLDR: The mischaracterization of Belphie in the fandom is so rampant that I’m convinced some people writing him or complaining about him haven’t played the game.

Just to get this out of the way, Belphie’s character redemption arc suffered due to the 20 lesson limit in season one. His grand evil plan got put into motion in lesson 16, and we had to spend the entirety of lesson 17 (and into lesson 18) turning him into a viable Husbando (tm), therefore, his redemption and development was incredibly rushed.

Onto the good stuff 😈

My take on Obey Me and the brothers as a whole is that while yes, the writers have been woobifying them a whole lot, a LOT of their “toned down” behaviours can literally just be explained by them not having a *reason* to be assholes anymore because MC has done so much work to help them repair their relationships with each other.

I was raised Catholic (decently progressive Catholic, still got the fun guilt though lmao) and the way I was taught to view sin, was that it was an act of violence against someone else, and/or yourself, because there is some kind of deficiency or problem in your own life. It’s that whole “hurt people hurt people” thing, and you can literally SEE it with the brothers.

Lucifer isolates himself and puts on the persona of the tough, scary, intimidating eldest brother when in reality, he’s scared, and guilty, and fucking embarrassed about what happened with Lilith. You can see this when Luke took the Grimoire, Lucifer wasn’t acting out of rage, he was acting out of fear and disguising it, and then lashed out at Luke and MC and only stopped when Diavolo told him to because Dia is literally his boss.

Now what does this have to do with Belphie? Belphie is downright homicidal when the game starts in season one (which is why Luci locked him in the attic, to protect him AND the exchange program), now the question is “why?”

To put what Belphie has been going through in perspective: this guy has been drowning in guilt, trauma, grief, and self loathing for thousands of years. He feels guilty that Beel saved him instead of Lilith, and most importantly, he feels guilty that he led Lilith to the human world to begin with. He’s lashing out because he’s been grieving for thousands of years with no one to turn to about it BECAUSE THE OTHER BROTHERS ARE ALSO STILL GRIEVING

Now of course, this doesn’t excuse what Belphie did to MC, but it does EXPLAIN it. He’s so angry at humanity and himself that he’s the emotional equivalent of a suicide bomber. He’s self destructing and trying to take the people he’s blaming with him and praying that makes the guilt go away.

Finally, when Diavolo and Barbatos reveal Lucifer’s secret about what really happened to Lilith (how she was reincarnated and got to live a happy life as a human), this is the kick that gets ALL the brothers to finally be able to move on. We spent the entirety of season one making pacts and going on silly little adventures with everyone, all the while being the support system they needed to finally move on from their grief.

So THAT is why it makes me so angry when people act like Belphie is uniquely The Worst.

This is coming from someone who doesn’t mind writing the brothers at what I believe to be “their worst” in terms of shitty behaviour (if you want an example, look at how Asmo is currently behaving in A Lovecraftian Exchange Student). But I think characterizing Belphie as some pure evil villain is a massive disservice to him as a character. (Ignoring his survivor’s guilt and grief etc etc)

Also, to act like the other six brothers would immediately hate and despise Belphie over this is so wrong, I’m sorry but it’s grossly wrong. Belphie is their sweet baby brother, yes they love MC, but guys, especially at that point in season one, yes they liked MC, but BELPHIE 👏 IS 👏 THEIR 👏 BABY 👏 BROTHER. I think they’d be disappointed and maybe angry at him, but they’re not going to just up and abandon him, no chance about it.

I’d say the brothers didn’t truly begin to love-love MC until the end of lesson 18-20 after they’ve done some growing as people, but that’s just my interpretation.

Finally.

Y’all.

Did you forget that Belphie literally offered a pact to MC, SPECIFIED THAT IT WASNT BECAUSE OF THEIR CONNECTION TO LILITH BTW, and did this entirely of his own free will because he liked them???

Guys, a pact is offering control of the demon’s entire being! Belphie had grown enough in trusting a human to the point where he was willing to put his life in their hands!

This was so ramble-y and confusing, I’m so sorry- I just have so many thoughts about the brothers and Belphie in particular 😭😭😭

[redvelvetcupcakes21]

I love and adore Buck and Bobby's relationship, which made me think of this:

Gerrard realizes he wants to make amends to the people he hurt while as Captain of the 118 and asks for Bobby's help. Which Bobby reluctantly agrees after Gerrard reminds him isn't making amends something they teach during 12 steps?

So Bobby (cautiously) helps Gerrard make amends to the team, past and present.

But Buck panics because he over hears Gerrard mention he wants to fine and apologize to Tommy. Cue Buck being defensive and worried about Tommy being reminded of not only Gerrard but of his own father.

Bobby convinces Buck that it might be a good idea and that if Buck is really that worried, he can join Gerrad and Bobby while they visit Tommy.

Only problem, unbeknownst to Bobby and Buck, Gerrard never told Tommy he would be visiting him at the harbor- and obviously Tommy doesn't expect Buck to be visiting alongside Gerrard.

Cue a very hurt and annoyed Tommy thinking that Buck sprung this on him on purpose and Buck hurt as well that Tommy would think Buck would actually hurt him- either on purpose or on accident.

Bobby tries and barely successfully deescalates and diffuse the situation. He reminds Tommy that he doesn't have to forgive Gerrard (or his dad), that it's up to him. He also reminds Tommy, that Buck would never want to hurt him, that he has to trust Buck and not the people who actually did hurt Tommy in the past.

Tommy agrees to think about it, but in the meantime he apologizes to Buck and tells him "I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"And yet you still broke up with me."

A few days later Tommy agrees to meet with Gerrard but only if Bobby is present (Bobby agrees but he does give the two their privacy).

Tommy unleashes on Gerrard, not impressed at all that the older man is now sullen and miserable. "You're only making amends because you realized without any sort of power you have no one, not even a family. You had to con Bobby into helping you talk to me."

"I deserve that....I didnt realize what I did harmed people like that."

"That's not an excuse."

The two talk more, with Tommy noting how he just wanted a father figure because his dad was a peice of work "but I just ended up with another version of him"

Gerrard apologizes and tells Tommy that he knows he's nothing like his father or him, "You were mean and bully, but I knew you never had the heart for it."

In the end, Tommy doesnt forgives him because he's moved on from that hate and bitterness Gerrard had caused him. Tommy states he needs to move on and he wants to be a better person than his dad and Gerrard.

"Like you're boyfriend Buckley there?"

"You don't have any right to talk about him."

"You're right, but if you want my advice-"

" I don't."

"Well, I'm gonna give it to you. Dont keep punishing yourself thinking youre just protecting yourself or others. If you really love the guy, then go after him."

"You know you're giving advice to me about going after another man romantically, right?"

"Yes. I don't get it, probably never will, but Tommy...you don't deserve to end up like me."

"....I-I have to go"

Bobby: is he okay?

Gerrard: Here's hoping.

It's later in the evening and there's a knock on Buck's door.

Buck opens it, not expecting company but thinking it Bobby, "Tommy?"

"Hey, can we talk?"

[the-french-laundry]

The Problem with Claire Bear (and how to fix it in S4 without making Clairmy endgame)

This critic is focusing on the writing and is not meant to be an attack against the actress in any way! Also this is my personal opinion.

I must confess, that i am relatively new to the fandom, but 'the Bear' has a chokehold on me for a couple of weeks now. The way it has so many different characters and tries to explore their personalities, their shortcomings, their problems and anxiety, hooked me from the start and i loved to see how they developed over the three Seasons, we have now. But then there's Claire. And she just doesn't work at all.

The number thing and Claire accepting anything

When she first appeared in the supermarket and had that talk with Carmen Berzatto, i couldn't shake off the feeling that this whole scene was very awkward and almost non-human. Of course, we know that Carmen can be socially awkward and seeing his old childhood friend, which he ghosted, is a weird situation for a lot of people. Given his own difficulties to deal with situations like that, it makes sense why he gave her a fake number. I know, she asked multiple times if it is okay, but the whole number thing is a clear sign that he is either avoiding contact, because he doesn't feel ready enough to deal with a past relationship or that, deep down, he doesn't actually want it and uses it as an excuse so that he doesn't have to say it out loud.

Seriously, if i would've been Claire, that would be a RED FLAG for me and i'd stop trying to force any contact. But the script wanted a romance, so it literally made Claire an all forgiving person. She just takes Carmen's bullshit and never truly questions it or tries to make him question those things. She always reassures him, that he's doing good and all, which is supportive and cute, but it doesn't help Carmy's broken personality in any way. It never questions, it never tackles his character to move past this. And in the end, it doesn't help Claire too because this relationship feels very one-sided. She's always there for him, tries to keep the contact, supports him, confesses her love first (even though if it was via voicemail), but Carmy isn't able to give it back to Claire in any form.

Claire got no personality

This is very obvious, but it needs to be said. The script gave Claire nothing to create an interesting or engaging personality. After i finished Season 3 i did a small recap in my head and all i could say about her is: She was Carmy's girlfriend and she is working as a doctor. That's all. And it made me bonkers somehow, because 'The Bear' has so many well-written female characters - Sydney, Tina, Natalie, Donna, Chef Terry. Even Jessica and Tiff, without having much screentime, had more developed character traits that made them stand out. But the script is not able to give Claire something that would make her more than just Carmy's forced relationship!? We rarely see, why she even has this crush on him - maybe due to their childhood friendship, any special moments they'd shared in the past before they met again at the supermarket? No, nothing and i think this is sad. Because with all that, Claire becomes a character, that can be easily written out of the script, without leaving a hole in the story.

Carmen would still have his New York David Fields trauma, mixed with the death of his brother Michael, he would still pressure himself. The rest could be easily explained through the dynamic he has with Sydney and the team - the fear of letting them down, of being not good enough, of not deserving happiness at all etc.

An environment of forcing it

Now it gets a little bit personal. When i was younger, i had a best friend, whom i really liked - but just as a friend. At one point however he started to have feelings for me and asked, if we shouldn't just try and see where it gets, which i didn't want out of fear that it might ruin our friendship. A lot of friends we both known at that time, told me multiple times that we would be such a great match, that he really cares for me and we would be cute together. It gaslighted me into the believe that, well... maybe i should just try. Also because i didn't want to disappoint my best friend. In the end, it was a mess and it ruined our friendship. But why am i telling this story? Because Carmy's and Claire's relationship kind of reminds me of that.

The people around Carmy are constantly talking about Claire, about her being a saint and that she is good for him, that they totally match and that he has a crush on her (e.g. in the conversation with Richie and Michael during the Christmas episode). Yet it never really feels like Carmen loves her deeply enough to make a long-term relationship work. He cares for her and likes her, that much is clear, but i feels forced, whenever they share moments together - not from Claire's side, but from Carmy's side. As if he always has to reassure himself, that he indeed loves Claire. And my theory about his flashbacks of their time together, is that it is more because of his own guilt. He never wanted to hurt Claire and he understands that what he said was deeply painful to her. Confessing that to himself is hard and an apology is needed. But i don't think it would be good if they straight up reset their whole relationship.

What can S4 do to save this mess?

The apology is a big thing that is in fact needed. To jump over his own shadow and to find piece for himself and for Claire, Carmen needs to apologize to her. By talking about what happen and recognizing how bad he'd treated her during the walk-in freezer incident, he also gives her the chance to close that case for herself, so that she doesn't think it was her own fault and therefore she can move on with her life. But it would also make sense that Carmen reflects if he really loves her as deep as he thought he would. In my opinion, the script didn't give us enough to undermine the argument that he does. So looking at that, it would be great to see how he confesses to her, how he'd always thought they were meant to be, but in the end his feelings were not enough for that to happen, that he got carried away by the expectations of those around him and his own anxiety. And maybe we learn, that Claire experienced something similar to that, realizing that they could've been great friends but weren't meant to be more.

Even though i don't like the character of Claire, given the fact that she is in the series now, it would only be fair to close her character arc with an apology and a wholesome conclusion for both her and Carmy before they part ways.

-

Thanks for coming to my short TED Talk. Feel free to tell me your thoughts or add the things i might've missed.

[alipeeps]

Episode 27

Oh, "the demon who was destined to be killed by him" eh?

(That definitely doesn't bode well for the ending)

Oh baby girl...

WHOAH. What up? She's straight up admitting... Zhuo Yichen is her best friend. And Zhao Yuanzhou is her beloved?!!

Oh SHIT!!

Nice save Sijing but jfc!!

OH FUCK!! Dang, girl!

He kept the fucking flowers that she gave him as a birthday gift on the first day them met. Daaaaaaaaamn.

Oh shiiiittt. Did he believe what she told him then that they are flowers that can make people forget their worries? And is that why he left them for her in the box that he prepared to be given to her if he died? So she can forget her worries/sorrows after he's gone? 😭😭

Or just left them to her as a reminder to her to not dwell on her troubles?

Oh dang, Chen Duling is breaking my heart. Never thought I'd see the day...

Uh oh... a test, you say?

Is that... Bingyi and Ying Long?

Oh DON'T fucking tell me that when Bingyi killed Ying Long it was the exact same fucking circumstances and Ying Long asked Bingyi to kill him to save the world? Is that what was meant by "the demon he is destined to kill"? Is this a fucking never-ending cycle of the Bingyi family line having to kill the Great Demon of the time?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

Oh fuck me, they forged the sword before Ying Long died? He broke his bones and horns while still alive to forge the sword? But it wasn't enough?

How the fuck does Hou Minghao look so different for each character he plays? Zhao Yuanzhou. His own demonic core. Ying Long. All the same guy but somehow all look like a different person?!!

Goddamn Tian Jiauru's eye make-up as Bingyi is fucking beautiful.

Ahhh fuck Zhao Yuanzhou kept saying when demons die they become stars.

Goddamn this fucking show is beautiful.

Oh goddamn...

Yeeeeeeaaaaah I think we just had a preview of how the show's gonna end...

Heheheeeh. Zhao Yuanzhou is a snidey bitch at all times.

Aaaaaand it's the same fates for Zhao Yuanzhou and Zhuo Yichen, isn't it?

So can we. So can we. 😭😭😭

Ugh so Yichen's trial will be the future, not the past. But will he make the right choice?

Pretty fucking cruel making him effectively live through that choice - that moment - twice Ying Long.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh

Until you have to kill him to save the fucking world of course...

Wait up now, that sounds like Ying Long is wishing them to stay together and not that Zhao Yuanzhou needs to die?

Uuuuh, five?

I mean... LOVE that you're keeping Xiao Jiu in mind but... isn't Ying Lei also a part of your team?!!

They better give me a group hug. We fucking deserve it.

I thought for a second she was gonna kiss him...

I also thought for a second it was the contract that made her hesitate and not hug him... but no, she's so upset at him sacrificing himself that she's mad at him for putting her through that.

(Btw Wen Xiao you have admitted to yourself and out loud that you love him - can you please tear up that fucking contract so you guys can at least have a kiss (before he dies - cos he's gonna fucking die isn't he?))

Awww and Yichen's kinda melancholy expression at the realization that it is Zhao Yuanzhou she loves (but his little wistful smile... he's okay with that)

(Still not gonna stop with the throuple headcanons though - don't worry cdrama, fandom will tell the stories we know you can't)

Oh dang, Ying Long is saving Zhuo Yichen's life by taking back the Bingyi blood?

Oh SHIT, even better... he can't remove the demon blood from where it has merged with Zhuo Yichen, but he can give him the ability to form a demon core and properly become a demon!!

And Yichen has truly understood and accepted that demons are no different/no worse than humans, it is your actions and the choices you make that matter, not what you are born as (or become). So his fear of becoming a demon is gone. He actively chooses to become a demon.

So Yichen will end up carrying the last remaining traces of both Bingyi and Ling Yong.

Ugh the way Zhao Yuanzhou immediately shields Wen Xiao...

Hey if Zhuo Yichen's true form is a dragon... can't he get a dragon scale from himself to repair the sword?!

Hahahaaaaa

OMG call back to ep 1!

Bai Jiu momma!!

Oh do you now?

Is that the Chongwu camp hybrid dude who's got Ao Yin's shapeshifting powers?

How did the Chongwu fuckers even get into the Wilderness? I thought the mountain gods were guarding the Kunlun gate?

Oh what now?

Are you doomed in some way too Wen Xiao? Aaaaaan they are not showing us the answer... which means we'll probably find out via a flashback at some pivotal moment in the future...

Oh SHIT it was Princess Long Yu who killed Wen Xiao's dad?

How do they make him look so baby in the flashbacks?!!

Oh what the fuck, Wen Zongyu had... a thing?... with Princess Long yu?!!!

P.S. Ahhhhh we've got Bingyi and Ling Yong costumes in the end credits dancing now!!

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[rubyredbonnetblue]

My dad "acknowledging" my queerness:

*yesterday, helping me move boxes* My dad: you sure have a lot of books on queer history Me: yeah, I collect them. They're mostly old out-of-print books that I found at Half-Price My dad: *goes back to talking about logistics of box stacking and says nothing else on the subject* *a few months before, Bronski Beat is playing* Me: I love Bronski Beat My dad: *surprised* me too! They were my favorite band when I was a teen. Me: you know, Smalltown Boy is actually a song about being gay and running away from home. Me: *continues to try to tell my dad why I'm passionate about Bronski Beat and how they played a really cool role in queer history* My dad: *turned away and actively stopped listening to me the moment I said "gay"* *outright interrupts me mid-sentence to change the subject*

[bewby]

when you get blocked by him even tgough you guys barely even talk anymore but the last time you talked which was about a week ago you actually had a nice and healthy conversation and you had alot of love for eachother and it seemed amazing 😂😂😍😍😍😍 no i'm definitely not fucking crying Lol

[weezerlvr228]

It's giving the...main character syndrome. like who tf does she think she is??? Y/N???

NO OH MY GOSH ANON. LET ME TELL YOU. LET ME FRIGGIN TELL YOU.

[andragoras-in-vanity]

remember being a teen and watching shit like soul eater and kimono jihen and thinking god damn i wish I had a perpetually exhausted but badass mentor to help me get through things?

well now im 27 and im the perpetually exhausted mentor with bedhead and a slight alcohol problem to my 15 year old cousin and im gonna tear my hair out about not being able to just let her stay for a bit because i know it doesnt matter fuck all what i say to her dad, shes still gonna be treated like shit just because shes a moody teen with undiagnosed add and an autustic brother who constantly talks over everyone. i suddenly need a cigarette.

[borderlinereminders]

It is okay and normal to be mad at people you love sometimes. It's normal for them to be mad at you sometimes. What I think really matters, is how people treat each other when they're mad.

My partner was mad at me yesterday. I was supposed to book his ferry last week but I forgot and when I went to yesterday, the reservations were sold out. (He has really busy work days and that's why I was booking it - before anyone says he could have just booked it himself. I have a lot more spare time than he does and had agreed to do it when he asked.)

He was genuinely mad at me. He expressed feeling frustrated, but he never once yelled at me. He never once insulted me. He never once threw a past mistake in my face because he was upset.

He told me that he still loved me when he was mad at me, but he took some time to calm down. And then he came back and told me that he loved me again. I gave him a sincere apology. And we came up with an alternate solution, and we moved on.

I made plans for how I can not get so distracted in the future - because I did mess up, and part of apologizing in my opinion is aiming to do better next time.

But the point is that while he was mad at me, he never treated me poorly. He was never cruel or mean. He understood mistakes happened, but he still needed a minute to sort through his feelings. And that was okay. He was allowed that. I was genuinely upset, and I felt terrible. But he was allowed the space to be mad, and I was comforted by knowing he still loved me even if I had messed up. I used my own coping methods to deal with my feelings.

It's okay to be mad, even angry. It's okay to need space. It's just important to be mindful of how we handle our feelings, and we need to know that we don't deserve someone to be mean to us, even if they're angry.

[all4yoi]

𝒥ust a bet﹕hyung line

𝑒nhypen x fem!reader ︎︎⚹︎ cw: angst, no fluff (yet), reader is mostly viewed as a loser and nerd, lowercase intended, kinda went overboard with hoon's, reader gets called a bitch once, not proofread!

sypnosis﹕after a few months of dating, you find out you were just a bet.

part two !

★ LEE HEESEUNG (wc 0.3k)

you and lee heeseung has been dating for a total of five months, and throughout those months you can confidently say that you were the happiest. he was the perfect boyfriend, his family loved you and so did yours.

today, heeseung promised he would take you on a date after his basketball practice despite your protests on how he should be resting instead. you wouldn't have agreed if it weren't for the fact that he had shot you with his pleading big doe eyes that never fails to make you agree on whatever he asks for. 

so here you were, making your way towards the gymnasium with your bag hanging on your left shoulder. the lack of dribbling and smacking basketball noise from behind the closed doors told you that their practice was done.

entering quietly out of habit, you were about to approach your boyfriend when you overheard his teammates talking to him.

"don't tell me you're still with her?" asked one of boys, an amused smile on his face. heeseung only raised a brow.

"what? you won the bet, you can dump her now. you're ruining our image you know? plus she's a total nerd and loser, you're much better with someone like yunhee." and with only just a few words, you felt your world crashing down.

right, who would date someone like you? you always found it weird, that heeseung just approached you one day in your biology class with the cheekiest smile on his face. the fact that he wouldn't leave you alone until you've agreed to go on a date with him. it all made sense now, why the popular basketball captain suddenly gained interest on the school's "biggest nerd."

"speaking of.." another guy spoke, nodding towards you with a cheeky smile. heeseung turned around only to be met with your glassy eyes.

you didn't move, wanting to hear him defend you. wanting to tell his teammates that you weren't a bet and he actually liked you throughout the months you two have been dating.

his silence said everything and with that you turned away and ran out of the gym.

"shit." he muttered, running after you.

★ PARK JONGSEONG (wc 0.3k)

"i'll pick you up later, okay?" your boyfriend of almost a year said softly through the phone. you've been dating jay since the first week of your first year in uni, others found your relationship weird. maybe because back in high school, jay never and refused to even spare you a glance. he was an asshole who looked at you as if you were the epitome of disgusting.

but the past is in the past now, right?

"okay baby, see you." you reply and put your phone down on your table, knowing that he's usually the one who ends the call.

you go back to the papers scattered on your table. the silence in your room was disturbed by sudden noises in your phone, turning to look, you see that jay hasn't ended the call.

picking your phone up with a smile, you were about to call out for him but a voice stopped you.

"i can't believe you've gone this far dude." you recognized the slightly muffled voice, it was a friend of jongseong's.

"what do you mean?" your boyfriend grumbled. the audio was muffled, you figured he was moving and the phone was in his pocket.

"you're still dating her!" the voice exclaimed, as if amused. "seriously, i didn't think you'd take that bet seriously. fine you win, i'll clean your car for a month. but you've gotta cut it out, you're starting to disgust me." the boy laughed.

before you could hear what your boyfriend would say, you ended the call. your hand was trembling and tears were falling from your eyes unconsciously.

were all those months just a joke to him? were your feelings really worth a free car wash for just a month? were you that unworthy?

jay was an asshole back in high school, you thought he changed. turns out he didn't, you felt like a fool for falling for his antics.

★ SIM JAEYUN (wc 0.3k)

if someone would be asked who you were, they'd all say the same thing. a loner, pathetic loser, and a nobody with a pretty face.

because what was a pretty face if you had no friends and a social life?

you almost believed you would die alone, you were too socially awkward to make friends. so when sim jaeyun, the transferee, approached you with a warm smile and a hand outstretched for a shake, you were beyond shocked.

your relationship went from being block mates, friends, then next thing you knew you two were dating. at first you were reluctant to enter a relationship, scared that it would ruin your friendship, but he insisted you both tried. that was three months ago.

you didn't have any friends, but atleast you had jake.

jake who smiles at you as if you had carved the stars in your hands. jake who would never forget to bring your coffee every morning. he was everything you ever needed. he was it for you, you only hoped he felt the same towards you.

walking through the hallway of the school, you stopped infront of your locker only to be met with a sticky note on it.

HOW LONG CAN JAKE LAST WITH LOSER L/N?

A WEEK : 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - III

FIVE MONTHS : 卌 - I

A YEAR : II

Furrowing your brows, you stare at the note as your breathing grew heavy. It was obvious that the paper was old, it had folds and it was only stuck on your locker with a washi tape.

"what are you doing l/n? go on, cast your vote." a mocking voice said from beside you followed by a bunch of laughter. "personally, i thought he'd last a day. i guess i'll vote for five months then." then the hand went and tallied on the five months category.

"what's going on here?" upon hearing your boyfriend's voice, you fled away immediately, not wanting to face him. everytime something good happens in your life, it's always ripped away from you. jake was just like them, you were just a toy for their own entertainment.

★ PARK SUNGHOON (wc 0.5k)

"i'm sorry baby, i really am busy with practice tomorrow." your boyfriend, sunghoon, says in genuine sorry. it was the fifth time you have asked him to meet your parents, who also by the way was so desperate to meet the boy you've been dating for seven months now.

every time you ask him, he's always busy. either with practice, a project, a family matter, or whatever excuse he can come up with. but you always brush it off, knowing he means well and he really is busy as he's an athlete student.

"i'll meet them next week, okay? i promise." that's also the same thing he says everytime too, and once again, you only nod in response.

you and sunghoon met in a physics class. he was clutching his head with a frown on his face as he desperately tried to understand what the professor was going on about.

you remember clearly the way he approached you in the library, a physics book on his left hand as his right scratched his nape. "can.. i noticed- uh, can you help me with this topic?"

that was where your relationship started. you tutored him and helped him improve his grade. when he got an A on the finals, he kissed you on the lips in glee. he was taken aback by his own actions but nevertheless asked you out after.

"i love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple. "let me get something from my room." you hum in response as he takes his arm that was previously wrapped around you before going up to his room.

you can't help but notice the way his phone was blowing up from beside you.

you weren't the type to snoop around other people's phones, especially your boyfriend. it just felt wrong, you trusted him fully. but the way it kept ringing with text notifications, you just couldn't help it.

looking back to the stairs, you note he isn't back and there was still rummaging noises from his room.

taking his phone, you enter his passcode and read the messages from one of his group chats.

JONGSU

lol don't tell me she asked again.. em ba rrah sing

DAEHYUN

hahah when is she gonna take a hint?? 💀

JOON

you gonna blame her? hoon's been at it for months lmao

DAEHYUN

i actually can't believe he went that far, wasn't it only supposed to be for a month? 🗿

JONGSU

a week actually, but ig that bitch y/n was so easy. yk hoon likes to get his ego fed 💀💀

putting the phone down, you exhaled in disbelief. you took your bag from the floor and threw it over your shoulder and went to the door of his apartment to put your shoes back on.

"baby?" sunghoon emerged from the stairs, looking at you curiously. "you're going already?" he asked, extending an arm towards you but you slapped it away. the tears on your eyes shocking him.

"hey, hey what's wrong?" he tried again but his hand was yet again slapped away.

"i don't want to see you ever again." was the last words you uttered to him (shakily) before leaving his apartment.

[whateveriwant]

I just read your pregnant wife with 141 but that got me thinking. What about horny pregnant wife with 141

Feel free to ignore this if you feel uncomfortable writing it 

-🍱 (if it’s not taken)

I haven't written smut in ages so forgive me if I'm a little rusty. 18+ only pls and thx (vaginal sex, cunnilingus)

Soap

Hooo boy! Alrighty, here we go

So for starters, that man is PENT UP. Like seriously, he's so backed up, he thinks he can feel it all the way to his esophagus

Since you first got pregnant, it's been nothing but morning sickness, aches and pains, and a total and utter lack of desire on your part

Trust him, he's tried taking care of himself in the meantime, but it's never really gotten the job done since it wasn't with you

But once you enter your second trimester and the desire has come back, it takes everything in him not to ravage you the moment you give him the green light

Why? Well, truth be told, he's scared about potentially hurting you or the baby

You know how he can get in the sack. What if he dents the wee bairn’s poor head? He's knocking (more like pounding) right on the little one’s door after all

You have to assure him that he's not going to hurt you or the baby (and please, never refer to your cervix as a door again)

So he'll start slow and gentle at first, not wanting to be too harsh, but it won't take much to get him back to fucking you hard and rough like you're used to

He's got your knees up by your chest (or, as close as they can get) while he’s drilling into you from above, snarling like an animal

When he finally finishes, it's loudddd, slamming the headboard against the wall, and he pushes his hips as far forward as they'll go while he empties four months worth of cum inside you

Ghost

I'm so sorry to have to be the one to inform you, but you're not getting that man's cock while you're pregnant

It's not because he's overly rough when you make love normally; it's just that he's not willing to take any chances when you're in such a delicate state

However, the man is inherently a giver, so with just enough whining and begging and pleading from you, he'll oblige you to some degree

He'll stick mostly to his fingers or his mouth, maybe a toy or two if you're really needy, but he's generally going to rely solely on his own skill to get you where you want to be

He'll have you recline against a mountain of pillows while he settles himself between your legs, his arms looping around your hips to hold you still for him while he works

But he doesn't just dive right in, oh no siree. The man loves to tease you – kissing your thighs, the inside of your knee, the bottom of your belly first

He'll turn you into a pathetic little thing squirming desperately for his touch, before finally granting you mercy by giving you his tongue

He'll make you cum so hard with just his mouth alone that you'll temporarily lose all thought of that gorgeous dick of his

But afterwards, if you want to return the favor, you certainly won't hear him complaining about it

Oh but trust that the moment the doctor gives the okay after you’ve given birth, he's gonna be all over you, making sure you walk funny the next morning (and the following week after that)

Gaz

Like the other two, Gaz is concerned with potentially putting you and the baby in a dangerous position

But the man is a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, so it doesn't take much convincing to get him to take you to bed

But he still wants to be safe about it, so he researches the best positions for couples to have sex while pregnant

That's how you find yourself in his lap, naked back to his chest, as he sits in one of the chairs he dragged in from the dining room

You're bouncing on his dick, hands braced on his thighs, ass smacking off the hard plane of his lower stomach as you lift up and down

His hands on your hips are more of a placeholder than a guide as he lets you set the pace, just sitting back while you take what you need from him

It doesn't even matter if he cums or not, that's honestly the farthest thing from his mind. All he cares about is making sure you're satisfied in the end

Need him to snake his hand forward, tracing the curve of your belly down, until he's circling your clit in fast, tight motions? Gladly, love.

Your thighs may burn and your eyes may water, but there's something about this position that makes him hit so deep that it leaves you gasping for more

Ultimately, your orgasm will trigger his own (nothing gets him there faster than the sound of you cumming), and afterwards he'll help you into the bath where he'll clean and massage your aching muscles better

Price

Unlike the other three men, Price is eager to fuck you the moment you show even the smallest inkling of want

What's that? His poor baby needs him to fuck her right now? Say no more, sweetheart. Hubby's come to the rescue

That man is dicking you down anytime, anywhere he can

Just got done shopping? He'll find a deserted road to pull over on. Just stepped into the shower? Might as well kills two birds with one stone

Really, it becomes a challenge to find where in your house he hasn't had you in these last few months. The kitchen, the garage, the back porch. You name it, he's done it (multiple times, in fact)

But his favorite – oh boy, his favorite without a shadow of a doubt – is when he takes you in front of your bedroom’s full length mirror

He'll hold you up from behind, standing you both on your feet, and just watch as he fucks you nice and slow

Seeing it in profile is fun when he wants to watch his dick slide in and out of you, but he's especially fond of having you directly face the mirror

There's just something about getting to watch you – that pretty face, those juicy tits, that fucking delectable rounded belly – that makes him blow his load faster than a damn rocket launch

With the number of times he's had you like this, you swear, that man of yours is trying to knock you up a second time (But shhhh. Quiet now. Don't go giving him any bright ideas, sweetheart.)

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.