#he's so full of confidence in that fit and you know what he should be

[munsonsmixtapes]

wearing a matching set for eddie smut?

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) body insecurity, body worship, nipple play

There's not really a reason why you bought the lingerie set. It was pretty when you tried it on and it just so happened to that pretty red that Eddie loved to see you in. You wanted to surprise him with it, putting it on top of the t-shirts he stored in the bottom drawer of the dresser you shared.

You're washing dishes when Eddie comes home from work, trying your best to act normal as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, murmuring a "hey, baby" as he passes by you to head to your shared room to change into some more comfy clothes.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you slowly follow him into the bedroom, leaning against the door frame as you watch him make the discovery, pulling the bright red, thin panties out of the drawer, whistling as he takes a look at them.

"Shit, baby, what are these?" He asks, as he turns towards you. "I'm assuming they're not for me, because," he holds them up to his body and they don't look quite right on him.

"They're for you," you tell him, your cheeks getting warm. "I mean, they're for me to wear for you." You enter the room and stand in front of him, reaching into the drawer to pull out the matching bra.

Eddie's never seen this side of you, but he has to admit that he finds it really hot. Sure, you've worn lingerie for him before, but you've never bought any to specifically wear for him. And that makes him feel special. It makes him feel…hot.

"And what did I do to deserve such special treatment?" He asks, fanning his face dramatically.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "It's for you being you." You press a kiss to his nose then take the underwear from him. "I'm gonna slip into these and you just sit there and look pretty, okay?"

You head into the bathroom and close the door, taking a deep breath as you gingerly take off your clothes, changing into the lingerie, suddenly not feeling as confident as you did in the store earlier.

The cups of the bra seem to be smaller than you remember, more transparent, your tits on full display through the sheer fabric. And the panties are more tight, hugging you in all the wrong places. The whole thing looks ill fitting and now you’re unsure of whether you should change or not.

You stare at your reflection as you fix one of the straps that’s fallen off your shoulder. You almost don’t want to go out there, the idea suddenly feeling stupid to you. But Eddie is waiting and you don’t want to disappoint him.

You slowly exit the bathroom, covering yourself up as much as you can with your hands and arms, but eventually give up, showing yourself to Eddie as he leans back where he’s sitting on the bed, another wolf whistles passing through his lips.

“Baby, you look fucking amazing.” He’s grinning ear to ear and you almost believe him. Almost. He’d never lie to you so you don’t know why you don’t believe him.

“Do I?” You ask genuinely and Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He always thinks you look amazing and is very quick to tell you so.

“Of course you do. Can’t stop looking at you. Hey, what’s wrong?” He notices your frown and rests his hands on his shoulder, his head moving in the direction of yours, trying to get you to look him in the eye.

“Nothing, Eds. Don’t worry about it.” You shake your head before turning it to the side so he can’t see how ashamed you feel.

“Do you not like it? Are you uncomfortable? You don’t have to do this for me. You can change back if that’s what you want. I love you no matter what you wear. You know that.” He wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it. He hates when you feel anything but happy and wants to do whatever he can to make you feel better.

“Is it too small?”

“Small? No, baby, you look perfect.” His hand moved to one of the cups of your bra, his fingers brushing over the lace. “This, this is nice, but I think I like what’s underneath it even better.”

Eddie pushes the strap off of your shoulder then presses a featherlight kiss to it. He backs you up to the bed as his kisses get hotter and rougher, his lips sucking on your skin as your back collides with the bed.

“Once I’m done with you, you’ll know just how pretty I think you are. Especially when you see all of marks I’m about to leave on you when you look in the mirror.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment and he’s quick to get off of you, rushing to the other side of the room and grabbing something before hurrying back to you.

He straddles your waist and brings a camera up his face, making sure that you’re in the center of the frame.

“Need a photo of my pretty girl so pose for me.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in a way that you think looks sexy, a pose that you’ve seen in the magazines he reads.

“That’s it,” he says then snaps a photo, the thing printing out of the camera. You take it and set it on the bedside table along with the camera before Eddie lies down on top of you once again.

He leans down and brings your nipple to his mouth, sucking on it through the fabric. You let out a whine and he takes that as an invitation to continue. His hands find yours and he pins them above you as he dives in for more, licking and sucking on the fabric as you moan underneath him, the sounds nothing but hot.

Eddie moves his hands underneath you and unhooks your bra, your tits coming into view and he feels his mouth watering as he stares down at your exposed chest and all of the things he wants to do to it. You’re right there on display for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet and fuck is he hungry.

He goes for your nipple, taking the whole thing into his mouth, flicking it back and forth as he sucks on it, wanting to get a full taste of it. He slides his hands underneath you, holding onto your bare back as he works, trying to giving himself more room, wanting to have his mouth on as much of you as he can.

You’re moaning and whining and he makes sure to press his rock hard cock against you so that you know just how hard you’re making him. That you know that he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as you are.

“Fuck,” you whine as he bites down on your nipple, arching into him as he bites down even harder, wanting you to moan as loud as possible so all of your neighbors know exactly how good he makes you feel.

You’re already reaching your orgasm and even though you’re embarrassed by it, Eddie is quick to let you know how good of a girl he thinks you are, how you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to.

“Oh,” you moan loudly as you grab onto him, your nails digging into the back of his shirt. “Oh my god, Eddie.”

“That’s it,” he encourages as he helps you ride out your high. “That’s my girl. Sound so pretty when you moan my name.”

As you’re coming down, he moves lower, loving on every inch of skin he can get his mouth on, nipping and sucking on the parts of you he loves the most, stopping once he gets to your cunt. He spreads your legs wide and you look ready for him, already sopping wet through your panties.

Eddie gets undressed and puts on the first condom he can find before lowering himself onto you once again as he slides into you, pumping in and out slowly, knowing that this is exactly what you need. You want him to make love to you, not fuck you like he always does. You want him to show you just how much he loves you with his body.

“Wish you could see how pretty you are,” he says as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Because if you could see what I see, baby, fuck,” he sighs as he picks up the pace just slightly, his fingers interlocking with yours as his face is buried in your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin.

“Can we do this more often?” You ask even though you’re kind of afraid to.

“What? Go slow?”

“Yes.” Your face flushes as you’re confession but Eddie just looks as you lovingly.

“Baby, you can have anything you want. All you gotta do is ask.”

“So we can do this all night as long as I ask?” Eddie pulls back to look at you as if you had just asked a silly question, and you suppose that you did.

“No question,” he shakes his head. “Now lie back darlin’, gonna show you just what I think of that pretty little thing you were wearing.”

And you do that the rest of the night and into the early morning, and afterwards, Eddie takes that Polaroid from the bedside table and puts it in his wallet so he can look at it anytime he wants. And after he does so, he pulls you into his arms and cuddles you until the two of you fall into a much needed sleep.

[avastyetwats]

"Sure, but watch the flow."

Stede Bonnet in Our Flag Means Death 2.05 "The Curse of the Seafaring Life."

[tojbnuy]

little halloween drabble!! 🎃 ps: toji is definitely the type of dad to cut into every piece of candy megumi got before letting him eat it. (likes reblogs always appreciated <3)

“right go on buddy go knock.”

toji watched as his son waddled towards the door ahead of him. he had to admit megumi looked really fucking cute. he had been going on and on about dressing up as mario for halloween so toji had done what any good dad would do and he bought him the full costume. the kid even had a fake mustache stuck to his upper lip.

“and remember to say please and thank you megs okay?”

“yes daddy i know.” megumi replied with a little too much sass in his tone.

his little fist knocked a couple times on the door until it opened and then there was. you. toji was a bit too focused on laughing at his sons costume that he hadn’t realised someone dressed up as bat-woman had opened the door. toji himself was dressed up as batman (if you could call keeping the batman mask atop his head dressing up). you were matching. and you were fucking gorgeous. toji was busy taking in your long bare legs when he heard the sudden screech leave you at the sight of his son.

“oh don’t you look adorable!!”

he was definitely gonna buy megumi some pizza on the way back after this.

“uh thank you. trick or treat?”

“hold on let me grab my bowl of candy.”

toji couldn’t help but stare at the rest of you as you turned your back on them. you returned with a massive pumpkin shaped bowl full to the brim with sweets and wrapped cakes.

“go on honey take as much as you like.”

and megumi did not take that sentence lightly. toji scoffed as his son grabbed as much as his chubby hands could carry and stuffed it into his bucket, all the while you grinned and cooed at the boy infront of you.

“does daddy want some?”

toji looked at you and the smirk on your face at your little question.

“nah i’m good thank you.”

just as megumi was about to turn back to his dad toji reminded him, “say thank you baby.”

“thank you baby.” megumi very confidently turned to you and said and you had all but melted. you were in a fit of giggles now as toji held a palm up to his face. megumi looked up at his dad wondering what the commotion was about.

“sorry about that.”

“no you’re good, that’s just made my night.”

you were just staring at each other now, neither of you wanting to break away without saying something more.

“hey we’re matching.” and there was something about your smile. he couldn’t get enough.

“yeah i realised.”

god what should he say. he didn’t want to just ask for your number he was clearly older than you.

“haven’t seen you around here before you new?”

“yeah i uh moved in last week.”

he watched every word come out of your pink painted lips. watched as you tucked a strand of black hair behind your ear.

“daddy why are you staring?”

that got another laugh out of you as you ruffled little megumis hair. there was a small hue of pink now dusting your cheeks however.

“nothing brat. well i’ll see you around then.”

“yeah hopefully.” and with one last smile and wave at megumi you closed your front door and toji was left standing there staring at your closed door and wondering if and when would be the next time he saw you.

“do you love her?”

“what??”

“you keep staring at her it’s weird.”

“i’ll be eating your candy when we get home.”

a/n : do we want a part 2 ? 🤨

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS SLEEPING WITH YOU

FOR THE FIRST TIME

( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )

warning : none, full of fluff

note : cutest thing I've ever written (I say that to every fics I write)

─ OSCAR PISTRI

Boy is half excited and half nervous. He's already dreading the moment, imagining all the possible scenarios in his head. What is he supposed to do? Stay on the side of your bed? Wrap his arms around you? Tangle his legs with yours? He's beyond stressed, and the very idea that you don't feel comfortable makes him panic even more. But the relief he felt when you just snuggled up to him. It was just... natural. His arms naturally wrapped around you as he gently stroked your hair, your head on his chest. He was soothed, and couldn't hold back a slight smile, feeling his body warm up, feeling his heart overflowing with love.

─ LANDO NORRIS

He plays it cool, confident, but inside he can't deny the fact that he's slightly panicking. Since the very day he met you, being head over heels for you, he has imagined this scenario hundreds of times. Obviously, he dreamed of finally sleeping with you, feeling your body fit perfectly with his and just being able to cuddle you all night. So when the day finally arrives, he tries to act as he imagined in his head. Both lying on the bed, he didn't wait a single second before pulling you against him, holding you tightly so that you couldn't escape. His cheeks are probably very pink, but it's adorable, just like the way you fell asleep. In each other's arms.

─ CHARLES LECLERC

He comes out of your bathroom after changing into his pajamas, and ends up finding you already ready for sleep, lying in your bed, which is now getting ready to be shared with your boyfriend. This is the first time you're going to sleep together. This information seems to paralyze Charles, who remains planted against the doorframe, not knowing if he should come join you now. You giggle weakly, seeing him completely lost and... a little embarrassed. When he sees you open your arms to encourage him to come join you, he is already nestling his head in the crook of your neck the next second, his arms around your waist. Oh and, no need to add that it was the best night of his life.

─ CARLOS SAINZ

You are already lying in bed, side by side. It must have been a good 5 minutes since you moved, not really knowing what to do. You would love to snuggle up against him, but maybe that's too much for a first night together? That's definitely not what Carlos thinks, who noticed that you were, well... not comfortable in your own bed. He slowly turns towards you, smiling softly at you, as if you were the most beautiful wonder in the world, before pressing your head against his chest, with a gentle gesture. Your body presses against him naturally, as he begins to caress your back lightly. He places a quick kiss on your hair, wishing you both a good night.

─ LEWIS HAMILTON

His heart melts just at the thought of finally being able to sleep with you. To be honest, you were looking forward to this moment, and he too could only think about that. He can't help but think about it every second, until your bodies are finally inches apart, under the warm duvet. Lewis can't wait any longer, sleep already overtaking him. Just your simple presence soothes him. Then, it is in a peaceful silence that your bodies finally touch each other, seeking each other's affection. You quietly close your eyes, relaxed, as he inhales your scent, already feeling himself slipping away into dreams. Best night ever, for sure.

─ GEORGE RUSSEL

The bed is all ready, the sheets are clean and the duvet freshly laundered. You burrow under the covers first, smiling softly at your boyfriend, who in turn slips under the duvet. You are neither too close nor too far, a reasonable distance but your faces close. Enough that you felt the heat coming from each other's bodies. You don't dare disturb the other person, or make the situation uncomfortable, so it's in these positions that you fall asleep. However, George's body ends up unconsciously searching for you in his sleep. His arms ended up wrapping you in a comforting embrace, his head finding a place in the crook of your neck. And a little smile appeared on his face during the night.

─ MAX VERSTAPPEN

He was the one who practically begged you to sleep together. He wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, and above all he wanted to be able to hold you in his arms as long as possible, even at night. So when you were finally free from work and could sleep with him for the first time, he almost jumped for joy. As soon as you set foot on your bed, he had already trapped you in his arms, peppering your face with kisses here and there. It's not even embarrassing, it's just pleasantly adorable and warm. As if you had always slept together since the start of your relationship. And now that your first night together has passed, there won't be another night where he sleeps alone. It's him and you, or he doesn't sleep.

─ DANIEL RICCIARDO

This man is literally always in a good mood, and never really seems stressed. Except when it comes to you, and especially your first night sleeping in the same bed. His heart is pounding, and he can't hide his nervous expression no matter how hard he tries. You can't deny the fact that you're also somewhat stressed. After all, this is one of your first intimate moments. He could tell you were nervous just like him. And that's why he immediately knew how to lighten the atmosphere, by joking about the situation. All your stress is gone as you laugh until you cry, and your boyfriend laughs out loud, savoring the sweet melody of your laughter. And so, tired from laughing too much, you fall asleep deeply, snuggled up warmly against each other.

[hannieehaee]

BOY WITH LUV (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.

content: richboy!jk, downbad!jk, barista!reader, sub-ish!jk, reader plays hard to get just for plot purposes, jk is down horribly bad for reader, afab reader, smut, dry humping, jk's the embodiment of needy, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.2k (teaser); 8.8k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: october 22nd

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: downbad!jk is back!

masterlist | patreon

"Anyways just be careful with how many pumps you add to drinks. Customers can be extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff. Trust me," rambled on your new trainer, Jen? Jess? Something like that.

You watched disinterested, already having had a menial barista job in the past and being well aware of the high expectations of disgruntled customers. You, too, had been verbally harassed by one too many people in dire need of a drink far too specific for the average person to memorize. It was still appreciated, though, the effort she took in walking you through every step to ensure you did good at your new position.

Despite your focus on the task being demonstrated to you not being at its best, you did take notice when Jean(?) stopped her mentoring and instead spilled some of the drink she was currently making, clearly now equally as distracted as you. Her focus was no longer on the counter you were practicing drinks on, but instead looking past you and towards the counter a few steps behind you.

You meant to call out her name to question her, but without an angle on her name tag or any confidence in actually remembering the correct name, you simply grabbed at a nearby towel and cleaned off the mess, not bothering to look at whatever was distracting her. It was too early for you to bother.

Snapping out of her trance mere seconds later, she tapped at your shoulder urgently, her voice now a whisper as she leaned close for you to hear what she was about to say.

"Oh my God, don't look, but that's Jungkook," she whispered excitedly, as if letting you in on information you had any context about — hint: you had no idea who nor what she was referring to.

Turning around, you eyed another one of your new coworkers tending to the line at the counter, but more specifically helping out some guy. Focusing your eyes on him, you could now understand why his presence had caused a short-circuit in Jane (?) and why she felt the need to announce his presence to you.

The distraction in question presented itself in the form of a very tall and fit guy, one with a fully tattooed sleeve and dreamy black curls. Other outstanding attributes were the very obvious muscles encompassing his entire body and the shine that came from the various piercings on his face. In short, the man was nothing short of a dream straight from a Pinterest board — and the charisma radiating from his mere presence did not help matters.

"He's a regular. No one really knows much about him other than he's rich. He tips like 200% above his total," continued June, still leaning in your direction to whisper.

You felt bad at how obvious you were whilst staring at the boy, but he was likely the prettiest one you'd seen in a while. The blank expression in your stare did not tell on you, but it did not deny the fact that you were staring.

"We take turns serving him," your coworker informed you, "Sometimes we fight over it. He's a natural flirt, but he does it with everyone, so we're not sure if he's taken or not," she proceeded to tell you benign details about him that had you nodding along as you continued to stare at him.

The usually fast-paced place seemed to slow down when he entered the coffee shop, with most baristas' attentions going to him rather than their jobs. If he was aware of it, he was good at ignoring it, instead giving a flashy smile to the lucky barista currently tending to him. From the short distance between you, you were unable to hear his conversation, but you still had a perfect view of him as he simply existed. He could easily see you, as there was nothing in his way, but he hadn't yet, somehow oblivious to the attention he was receiving from all other baristas in the house.

As time stood still for everyone else, it continued normally for him. He paid for his drink, having it quickly bypass all other prior orders and made immediately by one of the many girls fawning at him. God, even the two baristas working the drive-thru had taken a short break from it go gawk.

It wasn't until moments later that Jungkook seemed to get a taste of his own medicine, with his own time suddenly coming to a halt. As he turned around to leave, sweet drink now in hand, his eyes incidentally met yours, causing him to pause mid turn and do a double take in order to catch your eyes again.

It was ridiculous, really. Almost too identical to those moments you'd see in those dumb romcoms you used to enjoy as a teenager. Except this was actually happening. And it was happening to you. As all your new coworkers watched his every move with extreme attention.

His eyes widened a bit. It was something the naked eye might've missed, but not you (nor the other five girls watching). His head tilted a bit to the side — maybe in curiosity due to not having seen you there before (Joanne did mention he was a regular). A ghost of a smirk took over the natural smile that had been on his lips since arrival. And lastly, a nod was sent your way — a nod in acknowledgment to your presence, but also with a flirtatious hint to it. It was hard to describe. You simply had to be there.

You remained watching him with a poker face throughout. The same poker face you'd had since clocking in to work that morning. It wasn't that you were mean or not a people person, you simply hated work. You'd been told you had a bit of a resting bitch face and gave a mean impression to those who didn't know you, but that was beside the point. The pretty boy whose attention you'd caught had gotten lucky, though, as he at least received the ghost of a smile from you before he left.

The first thing to occur upon his departure was a squeal from your left. The perpetrator? Julie (or whatever her name was).

"Oh my god!," she let out, grabbing onto your shoulder so you'd face her, "Did you see that?"

"See what?", you asked, not 100% sure of what had just happened.

"He totally checked you out . He's never done that before. Maybe he likes you? God, don't let Lila find out, she's got a huge crush on him," she informed you, once again assuming you knew who the hell Lila was.

"Hah, I think he might've just been surprised to see a new face," you downplayed, "What were you explaining before he got here? The thing with the pumps and the-"

"He comes here every morning at 8 or so. How about you take his order tomorrow? Y'know, just to test my theory," she suggested, disregarding your question.

"Orders? It's my first day here. Isn't training like two weeks lon-"

"It's fine! I'll be shadowing you. You'll do great! Now let's get back to your training-"

"Jane! I need more change at drive thru!", called one of the drive thru girls, interrupting your conversation.

"Coming, Lila!", she responded, giving you a polite smile before handing you the shaker she had just been holding, "Just practice some drinks how I taught you. I'll be right back to show you how to work the register."

So her name was Jane. And that was Lila.

At least you learned something today.

...

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reply if you'd like to be tagged!

[yuujispinkhair]

How you get the girl

He knows how ironic this is. He is Sukuna, the guy who is known to always wear a smug smirk on his tattoed face and have a snide remark ready at all times. And yet, when you stand in front of him and confess your feelings to him, he is at a total loss for what to do.

Aka Sukuna is a lovesick mess who fucks things up on the first try because being open about his feelings is really not his strength but then makes up for it again.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, College AU Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Light angst with a happy ending. Sukuna struggles with opening up about his feelings. Kissing. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact.

"And that's why...I mean, what I want to say is, I love you, Sukuna."

You stand in front of him, wringing your hands nervously after saying all those sweet things about him that he never knew he was, and look up at him with a hopeful look in your pretty eyes. And Sukuna feels like he has been hit by a truck as he stares at you with wide maroon eyes and his heart hammering in his chest.

He knows how ironic this is. He is Sukuna, the star player of the basketball team, the popular asshole who gets invited to every party, the guy with the bad boy reputation, who is known to always wear a smug smirk on his tattoed face and have a snide remark ready at all times. And yet, when you stand in front of him and confess your feelings to him, he is at a total loss for what to do.

There are a lot of things going through his head. A lot of things he could confess to you. Like how much he likes spending time with you. Or that he thinks about your smile all day. Or that he likes how you laugh about his jokes and always play along when he says something teasing.

He knows he should be honest and tell you how weirdly full his chest feels when he holds you and that he likes it so much how you fit so perfectly into his arms and against his tall, muscular body. That it makes him want to protect you and care for you, just like the way you care for him so lovingly. He knows he could tell you that you are always his last thought before he falls asleep and the first one when he wakes up.

But he doesn't do any of that. He is frozen somehow. This big bad guy, who is always so loud and confident, is standing there staring at you with wide maroon eyes, nervously pushing his tongue piercing against the back of his incisors while he tries to think of what to say to you.

It's too much, too intense. He is good at flirting. He is good at kissing and fucking and sweet talk. But he isn't good at this!

Sukuna opens his mouth only to close it again, unable to put this overwhelming whirlwind of feelings into words. Or maybe it's not even that. Maybe it's not that he doesn't know what to say, but rather that everything he would say right now would feel too honest, too raw, and that is something that scares him. He has always been the rough one, the one who wears a mask of arrogance and indifference that lets him hide how he really feels.

Maybe that is why all he manages to say is,

"Thank you, princess."

He sees your face fall and hears a shaky breath escape your lips. You try to mask your disappointment, lips lifting in a forced smile as you back away from him with shiny eyes.

"You're welcome... I ... I will just go then. Bye, Sukuna."

He has never felt as helpless as when he stands there with his hands balled into fists as he watches you turn around and leave hastily.

He tries to pretend this moment never happened, tries to tell himself he did nothing wrong. It's fine. His reaction was a normal one. Things will be ok. You will come up to him tomorrow and roll your eyes and tease him about how he stood there like an idiot, and he will laugh and pull you against him and tell you that your beauty left him speechless and that, of course, he feels the same!

But that doesn't happen.

He doesn't see you anywhere in the next few days. There are no texts from you either. You're avoiding him, aren't you? Your friends send death glares his way when he passes them in the hallway.

He loses track of how often he pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans, just for his fingers to hover over your last message to him, unable to find the courage to type something.

The new episode of your favorite show airs tonight. He watches it. Of course, he does. He always does, even though he finds it boring and thinks the actors are super bad. But he watches it because you like it, and so he can talk to you about it. But tonight, you aren't in his bed to watch with him, and you aren't texting him about it either.

So Sukuna grabs his phone and finally texts you. He sends text message after text message all through the episode, commenting on the newest scandal and on the outfits of the main characters.

He doesn't get a reply.

On the fourth day, he sits in the living room with his brother, playing video games and losing round after round because his mind is too occupied with missing you and stressing about why he did what he did. And suddenly, he can't stop himself from throwing the controller on the floor and blurting out,

"I fucked up."

Yuuji looks at him with a questioning look,

"Do you mean in the game or something else? Are you in trouble?"

And Sukuna laughs gruffly and hides his face in his hands as he shakes his head. Luckily, his brother is persistent and doesn't leave him alone. The brat bugs him until Sukuna finally spills it out,

"She told me she loves me."

He doesn't even have to say your name. Yuuji knows. Of course, he does. He blinks at Sukuna in confusion.

"And what is the problem? That is amazing news!"

"I said thank you."

The seconds tick away, and Yuuji stares at him as if waiting for him to say more. Sukuna huffs and shakes his head before he adds,

"That's all. I thanked her... and then she left."

"What do you mean you thanked her, Kuna? What the fuck!? That isn't an acceptable way to reply to a love confession!"

"As if I don't know that! I... shit, I didn't know what to say! I was overwhelmed!"

He glares at his twin, desperation turning him into a hot, angry mess. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. He should grab his gym bag and go lift some weights and hit a punching bag until he is too exhausted to think!

But Yuuji's voice stops him.

"But.. but don't you like her? You looked so happy with her."

"Of course I do! I like her a lot."

He hates how soft his voice becomes when he says the last part. He hates how weak he feels when he feels his mask slip and knows he isn't able to hide the pain in his heart.

But luckily, this is Yuuji, his twin, the brat that has been practically attached to his hip ever since he was born three minutes after Sukuna. It's ok if he sees Sukuna like that. This is the little brother who loves Sukuna no matter what shitty situation he gets himself into. The brother who is so much better at being open about his feelings. The brother who isn't scared to tell him off when Sukuna does something stupid.

"When what are you still doing here, you idiot? Get the fuck up and go to her and talk to her! I will throw you out and lock the door! I am serious, Kuna! You only come back here after you made things ok again with your girl!"

It's ridiculous that he needs his younger brother to kick his ass and tell him what to do. It's absolutely pathetic that he jogs through the rain in the middle of the night to buy a huge bouquet of red roses and then bangs on your door with his pink hair dripping wet and his soaked-through white t-shirt sticking to his abs uncomfortably.

But maybe it's good to be pathetic sometimes because you don't slam the door into his face but look at him with a hopeful expression on your face and a soft,

"Hey, Sukuna."

He doesn't give a fuck anymore at that point. He doesn't care that he is standing in a small puddle of rainwater dripping down from his wet clothes. He doesn't care that his hand trembles when he pushes the roses into your arms. He doesn't care if the whole dorm hears him when he says,

"I am sorry! I was an idiot. You said all those sweet things to me, and in my head were so many things I wanted to tell you too, but I messed up."

He runs a large hand through his wet hair and slicks it back again, looking at you with eyes that glitter suspiciously, but he can blame it on the rain sticking to his long lashes,

"I like you too. Every minute with you was the best I ever had. I see your face in my mind all the time. Last week, I started laughing in the middle of the grocery store because I remembered something funny you said to me. I messed up my last exam because I was too distracted thinking about how your hand feels in my hair. I only feel ok when you are next to me because if you are not there, I feel like there is a crucial part of me missing. I know I suck at talking about my feelings, but that doesn't mean I don't have a hundred thousand of them when it comes to you, and all of them are fucking good and intense and drive me crazy and... I just.. fuck, I love you, princess. I love you, and I am so sorry!"

He feels out of breath, maybe from running through the rainy streets or maybe from letting out all of those words that make him feel so fucking vulnerable when being vulnerable was the one thing he always tried to avoid at all costs.

But there is this happy smile on your face. The smile he missed so damn much. And he knows it was worth it that he ran through the rain and spilled his heart out in the staircase of your dorm.

It was all worth it because you take a step towards him with happy tears in your eyes and a soft,

"Oh, Kuna."

And the next thing he knows is you are in his arms again, your warm body pressing tightly against his, not caring about his wet clothes. Your arms wrap around his neck, and your fingers play with the short hair of his undercut, making him let out a soft sigh. And you get on your tiptoes to kiss him right when he wraps his tattoed arms around your waist and pulls you even closer.

He can hear loud cheers and applause coming from somewhere in the staircase, but he really doesn't give a fuck anymore who heard his love confession. The whole world can know how he feels about you. He will shout it from the rooftop and punch everyone in the face who has a problem with it, if it means he can hold you again and kiss you and feel your smile against his lips.

I made myself cry thinking about this scene and then I HAD to write it aaaaah. I am so weak when Sukuna is a mess, it just makes me want to hug him and ruffle his hair and never let him go again. I am obsessed I think.

Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it and that you are weak for this mess of a boy too ;)

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[omelaslost]

Prey Sigil

•───────•°•❀•°•❀•°•❀•°•───────•

Prompt: Their s/o’s family sigil is something that is prey to theirs. Characters: Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister “You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles.” – Illyrio Mopatis, A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion I

•───────•°•❀•°•❀•°•❀•°•───────•

Robb Stark

Sigil: Rabbit / Hare ✿ Robb would likely find it somewhat amusing. He definitely sees the humor in the direwolf joining with the hare and would occasionally joke about it with you. ✿ He would probably give you a pet name like “my little rabbit” or something along those lines. Though, he would only call you that in private once you are more familiar with one other. He might affectionately refer to you as his rabbit to those he is close to after a while. ✿ The tone of his pet name for you would depend on your personality, but the fondness (and teasing) in it would be the same. ✿ Robb is a protective person, and he would be protective of you regardless, but especially if you’re more meek and less likely to stand up for yourself. Rabbits are often seen as symbols of innocence and vulnerability, so he would find that your house’s sigil is fitting. ✿ Now, if you’re more confident and assertive, he would be much more teasing in calling you a rabbit. He would likely add that you were his “fierce little rabbit” and say that there was a wolf in you yet. ✿ He would commission small wood carvings of a direwolf and a rabbit that you keep on your bedside table as a wedding or anniversary gift. They are not to be separated. ✿ If the two of you were to discuss having children (he does need his heir), he would refer to them as “wobbits”. ✿ On that topic, another thing that rabbits are well-known for is how quickly they reproduce (eg “fucking like rabbits”), and so he would probably joke and tease you about that in the privacy of your bedchamber. ✿ You kinda need to be a rabbit to keep up with his ass honestly. ✿ He is very eager to have “a full brood of wobbits hopping around”

Theon Greyjoy

Sigil: A ship with ten fish (Krakens are difficult okay)

✿ Bro’s got jokes (and they aren’t funny) ✿ He’s just a really handsy person in general. He likes to have his hands on you whenever he can. If he can pull you onto his lap and wrap his arms around you waist, he will. It is not a matter of if: it is absolutely a matter of when. ✿ Literally, his favorite thing is to catch your waist when you’re walking by and just pull you down onto him when you’re least expecting it. Just like a Kracken would pull a ship down into the sea. ✿ He just likes to be wrapped around you (he says he thinks he prefers it when you’re wrapped around him, but this isn’t about that). ✿ Except it is about that because most of the jokes he makes will be sexual. ✿ Before he goes down on you, he would jest about a Kraken eating (out) a ship. When he finds how wet you are, he would say that you were flooding/swamping and that it was time for him to sink (into) you. ✿ If you don’t find him funny, he might stop (maybe), but he finds himself funny and that’s all that matters. (He isn't funny). ✿ Very specific, but if you can’t swim, he would never let you hear the end of it. He would offer to teach you (since a boat should know how to float), and while a genuine effort would be made, he would also play around with you in the water, pulling you down into the water. Probably ends up almost drowning you once or twice (accidental baptism, what is dead may never die 🙏). ✿ He actually would likely enjoy being wet with you though, whether you can swim or not. Whether it’s in the hot springs in the godswood of Winterfell or just in a tub during a bath, he’d like how you look with water dripping down your body. He’d joke that you’re both in your natural habitat… mostly. ✿ Gods have mercy if he ever gets you with child because now the ship is manned and he would not shut up about it. The Kraken added life to the ship instead of taking from it.

Cersei Lannister

Sigil: Antelope

✿ She would feel slightly annoyed that an antelope is similar to a stag, but she would eventually learn to ignore it (until you do something that annoys her, then she remembers again and makes it your problem, but you shouldn’t have annoyed her, so it’s actually still your fault).

✿ But you’re not a stag, she would remind herself. An antelope is not a stag; they are prettier than a stag and more graceful. You’re not Robert. You’re not a King; you’re beneath her in every way, and she finds comfort in that.

✿ As you can guess, your relationship likely would not be the healthiest.

✿ Cersei would like to brand you as hers in some way, but she knows that she would have to do it discreetly, so she would use your own coat of arms to do it. You can expect certain gifts from her, as rewards for your services.

✿ Accessories for your hair, shaped similarly to antelope horns, rings with grooves similar to that of an antelope, and she would sneak some reds and golds into them, along with the colors of your own house.

✿ Another way she would “brand” you would be by biting you. As much as she would like to leave it somewhere visible, she is more sensible than that. Your thighs are free game though. You’d be able to tell if she’s upset with you (or in general) by whether she draws blood or not. She would tend to take certain emotions out on you. If you whimper, she would remind you that this is what you’re here for. You’re an antelope, and she is the lion.

✿ She’s also clawing the absolute hell out of the back of your neck while you’re eating her out, but it’s okay because you’ll just wear your hair in a way that hides it.

Jaime Lannister

Sigil: Striped Horse (Zebra) [Note: I don’t think Zebras are ever name-dropped in ASOIAF. Zorses are, but not Zebras. But Zorses come from Zebras and I like Zebras so we’re using Zebras ok? cool.] ✿ You will never get a chance to ask him to do anything without him saying that the striped horse should not give be giving orders to the lion (but he will still do what you asked… if he feels like it and begrudgingly. But if he thinks it would be funnier to ignore your request, you’re on your own).

✿ Big “I know the striped horse is not talking rn” energy whenever you say anything ever. Unfortunately, bullying is one of his love languages.

✿ He would be similar to Cersei in the aspect that he would want you to have some piece of him that connects you to him, thus in a way branding you, but he would also want to have a piece of you that connects him to you.

✿ He is more likely to give you something with a lion on it straight up but perhaps in your colors. He might subtly take on your colors as well with something small with plausible deniability. For example, he carried a white ribbon on him (he is a knight of the Kingsguard, so it would not be questioned) and you carry a black one on you. If he were feeling more daring, he might take the black ribbon while you keep the white. He keeps it for good luck but would openly deny doing such a thing if you mentioned it.

✿ He is a yearner (something else he denies). If he is away from you for a certain amount of time, he will begin to find ways to see you in everything. He sees horses and that makes him think of striped horses and then that makes him think of you because that’s your house’s sigil. He sees a black and white cat, and you know what else is black and white? A striped horse :(

✿ Would literally bite your ass while undressing you, but it would be more of a nip than an actual bite. If your eyes widened and you looked down at him in shock, he would just smirk and say, “What? I’m a lion.”

✿ He would enjoy pinning you down in bed and playfully taunting you while nipping at your skin. He’d like it if you ‘fought back’ just so he can pin you down again.

Tyrion Lannister

Sigil: Warthog ✿ He would find a bit of irony in the idea of him being a lion and your somehow being a warthog and he would probably make self-deprecating jokes about it, likely that he thinks it should be reversed. He thinks that you are strong and beautiful like a lion, whereas he would put his appearance something closer to a warthog. But Tyrion does hold some complicated pride in being a lion, and he would be happy to make you one as well. ✿ He would probably do something similar to Robb, having something commissioned to honor both of your houses, but it would likely be on a grander scale (might as well put that Lannister gold to good use). Instead of wood carvings, it would likely be marble figures with rubies for the lion’s eyes and a stone of your house’s colors for your warthog. He would be very happy if you liked them. ✿ At some point in the relationship, he would jest that you’re certainly the prettiest pig that he has ever seen, that is for sure… and then immediately backpedal, saying perhaps he should not liken you to a pig. If you found humor in it, he would be relieved. ✿ Tyrion would have fun with it. He’s a very knowledgeable person, so he likely has some fun facts about warthogs stored up there to bring out whenever you do something he can compare it to. You’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be? Hogging (ha) the blankets? Well, warthogs are notorious trespassers and thieves (they steal other animals’ burrows) and you are truly a testament to that. ✿ He will have most definitely make the comment that he has no desire to strip the skin from your bones, but he does wish to strip you of something before reaching for your clothing. ✿ Cersei would be quite fond of your coat of arms, even more so once it is joined with the lion. A warthog is not a boar, but they are close enough in appearance as far as she is concerned. She would commission you clothes just to see a lion and a “boar” close together whenever she sees you, and she would pass it off as a good-sisterly gift. Tyrion suspects that his sister finds glee in the prospect because of how King Robert died (he is correct).

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part one part two part three part four

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you’d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance 

[goosewizard]

hc that tubbo is REALLY insecure about his missing eye, so he wears an eyepatch in new l’manberg and absolutely hates it. it’s too big and garish, it rubs up on his wounds all wrong, he hates seeing himself with it. it makes him feel weak. ranboo notices (of course he does) and thinks that tubbo deserves to feel handsome again. they set off after a cabinet meeting to see if ghostbur has any books on prosthetics.

it should be noted that ranboo has no fucking clue what they’re doing. in the weeks after the plans inception, he has amassed over fifty handcrafted glass eyes, of which exactly zero will work. they’re too big, too small, not the right color. he even managed to make one with a rectangular pupil before they thought better of it. it's a shame, too, that was his best one yet. they're tired and frustrated and the eye collection is really starting to creep him out. ranboo considers asking for help.

ranboo remembers the tumultuous political state of new l'manburg.

ranboo thinks this may be a one-man project.

it really shouldn’t be a surprise that tubbo finds out. they've been practically attached at the hip since ranboo joined, and he was never any good at keeping things from tubbo anyway. they're popping over to ranboo's to get supplies for whatever adventure they're going on today, and the little chest labeled SECRET DO NOT OPEN is too full, propped open with dozens of lumpy glass spheres. tubbo notices (of course he does) and gets halfway through a i can't believe you have an eye fetish before he realizes. ranboo thinks it's a bad sign when he goes silent and an even worse one when his eye goes all misty and aw shit he made the president cry.

he's stuttering through an apology when tubbo's one eye meets their two and he asks is this for me? did you make these for me? ranboo nods and tubbo smiles like a kid on christmas, watery and bright. they've missed that smile. before he knows what's happening, tubbo's tackled them into a hug, sending both of them careening to the ground. ranboo vows there and then to give the man anything and everything he desires now and forever, just so he can feel like this again. not a veteran, not a politician, just tubbo, carefree and kind.

yeah, that sounds like a good life.

as quickly as ranboo went down, he's being pulled back up with tubbo insisting that they try every single eye, previous adventure abandoned. they spend the day like that, going through the chest, laughing at some of ranboos earlier attempts, and screaming with excitement when one managed to fit.

he looks beautiful. more confident, brighter, somehow. they burn his eyepatch that night. ranboo had already gotten him a better one anyway.

part 1 | part 2

[trulyumai]

belittling the reign

synopsis: the people began to doubt Geta, and in return, so did members of the senate. The emperor began to act wildly, his temper just a reach away. It all came crashing down when a man of the senate brought the empress up and how she would fall with the emperor.

pairing: Emperor geta / empress! reader

Warnings: Violence, anger, choking, death. Protectiveness/Possessive.

The room was dim, save for the flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. Geta sat at the long table, his goblet half-full, eyes fixed on the dull gleam of his dagger. He had been deep in thought, tired from the endless political maneuvering of the Senate, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his silence.

The door creaked open, and a figure entered—Marcus, a senator known for his sharp tongue and sharper ambitions. Geta didn’t look up as the man approached, choosing instead to swirl the dark wine in his cup.

“Geta,” Marcus began, his voice oozing with false politeness. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

Geta grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disdain. He knew this man all too well—his visits were never without some form of scheming. Marcus circled the room slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of the table as he moved closer.

“You know, it’s funny,” Marcus continued, his tone casual, though laced with something more sinister. “There’s been a lot of talk in the streets lately. The citizens are starting to wonder how much longer Rome will have to bear the burden of a violent ruler.” The man let out a chuckle, it reverberated through the room and Geta swore his fingers shook with an emitting anger.

The emperor’s eyes flicked upward for the first time, meeting Marcus’s gaze with a steely intensity. The senator smiled, a smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“They say,” Marcus went on, “that there will soon be a new emperor. A man who leads not with blood, but with wisdom. One who doesn’t lose himself to rage every time a senator dares to speak out. The people... they’re excited, Geta. They’re waiting for the day Rome is free of your wrath… Maybe Caracalla would be a better fit?”

Geta’s grip tightened on the goblet, the muscles in his arm tensing as he fought to contain his growing anger. “You tread on dangerous ground, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and cold.

Breath in. Breath out. Remember your wife, the sweet laugh, those little dimples that littered your face when he told a good story.

But Marcus was undeterred. He leaned in closer, his breath hot and smug as he whispered, “Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful. People don’t fear you anymore, Geta. They’re waiting for your death. And when it comes, oh how they’ll cheer. Finally, a ruler worthy of the Empire will take your place.”

A dark laugh escaped Marcus’s lips, but it was quickly cut off by Geta’s sudden movement. In a flash, the emperor had risen from his seat, standing tall over the senator. Marcus stiffened, but continued, confidence seemed to block the mans rational fears. “What will your pretty little wife do when you’re gone, I wonder? Maybe she’ll find solace in someone with real power.”

That was the last mistake.

Geta’s fury ignited like a wildfire, burning through every shred of control he had left. Before Marcus could react, Geta’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the man’s throat. The senator’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, his hands clawing uselessly at Geta’s iron grip.

“You dare threaten my wife?” Geta growled, his voice trembling with rage. His face was twisted in a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he squeezed tighter. “You think you can speak to me of death? Speak to me of weakness?” He spat the words with venom, his grip tightening as Marcus’s face turned pale, then purple.

The senator’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed in silent pleas for mercy, but Geta’s rage was far beyond words now. He lifted Marcus off the ground, the senator’s feet dangling as he struggled weakly. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as Geta’s expression darkened with each passing second.

“You thought you could replace me? With my own brother?!” Geta whispered, leaning in close to the dying man’s ear. “There will be no one else, dear Marcus.  I am Rome, hm? I. Am. Rome.”

Marcus’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still. Geta held him there for a moment longer, the senator’s lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, before finally letting the body fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Geta’s ragged breathing. He stood over Marcus’s corpse, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of his rage. Slowly, he lowered his hand, twisting and turning the jeweled rings around his fingers while wiping the sweat from his brow. His gaze dropped to the dead man at his feet, his heart still pounding in his chest, though calmer now.

A twisted calm, one born of violence.

“Threatening my liege. My Wife,” Geta muttered to himself, stepping over Marcus’s body as he made his way toward the door. “They will all burn before I leave the throne.”

-

The hallways were dimly lit, the flickering flames of the torches casting long, distorted shadows along the stone walls. Geta’s breathing was still ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears as he moved through the empty corridors. His hands, still tingling with the memory of squeezing the life out of Marcus, twitched at his sides. Sweat clung to his brow, slicking his skin and making his tunic stick to his chest.

He could feel the weight of what he had done. The senator’s limp body, the satisfaction that had come when his struggles ceased. It was a different kind of battle—one where no soldier could see him, and no one could speak of it.

Yet, the thrill of victory felt different this time. It wasn’t the fight he was used to. He wasn’t on the battlefield, brandishing his sword, earning the respect of his men. This victory had been personal, quiet... but more satisfying than he could have imagined. Marcus had been wrong—there would be no new ruler. Not while Geta breathed.

He thought of the senators who whispered behind closed doors, plotting to strip him of his power. He thought of the citizens who questioned his rule, who had dared to entertain the idea of another emperor, a more peaceful one. And now he thought of those who might still move against him. They had made one fatal error—they underestimated his resolve, his willingness to do whatever was necessary to protect what was his. He had been lenient for too long.

His footsteps echoed in the silence as he neared the door to his chambers. The weight of his actions, the violence he was still capable of, burned beneath his skin, but as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the tension seemed to soften.

There, lying in the massive bed, was his wife—your form draped in blankets, the soft rise and fall of your chest showing the example of a  peaceful slumber. You were so..  completely unaware of what he had just done, unaware of the thoughts that now consumed him.

Geta stood in the doorway for a moment, simply watching. His wife had been the one constant in his life, the anchor to his rage. You had calmed him when no one else could. 

His breath still came in short bursts, his chest tight with the remnants of his fury. Slowly, he approached the bed, his legs heavy beneath him as if the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He collapsed beside you, the bed creaking under his weight. He was slick with sweat, the heat of the earlier confrontation still radiating from his body. He exhaled deeply, his muscles sagging as he sunk into the mattress.

His wife stirred slightly, your hand brushing against his arm as she mumbled something incoherent in sleep. Your touch was soft, gentle—so unlike the violence that had consumed him only moments before. For a moment, Geta considered waking you, telling just what had transpired, but no. You didn’t need to know about the bloodshed, the threat to their life. You didn’t need to carry the burden of his thoughts.

But in the stillness of the night, with his wife sleeping so peacefully beside him, his mind churned with plans. He would not be overthrown. He would not be replaced by anyone who dared to dream of ruling Rome in his stead. Geta would seek out the usurpers, one by one. He would find every senator, every noble, every conspirator who dared question his rule, and he would deal with them the same way he dealt with Marcus. There would be no mercy.

His wife shifted again, pressing closer to him, your hand now resting on his chest, and for a brief moment, the thoughts of violence faded. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her warmth, the way your perfect body curved against his.

But even as his breath steadied and exhaustion began to pull him into sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: no one would threaten his reign. No one would ever threaten you again.

And when the time came to deal with the rest of them, Geta knew, deep down, he would not hesitate. Rome was his. And he would destroy anyone who thought otherwise.

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

PAPA GOJO

Note: scenario based on this smau

Masterlist Discord

Satoru crouches down to his daughter's height, flashing her a warm smile, “Okay, girlie,” he says softly, voice full of love for his little girl. “Worms or bears?” he asks her, a bit of mischief laced in his words. 

“Hmm…” The little girl, no more than five years old, thinks deeply about the question her father asked her. She brings her tiny finger to her lips, tapping thoughtfully, contemplating which candy she should pick. “I take the worms, papa!” Her small joyful giggles fill the room as Satoru hands over the candy with a pout. 

“I wanted the worms…” he laments, flashing her a frown. The little girl giggles at her father’s antics. She shakes her head with a toothy smile, clutching the candy closer to her chest. “Papa no, you can have the bears,” She reaches her little hand out, pointing at the bag of gummy bears that rests in her father’s palm. 

“Okay…” Satoru coincides with a dramatic huff. He flashes his daughter a wink letting her know he was serious, at least not completely. He stands back at his full height, taking her small hand in his, both of them making their way over to the couch. Satoru plops himself down first, the cushions sinking under his weight. His daughter climbs up beside him, nestling into the crook of his arm.

“Papa open, please?” She raises the bag of treats up to her father’s face. Satoru’s heart melted at the sight in front of him. Something about helping his daughter out with anything she needs always made him feel useful. He gently takes the bag from her small hands, “Of course,” he says with a smile, his voice filled with affection as he begins to open the bag.

“There you go,” He says, handing the bag back to her. “Thank you, Papa!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with happiness. Without any hesitation, her little hand reaches into the bag and pulls out the first piece of candy. She pops it into her mouth, savoring the fruity taste of the gummies. 

She really was a carbon copy of her father, both with a raging sweet tooth. That you curse Satoru everyday for, so much so you had to limit the amount of candy in the house. But for Satoru the look of delight on her face as she chews is priceless, and the way her little feet swing happily back and forth as she enjoys her treat. It was definitely worth disobeying his wife’s rules for once in a while. 

Satoru watches her with a smile, feeling a wave of contentment take over him. It was moments like these, the simple moments, that made him feel at peace with life. “Papa… want one?” The sounds of his little girl snaps him back to reality. He sees his daughter holding up a gummy worm. 

He smiles again, nodding his head. “Of course,” and with that Satoru opened his mouth, leaning down slightly, moving closer to her hand. With great care, he takes the candy into his mouth, chewing on it with exaggerated satisfaction. “Mmm, delicious,” He chuckles, his daughter following with a fit of laughter at the faces her father makes. 

Both of them sit in the comfortable silence while finishing their snacks. “Now if your mother asks what you ate for lunch… what are you going to say?” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkle with mischief. Your daughter looks up at him, her eyes fill with awareness. She knows her father and she knows this tone, the one that means they’re in on something together. A little secret just between the two of them.

Her lips curl into a smile. “Ramen!” she yells out, looking up at her father again, confident with her response.

“That’s my girl,” Satoru smiles warmly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. She knew the perfect answer. 

[carmenberzattosgf]

Smut request! I just had the thought, what if you started seeing Carmy and for some reason you actually kind of expected him to be *smaller* due to his shorter height (but nevertheless love his huge biceps and how gorgeous he is) ...so when you're about to have sex for the first time, you're stunned into surprise and into a sudden massive size kink when you realize how big/thick he actually is... Like an "I don't know if that will fit" bit 😵‍💫🥵💀

Yeah, the first time he pulls down his boxers… you’re a bit shocked. The surprise must show on your face, because a small chuckle leaves Carmy’s lips.

“Like what you see?” He’s well aware of how attractive his body looks. Carmen’s not confident in much, but his physique is an exception. He’s also well aware of how big he is, and he has every reason to be proud of it.

“You’re like a fucking Greek sculpture or something. So pretty.” Carmy blushes at your praise. He’s never had someone look at his body in such a daze before. He naturally takes a step towards where you sit on his bed, completely bare.

“I should be the one complimenting you, pretty girl.” Carmen’s within arms reach now, and you can’t resist reaching your fingers out to touch him. His muscles tense when your nails graze across his abs. He can see how blown out your pupils are as your fingers trace his happy trail right down to his cock.

You take him in your hand, and your fingers barely touch around him. “So big—never taken anything this big. Do you think it’ll fit?” You gaze up at him, breathing heavily. You already looked fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I’ll make it fit. We’ll go slow, yeah? M’not gonna do anything that’ll hurt you.” He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. God, even his hand engulfs your face. He needs to be in you, now. “If you wanna stop, tell me, and I’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay. I trust you, Carm.”

Within minutes, he has you underneath him with your legs open wide, waiting for him. Carmy strokes his cock gently to spread the precum that had collected at his tip over his length. He wastes no time, lining up to your entrance.

“Still feeling okay?” It must have been the fifth time he’s asked by now, but he wants to make sure you’re completely comfortable. He’s so sincere it makes your heart flutter.

“Mhm—please, Carm. Need you in me—“ A moan cuts off your sentence as Carmy presses into you. Carmy grits his teeth; it’s taking all the power he has not to just plow into your warm cunt.

“So fucking tight—god, baby. Relax—I gotcha,” he coos. He moves his hand to press his thumb into your swollen bud. Your hips twitch as he runs slow circles onto your clit. “There we go. That’s a good girl.”

Carmy’s thumb distracts you enough that you don’t realize he’s nearly half way inside of you. You’ve never felt so stretched full before. “So—so big, Carm. S’much—holy shit,” you whine. Your hands frantically reach out for him, desperate to feel his skin. They end up settling on his waist. Carmy winces when your nails dig into his skin, but he already knows he’s going to love looking at those scratch marks in the morning.

“Shh—I know. You’re taking it so good, baby. So fucking good.” He lets his hips sink the rest of the way down after you adjust. Tears pool in the corner of your eyes as he bottoms out.

“Please fuck me, I can’t—need to feel you. Please.” You beg.

“Let me know if it’s too much.”

Carmy fucks you deep and slow that night. Every single thrust is deliberate to bring you pleasure. He’s barely even pulling half way out of you, instead focusing the movement of his hips to grind his cock deep inside of you.

The pleasure is mind numbing. Carmy’s cock hits spots that you’ve never felt before, and it makes wild and desperate sounds leave your mouth. “Carmy, Carmy, Carmy. S’deep. Feels like you’re in my stomach—fuck.”

Carmy’s not doing much better. The way your squeezing around him feels like heaven on earth. His hand leaves your throbbing clit to rest right below your navel. Carmen splays his palm and presses down firmly. “Yeah? Can you feel me right here?”

“Mhm—“ a sharp whimper escapes you as he picks up the pace. “Shit—C-Carm. Close—I’m so close, please.”

“Go on, baby. Cum around my cock for me. Been such a good girl; you deserve it.”

With his permission, you hit your peak. Your legs tremble as your wrap them around his waist in a last ditch effort to get him even closer. That’s what sends Carmy over the edge, spilling deep inside of you. Your hips twitch against his as he pumps you full of cum.

You don’t realize you blacked out until you suddenly feel a warm wash cloth between your legs, cleaning you up. You’re still too fucked out to speak properly, so you just look at him with a giddy smile on your face.

The next morning you can barely walk, legs shaking with every step. Carmy profusely apologizes, feeling like absolute shit for not taking more time to stretch you out.

However, you whispering in his ear that you like being reminded of how good he fucked you with ever step you take shuts him right up.

[p0orbaby]

Surprised no one has written a blurb about Leah in that suit at the GQ event this week 😅

-

The room is buzzing, a sea of black ties and designer dresses, champagne flutes held aloft like props in some elaborate theatre production. Conversations hum all around you—something about business, or football, or maybe it’s art. You’re not sure. You’re not really listening.

How could you? Leah is right there.

She’s leaning against the bar, elbow propped, laughing at something some guy in a velvet jacket has just said. You don’t care about him, or his stupid jacket, or the fact that the two of them are now deep in conversation about—what? You’re guessing wine or NFTs or something equally pretentious.

Because all you can focus on is her. The suit. The way it fits her, how the bralette peeks out just enough to drive you mad, and the fact that she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s glanced at you twice already, smirking when she caught you staring, and now you’re trying—and failing—to act like a functional human being.

“Did you hear what I just said?” someone asks beside you. A colleague of hers, maybe? Or a sponsor? You’re not sure.

“Sorry?” you say, tearing your eyes away from Leah just long enough to register that the man in front of you has been talking for at least three minutes straight.

“I was saying how important it is to invest in grassroots football,” he repeats, clearly thinking he’s said something profound.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, glancing back at Leah. She’s standing straighter now, facing your direction. Her hand slips into her pocket, and you swear she’s flexing—abs, jawline, everything.

“Do you agree?” the man presses.

“Sure,” you say, not even pretending to care anymore. Your eyes are back on Leah, who has definitely caught you looking. Her smirk deepens.

She crosses the room toward you, moving with the kind of confidence that should be illegal. The guy talking to you doesn’t even notice; he’s still yammering on about funding or facilities or whatever.

Leah steps beside you, close enough that you catch a hint of her perfume. You want to scream. Or faint. Or both.

“Having fun?” she murmurs, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Not particularly,” you whisper back, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Too distracted”

She tilts her head, clearly enjoying this. “Oh? By what?”

You meet her gaze, trying to look unimpressed. It’s impossible. “You know exactly what”

Leah chuckles, leaning in just enough that her lips almost brush your ear. “Behave,” she whispers, and then pulls back, winking before turning to the man still talking at you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says smoothly, extending a hand. “Leah Williamson”

The man immediately lights up, shaking her hand like he’s just been introduced to the Queen. You, on the other hand, are still stuck on the way her voice dipped when she told you to behave.

You spend the rest of the night trailing after her like some lovesick puppy, pretending to care about the event but knowing full well your brain is only capable of two thoughts: Leah looks so hot in that suit and I need to get her out of it.

[thought--bubble]

Upon his Brother's Table

Aemond X (Aegon's betrothed Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 1,748

Canon Aemond Master List

Full Master List

MDNI Banners & dividers by @arcielee

*Just a little something i put together for @queen--kenobi 's table sex event. I had to contribute to the petty. It was too good!

Warnings: Infidelity, choking, unprotected P in V, Dub-con. Potential spoilers of future events

Aemond paces back and forth, his heels clicking against the cold stone floor in the council room, his face is flushed, and his composure is nearly gone. Not a look one would usually see on Aemond, but his patience has been pushed to the brink.

"I served him... LOYALLY!" The anger radiates off him in waves as you stay seated, quietly allowing him to vent his frustrations.

"I gave everything for his cause. Would have died for his cause. Almost did die for his cause and this ...... this is how he repays me? By taking from me that which is rightfully mine?"

You flinch as he brings his fists down harshly upon the council table.

You were speechless, shocked by this turn of events. Your betrothal to Prince Aemond at the start of the war was nothing more than a political match. A way for the crown to guarantee that your father's armies and banners would ride for King Aegon II and not the pretender Queen Rhaenyra.

When Queen Heleana perished during the war, you never thought King Aegon would then change your betrothal from his brother, the prince, to himself, though your father was elated. With the deaths of his sons, the King needed an heir, and with you as his betrothed and soon to be wife, it would be your duty to give him one. Putting your family's blood on the throne. A thought that had your father salivating but had the one-eyed prince seething.

You sat disinterested as Aemond hisses in anger, pacing the length of the council table in continuum.

"All of these things are his because of me." The amount of hatred stitched into each and every word that comes from his mouth is evident.

"The red keep is his because of me, the kingdom is his because of me, the throne is his because of me......"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. His one violet eye pierces through you, causing you to stiffen in your seat.

"You are his because I dragged him from death's door and brought him here." He clenches his teeth tightly, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the tension.

"And he sees fit to take you from me? As if I lost nothing fighting this war in his name!" He stalks toward you, pulling you up to your feet by the thin material of the front of your dress.

"My prince!" You squeak out in shock at his brazen move.

"I will have what is mine." With a growl, he lifts and tosses you on the table. Papers and other random items scatter to the floor as he climbs up onto the table, hovering above you.

"Your maidenhead was promised to me." He shuffles the layers of your dress up to your hips hurriedly as you lay still beneath him.

You know you should scream, kick, tell him to stop, but a type of morbid curiosity keeps you silent. Your eyes follow his fingers. Making a mental log of each movement they make from rucking up your skirts to the quick movement of curling around your small clothes and the subsequent tug of the material down your legs.

"Will you not try and stop me then?" He huffs as his grip tightens around the flesh of your thighs.

"I believe you are a good man, Prince Aemond. I do not believe you will go through with this. Thus, there is no need to fight. " You portray confidence in your words, only the slight tremble in your legs gives away your nervousness, yet the clever Prince Aemond is never one to miss signs such as these, no matter how subtle.

He smirks, it would be beautiful if it weren’t so condescending.

"Then you are more of a fool than I took you to be," he pulls your thighs up around him, resting one on each side of his hips while he leans back on his haunches.

"I am going to take you, my lady. Right here upon my brother's table." He lifts one hand from your thigh and slides it against the sleek treated wood of the table beneath you. "The table that is his only due to my own efforts."

He brings one hand to the laces of his breeches, skillfully taking apart the small knot, keeping them closed and tight to his lithe frame. His other hand remains on your thigh, intermittently squeezing at the soft flesh there.

He grunts quietly as he frees his cock from its confines, slowly pumping himself to full hardness.

"I will not be gentle, so I advise you to hold on."

He reaches down to your heat with his free hand, rubbing your clit with his thumb in rough circles.

You can't help but release a small gasp at his touch.  As your brain was telling you to stop this, to make him stop, your body was betraying you.

Your back arched up off the hard table beneath you, your hips canting into his rough touch.

"We...... should not. " You finally huff out between wanton sighs.

"But we shall," he growls back, removing his hand from your heat and gripping your hips tight, slightly lifting your bottom half from the table and into his lap.

Your eyes slightly roll back when you feel him press the fat, throbbing tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You mustn't!" Even as you say this, you make no moves to get away from him, even as you feel him continue to push into you, splitting you apart in a way that is painful yet satisfying.

"Oh, but I must," he says through gritted teeth, pushing himself further into your clenching tunnel. "A point must be made."

He lets out a low growl as he bottoms out, stilling inside of you. You take this as a small gesture of kindness. He must not want to hurt you. That is, at the very least, a good sign.

As the pain starts to subside and is replaced by an overwhelming feeling of fullness, you move your hips, and he chuckles.

"Ahh, I see you are ready now, my lady" he pulls his hips back his cock sliding effortlessly out from you before he pistons himself back into you, his pace growing more fervent with every thrust.

The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through the otherwise quiet space, the only other sounds being your heavy breathing and the squeaking of the table legs beneath you.

"Tell me, sweet girl," he snarls as he grips your hips tight, slamming into you harshly. "How does it feel to be fucked by the great Prince Aemond? Mighty warrior? Hmm?"

You attempt to focus your eyes on the ethereal man above you, sweet drips down his brow, and his eyes rest on the place where you are so intimately connected.

"I....... I" your words fail you. Only a stutter and moans can be heard.

Aemond licks his thumb before bringing it against your pearl, resuming his earlier ministrations, and chuckles darkly as your legs twitch around him.

"Speechless, I see... it gladdens me to know how grateful you are, that I have allowed you such an experience" his other hand leaves your hip and slides up the length of your body until it rests upon your throat which he uses to hold you in place, thrusting into you ever harder.

Your legs clench around him tightly as a pressure builds in your lower stomach, as unfamiliar as the feeling is you find the stronger it gets, the more desperate you become clawing at the prince attempting to bring him closer to you, to feel more of him on your skin.

"Aweeee," he coos, "and now you beg for me? How darling." His condescending smirk returns as his thrusts get harsher, and the grip around your throat tightens.

"Now thank me," he demands, his hips moving faster and that coiling in your stomach reaching a fever pitch.

"T-thank you!" As the words leave your lips, the coil snaps, and your entire body tenses.

Your back arches off the table as if you are being lifted by something unseen, and the control you have over your own body has been snatched away from you.

 Aemond throws his own head back, gripping your throat tightly as he chases his own end.

"And here is yet another gift I bestow upon my ungrateful brother." his words come out as a hiss, his thrusts getting sloppier and more desperate.

He gasps loudly as his hips still pushing himself into you as far as he can possibly go.

A warmth can be felt spreading through you, a strange yet calming sensation that sees your limbs finally settle back on the hard table beneath you.

As quickly as your calmness came, it was gone, Aemond pulled himself from your body, quickly pulling up his breeches and getting off the table.

As he fixes the strings and his doublet putting everything back into place, he finds you still sprawled across the tabletop, his spend dripping from your abused cunt.

"You need to get up and compose yourself. Someone could enter at any minute." He says gruffly while tossing your small clothes onto your stomach.

You sit at the edge of the table and slide the fabric back up your legs covering the sticky mess he had left behind.

When he was confident you looked presentable, he took a few quick strides toward the council room doors, no doubt making a hasty exit.

"What was the final gift?" The words flew from your mouth before you had a chance to think it through.

"Come again?" He turns back to look at you, his one violet eye meets yours. You see no guilt, no pride, no anger. Indifference is what it looked like. He had returned to that emotionless stoic prince you had seen haunting the halls of the red keep like a specter.

"You said earlier. That you were bestowing yet another gift upon your brother. What was the gift?"

He chuckles again, a smile that actually reaches his eyes.

"An heir, planted in your womb this day, to sit upon the throne I won him." He doesn't wait for any further response from you and opens the door, escaping out into the corridor and disappearing from sight.

Leaving you alone and visibly shaken. Your body is held up only by leaning on your arm that rests upon his brother's table.

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[hannieehaee]

Ahhh I’m so excited that your requests are open, you’re like my fav fic author!! If it’s alright would you be able to do a fic where Wonwoo proposes to the reader please? Thank you!

content: bf!wonwoo, established relationship, fluff, proposal, etc.

wc: 1368

a/n: thank u so much u are so so sweet T-T i used a few of wonwoo's own quotes to carats in the confession hehe hope u enjoy!! <3

masterlist

for the first time in his life, wonwoo's brain had completely shut off.

he had no plan. he was completely unaware of what his next move should be. the ring had been purchased exactly two weeks ago (wonwoo knew you so well that he was extremely confident you'd absolutely fall in love with his pick), but no further steps had been taken after that.

it's not that he was an anti-romantic or anything like that. you'd always let him know how loved his words made you feel. you had singlehandedly revealed to the world a romantic side of jeon wonwoo that even he had been unaware of. it was always just so easy with you. loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done. there was never any thinking behind the loving gestures he gave you, nor behind the fondness in his eyes every time they met your own. which was why he currently stood once again with no plan in mind.

there was just no perfect way to ask you to be his forever when he already thought the two of you to be imbedded to each other in all ways possible. although a ring on your finger would make wonwoo the happiest man alive, he already knew you were his as much as he was yours. however, he wanted nothing more than to give you a grand gesture as he expressed to you how badly he wanted to spend every one if his remaining days by your side.

but being wonwoo, he knew no grand gesture would do. he was certain that he would not be able to go through with a grand gesture without throwing it all aside to pour words straight from his heart as he expressed the purest of love towards you. there was no possible way for him to hold back the moment he finally pulled that tiny squared box from the bottom of his sock drawer. the mere thought of looking into your eyes with the intention of making you his would have a plethora of love confessions flying out of his mouth without him even realizing.

despite all this, he had formulated some sort of plan to propose.

tonight was the first time his busy schedule would allow the two of you to share a bed due to the short break he had from tour. he figured that since he finally had you in his arms for the whole weekend, he would cook you a meal (courtesy of mingyu's training) and get on one knee afterwards. it was very simple, but he knew you'd appreciate an intimate setting for such a moment.

however, that had been the plan for tomorrow. today he was simply meant to finish brushing his teeth and join you in bed, finally able to hold you through the night as your breathing soothed him to sleep. yet this was, unsurprisingly, an impossible task for him to complete, as his mind became blank the moment he stepped into your shared room and saw your soft figure waiting for him in bed.

how was he supposed to hold back from begging for your hand in marriage when you were already so fully his? when he knew that a ring would bring him a promise to end his days in your arms until the end of eternity? it was as if time had slowed as he stepped into the room, his eyes full of love as they refused to look away from your form perched in bed, making just enough space for him to fit in there. and he knew that the moment he laid in that bed you would shape yourself to fit perfectly against him. he knew that you'd place yourself in his hold and play with his hair as he told you about his day (despite already having shared bits and pieces of it with you throughout the day), commenting on the things he did today and making plans with him for tomorrow. he knew you were completely unaware of his feelings in this moment as you laid there as soft and pretty as you always did.

yet knowing all these things did not prevent him from from making a quick stop at his drawer and hiding the tiny little box in his pajama pants – pants you would later insist he takes off because you love the feeling of his bare skin against yours. you still hadnt realized he'd been watching you this whole time, as your gaze was still on the tv in front of you. this gave wonwoo the perfect opportunity to nervously approach you as he called your attention away from the screen.

like always, you met his eyes with a smile full of interest for what he was about to say. if he wasnt sure before (which he completely was), then he was sure now. he needed to propose to you right in this moment. he needed to remember the mundane, the day by day that he would have with you for the rest of your lives. his heart was beating for you, and his lungs pumping out air just so he could breathe out his next words.

"marry me?", completely out of breath and with nothing but love in his eyes, he dropped to his knees next to the bed, his extended hand holding your own while the other pulled out the boxed ring from his pocket.

your eyes jumped out, but you didnt seem too exalted apart from that. you scoot over to sit at the edge of the bed, speechless as your eyes began to cloud due to the tears that would soon begin forming in them.

before you could say anything, wonwoo spoke up once more.

"im sorry. i didnt plan it like this, i just ... i couldn't help myself. i couldnt watch you be the love of my life for another moment without making you as mine as humanly possible. i know i couldve given you a dinner and fireworks, or even brought the guys out for a serenade ... but that's not us. this. this is us. this is what i want for the rest of my life. you in my bed, ready to hold me in your arms at the end of the day, letting me do the same any time you come home tired from work," he paused to hold onto both of your hands, looking up at you with adoring eyes as he inhaled, "i hope to become your daily confort in the way you have been mine. even when i'm not tired, i can lean on you. i always know happiness is just around the corner, because you are all i see ahead of me. you are my youth, my past, my future, you are everything. will you please become my forever?"

it was hard for wonwoo to put his feelings for you into words. his relationship with you had always been an enigma of emotions for him; emotions that left him feeling a level of comfort he never thought possible. he had always chased for happiness. he'd always been of the philosophy that one must build their own happiness; that one must live and experience life in order to discover the meaning of the word. except you had thrown him a curveball somewhere along the way and shown him what it truly meant to be happy pretty early in his life.

and now he felt the most happiness he had ever experienced in his many years of life. no matter how many accomplishments he achieved, nothing had thus far compared to seeing you smile with tears in your eyes, nodding crazily at him as you threw yourself into his arms, completely disregarding the ring in his hand. because you didnt care about a ring or a title. he knew you simply wanted to be his in the same way he needed to be yours. there was no better scenario in wonwoo's mind than your enthusiastic approval and the promise of a lifetime chasing happiness together. and now wonwoo would get to have you in his bed, waiting to love him every day for the rest of his life. just like today.