#i always get a little like this if i dive too deeply for too long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vultursvolans · 7 months ago

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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄: OCT 3RD

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yandere!dottore x assistant!fem reader

— ♤ 𝐜𝐰: obsessive yandere behaviour, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation, stalking, build up to smut is longish sorry, reader is gullible, dubcon, no preparation, pussy slapping (once), he calls you sweetheart, pet, pup, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, power imbalance, biting, 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It started with curiosity.

Maybe it was the softness in your voice as you confidently sat in his office, explaining why you would be perfect for the job, or perhaps the way you held onto the belief that he was a good person. But once Dottore saw how much you lit up when he offered you a position on the spot, he knew right then he needed to keep you close.

This new revelation almost terrified him.

Your voice was so innocent, clinging to him like honeysuckle, and that warmth behind your smile—it was too pure, too untainted. It had to be locked away before the world could tarnish it.

If you had paid attention, you would’ve noticed how his gaze lingered a little too long when you spoke; how his questions would dive deeper the more you got to know him.

You were ignorant of how much Dottore had deeply ingrained himself into every facet of your life, playing the role of the emotionally distant boss who eventually found comfort in your company. He saw that flicker of trust in your eyes and allowed you to believe you were the only person who could see the real him: the man behind the mask who bled his heart and soul to you when nobody else was looking.

Everything was calculated. Subtle. You had become his latest obsession—a sweet, little experiment where the only result he deemed acceptable would be having you wrapped around his finger. So he made sure he was the first you turned to when things went wrong, planting seeds of doubts about everyone you knew.

“Forgive me but your friends don’t seem to understand you.”

At first, you dismissed his comments but over time his critiques took root. You saw flaws in people that seemingly weren’t there before which made you wonder if it was truly only Dottore who had your best interest at heart. Gradually, you began to rely on him as your only confidant. Your rock. But it didn’t stop at just your relationships. Dottore had inserted himself into your daily routine, providing solutions for problems you hadn’t realised he created. After minor inconveniences and projects falling through, he was always there to pick up the pieces.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

And every time he did, you felt more indebted to him.

Dottore strung you along for years, feeding you enough affection to have you tethered with him while subtly isolating you from others. And when he finally made you his girlfriend, it was less a declaration of love and more of a confirmation of his control over you.

But you didn’t need to know that.

You are his precious masterpiece, sculpted into the ideal partner, no longer the person you once were but a reflection of his twisted desires.

When calling him “Doctor” transitioned from a professional title to something you moaned whenever he plowed you with his cock, it was difficult for him not to start touching himself at random hours of the day.

Fortunately for him, he could simply just find you while you were working and suddenly, there was something hard pressed against your ass! It always satisfied him a great deal knowing how willing you were to please him, no matter the time of day.

Sometimes he pitied you for never catching on so the first time you went astray, he was somewhat glad that his little darling wasn’t so dense.

“Dottore, I’m finding it difficult to get through to you. I feel suffocated. I’m worried about us.”

He glanced up from his notebook, almost affectionately, “You’re overthinking it, my dear.”

“I think we need some time apart," your words tasted bitter. "I just… need to clear my head. I’m sorry,” you felt guilty for even suggesting it.

“Time apart?” he repeated with a false frown, dropping his book to look at you wholly. “For how long?’

“I’m not sure.”

A tense silence hung between you, and you tried to steady your breath.

“Darling, you’re not making any sense,” he blinked.

“It makes sense to me,” you protested, “I wasn’t asking.”

Truth be told, he was more amused than angered. Although, he wondered what it was that finally provoked your sudden notion. Sure, disagreements were more frequent but it had been so long since this all began. He thought his tactics would be something you were used to by now. Perhaps you were starting to see everything for what it truly was.

Perhaps not.

Your voice was trembling but you were firm in your resolve. Dottore liked that you thought you had a choice, so he entertained you by letting the last of his smile fade from his lips, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“So a break, then? If you think that will benefit us, I understand. But I’m not a mind reader. If something bothers you, you have to tell me, okay?”

His words seemed to melt some of your worries away so you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. Could you really doubt someone so patient, so willing to give you space when you needed it?

“Really?”

“Of course," the lie effortlessly slipped between his teeth, "I respect your boundaries."

You nodded as you squeezed his hand and before you could turn away, his grip tightened. “Before you go, let me remind you that I love you, so very much.”

And without warning, he kissed you. It was lingering, with no remorse, disguised as a parting gift—as if to say he knew you’d be back.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you said, feeling conflicted.

“Doing what?” He questioned.

Dottore knew exactly what he was doing.

———

Weeks had passed but your time away from him was restless. Days felt semi-wakeful and what emerged was not clarity but the creeping sense that the world was conspiring against you.

It was like your life had taken an irreparable turn. Work became a constant setback, and friends you thought you had made you feel isolated and adrift. Even your home, which once felt cozy and safe, was starting to feel clinical and cold.

And who would be the one to orchestrate your misery other than the Doctor himself? That vendor who suddenly couldn’t get your orders right? A bribe from Dottore. The neighbours who started fighting at all hours? A couple he had manipulated into conflict. Even your small office, a place that once made you feel so productive, now felt claustrophobic and stifling thanks to subtle changes he made while you were away.

Each of these inconveniences wore you down, making you long for the comfort and stability that only Dottore had ever provided.

So when you received a short and carefully worded letter from him, asking how you were, you felt a surge of relief. You didn’t hesitate to see him that very evening, desperate to talk in person.

Before you knew it, you were falling right into his hands.

On your feet, you headed straight to the entrance of his lab and stared at the door before you gave a knock.

“Come in,” he said from inside.

The moment you saw him, he greeted you with that charming smile, and suddenly all the frustration from the past weeks melted away. You rushed into his arms, burying your face into his chest, “I missed you.”

He held you close, stroking the back of your head with practiced gentleness, “Ah! You’re finally back. I can’t say I’ve been happy without you.”

If he was beaming out of satisfaction, you were blind to it. You were too distracted by the need to hear him say it back, to say that he missed you. But instead of the words you longed to hear, he merely held you tighter.

Looking up at him, your eyes searched for reassurance, “Did you miss me?”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss on your forehead, “Of course.”

“Everything’s been so hard,” tears began to well up, “I can’t believe I distanced myself when I needed you the most.”

He was always enthralled whenever he was right.

“Let’s not dwell on that, shall we? I’m here now so don’t fret.”

His words felt like a balm to your wounded soul and you clutched onto his coat as if he might vanish if you let go. You could not refuse him and he wouldn’t allow that option to exist. Dottore watched you, elated with himself, “Come,” he said, taking your hand towards his familiar private quarters, “I have something for you.”

After closing the door behind him, his gaze remained on you, “I was hoping you would see me sooner rather than later,” he started, guiding you to the couch where the two of you sat. “We have much to catch up on.”

Dottore wore his grief convincingly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate crystal necklace that flickered like ice in the light, “I don’t want to lose you again.” Your heart skipped a beat as he put it on for you, the weight of it cold against your skin. When you relaxed your guard, he leaned in and whispered in your ear, “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You thanked him for the gift but felt him craning your head to the side.

“It’s ice quartz," he purred, "For the pure love I have for you. For the healing that I hope it brings to your troubled heart. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, a thoughtful stillness, and without another word, he kissed the exposed skin of your neck as if you beckoned him to.

His lips were impossible to resist, each kiss slowly claiming you as he trailed his way to your mouth. You allowed your hands to explore his hair, messing up the neatness that once was.

Dottore wasted no time, the moment his lips met yours, you felt his hungry tongue and how it tasted of false apologies and something sickeningly sweet. He kissed you like he was starved—like he'd wanted his mouth on yours for weeks.

"Do you still—" he lightly pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, "—feel suffocated?"

Yes, you wanted to say. But for an entirely different reason now. This type of suffocation made your head spin and left something tingling between your legs.

"No," you finally answered against him. A string of saliva connected the small space between your lips. You relaxed under him and he took it as a chance to shuffle himself between your thighs.

"Hmm, I'm glad," he smirked before forcing another kiss out of you. Between gasps for air, his impatient hands found the hem of your blouse, unbuttoning it as he pushed you on your back. You pulled him down with you because you refused to part from the sinful way his lips collided with yours.

Piece by piece, layers of clothes began to disappear until you were left with nothing except the necklace he had given you.

Spread out like this, you were ravishing, like a fine piece of art and the sight of you went straight to his cock. It throbbed in his slacks and you could hear his breathing growing uneven. At that moment, he could’ve taken you like an animal but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Mmh!” you moaned in surprise as he cupped your breast, fondling your sensitive nipples and practically anywhere else that was available to him. He was so precise in everything he did, it was no wonder he was in his profession.

The time you spent apart had left you already aching for him so when he dipped his fingers between your quivering thighs, he felt your arousal. You were hot and puffy and embarrassingly wet.

Dottore began to toy with your clit and it pulsed under the pads of his fingers. You moaned instantly. But he was excruciatingly light with his touch which only made you desperate for more friction. You whined and even though the sound of it made his heart beat quickly, his face was unreadable.

“Patience,” he urged. Dottore waited for you for weeks and you had the nerve to whine? At the very least you could have made up for the time you robbed from him.

You intended to listen. You really did! But when his fingers teased the entrance of your hole, your body acted before you could think and suddenly, your hips rolled towards him. He had barely even touched you before he stopped.

Tsk, you heard from him, clearly disappointed by your lack of control.

Instead of continuing, he gave your pussy a sudden slap which left you whimpering.

“Why—!” You trembled, feeling its stinging aftermath.

Why?

Simply put, he decided he wasn’t going to bother with what you wanted.

In exchange for running away from him, he would show you that not everything was served on a silver platter. Seeing you go from distressed to dependent on him only excited him more. No one riles him up in the way that you do so he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer.

“Stay like this,” there was something deranged about the smile that appeared on his face. The clinical white glow of his quarters dulled his pale skin yet his teeth glistened through his lips. You felt a chill and it wasn't because of the cold air.

He pulled away and you were immediately drawn to the tight bulge pressing against his pants. Dottore noticed. He knew you were watching.

"Now open your legs for me," he said, breaking you out of your daze. You shifted pathetically under him so it was ultimately his large hand, splayed across your thigh that held you in place. You saw his erection twitch when his eyes fell on your hole, drenched for him and all.

After quickly undoing his trousers, he pushed his throbbing length inside you in one, deep stroke. Your hands curled into the cushions and you were prepared to scream—

"Perfect," he breathed. You didn't need proper preparation. He knew your body better than you did.

Your voice was lodged in your throat as his girth stretched you apart and Dottore couldn’t help throwing his head back, curses falling from his lips at how well you hugged him. You were so beautiful like this. He couldn’t wait to fuck you back into obedience. It was your fault for being this way, really. You were just so malleable, so easy.

“Ah, look at you. So wet already, my little pup. Did you miss me that much?”

“Yes, I did. Yes, I did, Doctor!” you whimpered, and he began thrusting as if rewarding you for your response. His hips slammed mercilessly into yours at an unexpected pace, and you couldn’t even think about any of your frustrations anymore. Each time he slid in and out was like erasing all the concerns you had before this.

“Dottore,” he corrected you. “You call me by my name today.” There was a slight strain in his voice as he fucked you but that was better than what was going on with you. With each thrust bucking into your sweet spot, you could hardly talk.

The coat on his back ruffled behind him with each erratic movement. It was almost humiliating how he remained entirely clothed as he rammed into you. Your bare skin was on display yet not so much as a zipper and his disheveled hair was out of place for him.

Maybe he was too eager, you thought. Or maybe it was because he wouldn’t strip himself for the likes of you. Not when he was trying to remind you that being with him was a luxury. What he needed to etch into your subconscious was:

You could get whatever you want as long as you stay and listen.

Huffing at the sensation of being balls deep inside your pussy, he held you with a bruising grip on your waist, fucking you in a way that had you drooling. You were trying to remember a time when he wasn’t the one making you happy or giving you pleasure—but you couldn’t. Because it didn’t exist.

“Dott…ore,” you called breathlessly, your voice mixing with the sound of your necklace clinking against your chest. He knew you very well, you had more to say than just the spilling of his name. He could see it in your damn eyes.

Lowering himself to your neck, he rutted you even further into the couch, “What is it, my dear?” He asked, biting into you, feeling his hot and heavy breath fanning your skin. You yelped as his teeth clenched, knowing there was going to be a mark later.

“I… love… you…” The words came out in a broken whisper, the sincerity of your confession made his cock twitch inside of you, precum already painting the insides of your hole.

His tongue began to trace a slow and deliberate path from your neck to your ear, keeping his relentless rhythm as he did. “Is that right?” There was a cruel edge to his voice when he spoke. And you nodded back at him, feebly. Truthfully.

“Then act like it,” he hissed, grip tightening as he thrusted sharply.

You shuddered underneath him—out of fear or pleasure, you weren’t sure but you knew you didn’t want it to end. You pulled him closer, winding your hands around his neck while he was deep inside you. “I’m— sorry!” you moaned, an apology slipping out in a haze.

He almost growled at the sensation of you trembling around him, his crimson eyes searing into you, “No, it’s not your fault. I should have paid better attention to you.”

Another lie but exactly what you needed to hear to keep you going.

Lewd squelching sounds filled the room as he reduced you to a filthy mess. Even in your years of being with him, you had never seen him so untamed. Your juices were getting all over his trousers and if you knew any better, you would've seen how he got off on that.

You had almost forgotten where you were, though, at that point, you didn’t care about whether anybody else in the building heard. He fucked you hard and desperately, whatever he needed to do to keep his darling at bay, and you shamelessly cried out his name over and again. It was adorable.

“Dottore… I’m close—! Fuck. Fuck!” You swallowed your words as he pounded you.

"Dirty mouth," he grunted, "Who taught you how to speak like that?"

He hovered above you, so close you could almost feel his hair tickling your face. "Nobody," you moaned quietly this time, feeling ashamed.

Every veiny inch of him was inside you and the more you felt of it, the less you thought. You just wanted to snap, to cum on him while he drove into you.

“Oh my, you're getting tighter,” he cooed, his voice deceptively gentle as he neared his own release. “Feeling good, sweetheart? Finish with me then…”

Fortunately—or unfortunately, his pace became rougher, like a repeated reminder of who he was to you and his hand traveled to your jaw, tipping your head to meet his gaze. Amid your bodies thrashing, he could barely keep up with his own voice,

“No one will ever love you like me

or care about you like me

or fuck you like me. Do you understand, pet?”

“Yes—! Yes, I do,” you panted as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling his hips further into your sloppy cunt. In your lust-clouded daze, you were too weak to register the weight of his words. His sultry voice did a great job at masking the fact that he meant every single thing he said.

Dottore’s face twisted into a more sadistic smile, letting his thoughts get the best of him. He relished in how little and helpless you sounded, how utterly pliant you were to his will. Everything felt right again and you were back to where he had woven you. With a final, brutal snap of his hips, he spilled his seed inside you, locking himself against you.

You arched your back as your orgasm crashed simultaneously—you moaned collectively, and your walls pulsed around his cock like you were milking every drop he’s got. His hips stuttered, not giving a damn about the way your nails bit into his skin. Instead, he slammed his lips onto yours, devouring you in a messy, filthy kiss—a perfect match for the way he had just fucked you senseless.

Still panting, he clutched the side of your face, only gentler now. His thumb stroked your cheek as if savouring the moment of seeing you act the way you should.

“I love you,” he hummed, the words slipped from his lips like it was so natural to him. "I love you."

Of course, he loved you. Everything he has done for you was for himself. Everything has been catered to him.

His sweat-speckled forehead shimmered in the dim light and as you looked up at him, your heart softened. The weight of him on top of you and the comfort in his embrace made you forget everything, lulling you into a peaceful state.

You sighed, feeling a bit foolish for even creating a wall between you. In front of you, he seemed so fragile, like you were the only thing holding him together. How could you have thought he was anything but honest with you all along?

Now, everything felt perfect—perfect in a way that left no room for anything else.

No room for doubt or escape.

a/n: imagine at the end of this you think it's over and suddenly his segments walk in

dividers by @/astrumaur

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notlongtolove · 6 months ago

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in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for.

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+.

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.”

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.”

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.”

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside.

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking.

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide.

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that… that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side.

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you.

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences.

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.”

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable.

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty.

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that."

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature.

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again.

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much.

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’.

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course.

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out.

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.”

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh.

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.”

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much.

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers.

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A.

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you.

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him.

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

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luvyeni · 7 months ago

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⠀ ( drabble ) juno ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 심재윤 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ ready to spend the rest of your life with jake ヾ

boyfriend!jake・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ ‎ ‎soft sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i request… being so down bad in love w a good guy jake (princess treatment and all) and perhaps.. inspired by sabrina’s “juno” 😸 the song has been a brainrot for me 😿 can be fluff but also spicy pretty please thank u <3

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 this was just too cute and i love sabrina 🥺😭

you were deeply in love with jake , it was almost scary at times because you've never felt this type of way for another human being , and then he came along and completely warped your mind.

it's not like you were the only one in love; he was the reason you were like this— he basically waited on you; when he was around you could turn your brain off and let him do everything , and everything he did. jake cleaned , cooked, bought your clothes; he'd go to work for you if he could.

you've never given marriage or starting a family a long thought , if it happened it happened; if it didn't you were fine with living a single child free life, but with jake — you were definitely leaning into the you want it to happen side , a family with jake seemed like a dream. “baby.”

you smiled hearing your boyfriend's voice. “baby what are you doing in here , i told you i cook for you so you don't have to worry your pretty little head.” wrapped his arms around your waist. “but it does smell good.” he kissed your cheek. “i made it for you jakey.” you smiled. “what's the occasion?”

“to show how much i love you.” he chuckled. “you do that all the time.” he rubbed your waist. “i cook for you, okay princess?” you pouted. “fine but when we get married and have kids don't complain when you have to cook all the time.”

“when we get married?” he said your eyes widened at what you said. “i can't believe i said that.” you began to panic, thinking you scared him off. “im-im sorry , i wasn't…” he shut you up with a kiss , quick to turn the stove off. he pulled away, caressing your cheek. “you wanna get married?”

you nodded shyly , he smiled. “have a few babies?” he chuckled seeing you shy away. “no don't hide from me , i want this too , just waited for you to give me the go.” he kissed you passionately. “so let me fuck you tonight.” he whispered. “give you a baby and in the morning i’ll get you the best ring i can get.”

after basically giving him the go, he was taking you back to the room, laying you down gently like he always did, stripping you of your clothes , diving head first into your cunt. “jake.” you moaned, he always made sure to make you cum on his tongue before fucking you , and right now he needed you to be as wet as he could get you — he wanted you dripping for him.

he lapped at your cunt , his plump lips engulfing your clit , your fingers threading his hair, pulling at it as he suck on your bud. “fuck jake im gonna cum.” he smiled against your heat. “go ahead.” he inserted a finger. “cum for me bub.”

he held your legs down as you came , thighs shaking. “fuck baby girl that's it.” he helped you ride out your orgasm. “cum all over my fingers.” he bit his lip , pulling his fingers out. “gonna make you cum on my cock just like that.”

his cock rested on your stomach , pre-cum pooling from the tip. “got so much cum for you pretty.” he groaned as he entered you. “give you as many babies as you wanted.” you gasped as he fully bottomed out. “keep you pretty and swollen for me.” he grunted as he thrusted. “fuck just for me.”

“w-wanna g-get married jakey.” you moaned , he shushed you kissing your lips. “i know baby , of course im gonna marry you sweet girl.” you moaned as he thrusted. “gonna give you the best wedding.” his thrust never letting up. “fuck me , gonna give you everything , you'll never have to work again , just sit home and be my pretty wife.”

he actually talked a good game, you could actually see the future; waiting for jake to walk in the door , child on your hip as you cooked dinner for the three of you , him coming home getting you with a kiss and a rub to your pregnant belly — it was the life you wanted with him. “jake im gonna cum.”

he had your legs folded in half. “fuck , you can cum princess , cum so i can fill you with my cum.” you screamed out , cumming hard around his length. “yeah , fuck baby , fuck im gonna cum.”

he let out a whimper like moan as he came , his cum flooding your insides. “fuck im cumming so much.” he groaned. “gonna fill you up.” he said , his thrust slowing down before coming to a stop. “so full jake.” smiled. “i know pretty girl.” he cooed. “but we aren't done.” he said “gotta give my wife what she wants.”

“gotta make sure your pretty pussy takes my cum , give us a pretty baby.”

©LUVYENI

#enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x female reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #jake fic #jake sim fanfic #jake sim smut #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake sim hard thoughts #jake sim hard hours

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sailorsoons · 2 months ago

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Midnight Sails (c.sc)

PAIRING: Pirate!Seungcheol x f.reader

SUMMARY: Seungcheol has never been able to give his heart over to anything but the sea, which has landed him in a never ending game of chase with the sea’s favorite daughter.

WC: 2,148

AU: Pirate AU, Fantasy

GENRE: Established Relationship But Make It Weird

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: A little vague on the details of the world building, cannons and firearms and weapons, not really violence at all - no one gets injured. Some minor cursing. Reader’s crew is vaguely creepy and threatening.

A/N: This is for this request! I hope you enjoy - I actually now want to write way more of this world and pairing soijsaoijes.

A/N 2: Obviously this is in parts inspired by PotC but like if there was a god who presided over the death and the sea and she was his favorite kid kind of thing.

MASTERLIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT | PERMANENT TAG LIST

THE SHIP CREAKS AS IT SAILS GENTLY ACROSS DARK SEAS. Seungcheol can see the blackness of the night outside of his small window, endless and dark like the whale oil burning in the lanterns in his room. It smells a bit acrid because of the closed-in space, but there is spiced incense they’d picked up at their last port that he burns to combat it.

Wiping a hand over his face doesn't wipe away the tired. They’d had plenty of days of rest before they’d parted for the open ocean again yesterday, picking up a couple of new crew members, supplies and more than enough memories of women in beds and the softness of their touch to keep his crew happy for their trek.

Still, Seungcheol is always tired. There are courses to chart, documents to pilfer through in search of something worth sending his crew after, and plenty of responsibilities as captain to keep him stressed and busy.

The stop in the last port hadn’t relaxed him as much as he’d needed. He sighs heavily, rolling up a map with nimble fingers. There was nothing to be done about it now. His weariness would ease the further out to sea they went - it always did.

Placing the map back in his carefully catelogged shelf, Seungcheol goes to the washbasin in his quarters to prepare for bed. Mingyu is at the helm tonight and the nightwatch is well into their duties for the night. Though they’ve been sailing all day, they’re not far enough from civilization that he’s worried about much.

Seungcheol splashes cool water on his face. It feels good and he closes his eyes momentarily, working one of his hands into his neck, trying to force the knot there to unravel. The ship's groans and creaks are a comforting sound, backtracked by the grandfather clock ticking in the far corner.

He lets the familiar sound sooth him, breathing in deeply. The amber from the incense is nice, but it isn’t as relaxing as open air. As salt. As sandalwood. As palm oil. It takes him a split second to realize what scent he’s thinking of - or rather who - but something interrupts the thought. Makes him pause.

It’s dead silent in his quarters. He opens his eyes, adjusting to the lamp light. Only his reflection looks back at him in his salt-corroded mirror. He looks the same as always: dark brown eyes, dark hair that is growing a little too long past his ears, an iron hoop through his nose that he’d gotten on a dare as a teen, and an array of necklaces collected from various treasure hoards.

There are a few scars too, one right above his eyebrow that he remembers fondly. His eyes flicker in the mirror glancing behind him in the silence. He turns when his eyes alight on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s stopped ticking.

Seungcheol’s heart leaps in his chest just as he hears the first boom of a cannon. Shouts ring out on the deck as he dives for the table in the middle of his quarters. It meets him faster than he expects - Mingyu turns the wheel at the helm, making the ship keel to the starboard side. He slams into the table, cursing as pain hits him at the waist.

Ignoring what’s surely going to be a nasty bruise, Seungcheol grabs his weapons belt, knocking things off the table as he slings it around his waist, running for the door. The weight of the belt is familiar and gives him a sense of ease, laden with pistols, knives and his saber.

Outside, the deck is in chaos. His cannon master is barking orders, members of the crew working together to turn the swing cannons. Mingyu orders for lamps to be lit, trying to get a visual on the enemy vessel as Seungcheol marches up the steps toward the helm.

Another boom echoes and Seungcheol feels the whistle of the cannon. He drops to his stomach and a moment later the ballistic crushes through the railing, sending splinters flying. He puts his arms over his head, protecting his skull from the debris as it smacks against the backs of his hands.

He doesn’t hear the cannon go off again so he scrambles to his feet, making it to the helm where Mingyu throws the wheel to the left, bringing the ship straight. Wind ripples in the sales for only a moment before it dies, leaving them immobile.

Mingyu curses. “What in the blazes?”

A boom resounds from beneath Seungcheol’s feet as The Harpy returns fire to their foes in the dark. One of the newer members of the crew - Chan, Seungcheol thinks his name is - comes running over, torch in hand.

“Captain, the ship!” Chan leans over, panting for breath. “It appeared from nowhere. She’s portside and behind us but she’s gaining.”

“How is she gaining without wind?” Mingyu demands.

Seungcheol closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. He smells salt and ocean, driftwood and palm oil. “What color are the sails?”

“Black as night almost darker, like-

“Midnight?” Seungcheol asks. When Chan nods, Mingyu groans and locks the wheel in place. He begins ordering the crew to prepare to be boarded. “Stay away from the railing, lad. They like to throw men overboard.”

“Who? What? Captain why aren’t we-”

Seungcheol claps Chan on the shoulder before jogging down the steps. The crew seems equal parts terrified that a phantom ship in the night is gaining on them and more relaxed as they pause what they were doing and gather in the middle of the ship. Some of the crew who has been with Seungcheol longer sigh like Mingyu had before jumping up to sit on a barrel while newer members like Chan stand on the main deck, hand hovering over their pistol, unsure what to do.

To Chan’s credit, he doesn’t piss himself when he sees the enemy shift drift into the orange light cast by all the torches on board. It’s better than most can say. Seeing The Dark Tide for the first time is enough to make any pirate shit their pants, no matter how long he’s been pirating or how many strange things they’ve seen.

The Dark Tide is beautiful, in its own way. The sails aren’t exactly sails - they’re blacker than night and they move like smoke, billowing on a wind that doesn’t exist, moved by a powder that Seungcheol has never quite understood nor dared question. The vessel is just as black, blending with the ocean save the single, bone white figurehead on the bow of the ship depicting a veiled maiden with a crown of waves and pearls.

For a moment, it looks like there is no one on the phantom ship. It sails to a gentle stop. The water doesn’t even ripple around it, almost like it’s not there. He knows it is. The Dark Tide is as real as anything else in the world, just different.

Mingyu appears next to Seungcheol, about to say something when the crew of The Dark Tide appears. The new members of Seungcheol’s crew cry out in surprise when the wraiths appear. They’re in all kinds of shapes and sizes, vaguely humanoid and terrifying, with eyes that burn green like hellfire and shadowy hair drifting in the wind.

Several of Seungcheol’s crew draw weapons but he holds out a hand, warning them off. He waits as they’re boarded. Two of the wraith-like pirates linger near the railing of The Harpy, leaning over to help someone up the rope ladder and land firmly on the deck of Seungcheol’s ship.

He feels his heart flutter. Around his neck, the locket on one of his necklaces hums in recognition, burning hot through his thin sleep shirt. It echoes the heat that licks through him when you stare at him, cocking your head to the side as your sea-green eyes drink him in, starting at his feet and ending with meeting his gaze.

“A pirate crew caught unaware,” You observe, eyes drifting away to survey his crew. He doesn’t dare look away from you for a moment, heart pounding in his chest. You click your teeth and shake your head. “How unfortunate. Shall I sink your ship for the very insult?”

“You did shoot cannons at us.”

Your gaze finds him again and his toes curl. The urge to cross the rest of the deck and gather you into his arms nearly takes over him. Your gaze glints, equal parts dangerous and playful, an untamable churning of green and blue and every other color that makes up the ocean.

“I shot cannons at you,” You correct him, wicked mouth curving. “I’ll admit that I missed, though.”

“You never miss.”

Lifting a single shoulder, you approach him. Seungcheol’s men move out of his way as you approach. Some of them look at you like they want to step toward you, but it would be a mistake. You are beautiful and alluring, your energy inspiring reckless abandon, ferociousness, greed. But you’re far more dangerous than you look - Seungcheol knows this best of all.

So he doesn’t move, instead letting you approach. You stop a few feet away from him and he can smell you. His fingers twitch. He wants to groan and reach out for you, wants to wrap his fingers in your shirt and pull you close, wants to taste the salt on your mouth and dive into your freezing cold waters until he’s numb and can’t breathe.

He doesn’t.

You reach out to him, fingers tracing the locket around his neck. He shivers, licking his lips before meeting your gaze. Your burning eyes are on him, unreadable with the storm on the surface of your gaze.

Wrapping your fingers around the locket, you give a sharp tug and pop the chain from his neck. Behind him, Chan gasps. No one else moves as you cradle the trinket, eyes shining. It’s in the simple shape of a heart, wrought in silver with infernal etchings across the surface.

Closing your palm around it, you smile and take a step back. Seungcheol makes the barest sound of protest and you notice, arching a brow. Instead of telling you to stay like he wants, he says, “I worked hard to capture that.”

You grin then. “I’m sure you’ll work equally hard to regain it, Captain.”

Seungcheol grits his teeth. You’re sure to drive him to the edge of the world for it, to Hell - where he has been - and back again. He’s willing to do it. Willing to risk the life of his crew for the treasure of having it again, of keeping it close.

“Until then…” You say coyly, giving him a shrug. “I’ll wait.”

Without another word, you spin on your boot and march toward the rail of The Harpy. He watches you go, aching to reach out for you. Aching to have you. But if he does, you’ll love him less for it. You won’t let him play this game, won’t like if he tries to make you do anything.

Like the sea you’re born from, you’re untameable. You are deadly and wild, angry and calm, salt and water. You can be both beautiful and terrible, and he knows the second he tries to make you his, to keep you and covet you, you’ll destroy him.

Standing on the rail of his ship, you turn to look at him one last time, a frown on your face. “Change the name of your ship, Seungcheol. I don’t like it.”

“Why?” He asks, a grin slicing his face. “It’s named after you, love.”

Your mouth twitches but you don’t smile. You give a short hum and turn without another word, stepping into darkness and vanishing. Your crew of sea wraiths go with you, some jumping over the side of the ship or melting into the floor like they had never existed in the first place.

Seungcheol watches as The Dark Tide begins to sail again. It drifts atop the ocean's surface for a few feet before vanishing into the dark once more. Around him, the crew breaks out into murmurs. Seungcheol stares after the ship, chest aching. His neck feels lighter without the locket settled on his chest, right over his beating heart.

“What was that?” Chan whispers.

Turning, Seungcheol realizes Jeonghan has appeared from the officer’s quarters, half dressed with one eye open, yawning. “Didn’t anyone tell you?” He asks Chan with a yawn. “Our captain is in a relationship with the God of the Underworld and Tide’s favorite child.”

“That was the daughter of Tethrakkos?”

“Aye. And it appears we will be hunting for her heart once more.”

“Ready for sail,” Seungcheol tells Mingyu, spinning to grin at Jeonghan and Chan, who looks mystified. “We have the heart of the sea to catch.”

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn@thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume@yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries@archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersonaa @beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen@mingumis @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp @eunyi@smiileflower @gyuhao365 @thefrozeneternity @heechwe

#seungcheol x you #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fanfic #scoups x you #scoups fanfic #scoups x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #pirate seungcheol #pirate scoups #ok tags without any sort of smut or angst are hard lmfaooooo #like how do i even tag this

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anystalker707 · 1 year ago

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I need you with me

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: After the Marineford events, all that Ace needs is some love. Tags: ace is recovering, so he needs you to be gentle / he's so sweet / lots of fluff / universe in which ace survived marineford A/n: thanks sm for the request, anon <3 sorry for taking long

Requested by anon [Hello, amazing writer! If you are doing requests, could you do Ace x female reader where Ace gets all the love and pets and praise he so deserves. I just finished Marineford and I have...feelings]

MASTERLIST

Everyone was shaken up after the events in Marineford, still trying to process everything that had happened, without much success. It wasn’t just a lot to process but also left everyone in a shocked state that would take time to wear out. Luffy had even spent a while with the Whitebeard Pirates to ensure his brother would be alright before he had to go back to following his path. By that time, the commotion had also died within the crew itself, it was finally time to have your boyfriend all to yourself again.

The wound that once covered the center of his chest and back was now only two violent scars decorating his skin, only adding to his charm, if anything. You wondered if anything could make Ace ugly, and it was hard to determine something that would make him permanently unattractive, so you dropped it.

Ace was lying on his side with his back to you, taking yet another nap in the dark cabin that blocked the sunlight by the thick blackout curtains. Napping was something he’d been doing rather a lot, aside from the spontaneous times he would fall asleep. The Marineford event took quite a toll on him, both physically and mentally, so it was no surprise he found comfort in sleep and quietness now that the euphoria had died down. Not surprisingly, he also grew clingy after that.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you walked over, observing the scar on Ace’s back as you sat on the bed, careful not to wake him up. His skin rose in shivers at the slightest touch upon his scar, but he didn’t even move in his sleep, continuing to softly snore away. Your heart heaved a little, but it’d been like that for so long that it was pointless to dive into sadness for longer.

Your mind didn’t leave you alone for the few seconds you kept your eyes closed, replaying parts of the Summit War, even though you’d gone through it multiple times already. It was tiring, clinging to your skin like mud that you couldn’t clean off, dragging you down, but you could still feel the normality slowly making its way back into your lives, thankfully.

Ace smelled like a mixture of your smell along with his own, which was quite characteristic, and always left a very well-welcomed lingering scent on your bed. His smell filled your lungs as you pressed your nose to the back of his ear and inhaled deeply before finally lying down with him and hugging him from behind. Only then did he groan a little, shifting a little to make himself comfortable next to you. He was warm, back moving against your chest rhythmically. It was good to feel him like that next to you, alive and well, helping you fight the feeling he would disappear in case you looked away for too long.

“Love,” Ace murmured in a whiny tone that popped your bubble and brought you back to the real world to be embraced by the warmth he made you feel. “Mmph, babe,” he whispered with a groan that dissipated into a sigh of comfort the moment you pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him tighter.

“Yes, my love?” You whispered against his cheek when he started stirring awake, humming drowsily as he patted around until his hand found the side of your head and kept you there to turn his head and messily kiss your face. His eyes were still closed as his lips met the space above your upper lip, and then your cheek—that was the only response you received as he gently played with your hair a little.

“I had a dream with you,” he whispered, eyes still closed, but you could tell he was a little less than half asleep by then. “We were… Uh, I forgot.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head, while running a hand through Ace’s messy hair strands in a fruitless attempt to push them back into place. “Okay. The fact you dreamed with me is good enough.”

Ace pouted with a hum as he shifted on the bed so that he was on his back, allowing himself to take a look at you. He finally opened his eyes and blinked until the blurred form before him turned into a clear image of you, which made him smile. “Mmph, babe,” he whispered in a happy tone that made your heart flutter.

“You’re so cute like this, all sleepy, all comfy.” Your lips parted into a grin before you kissed his cheek. “I really just want to— Damn.” Instead of fighting your urges, you just cupped his cheek and kissed all over his face until he was giggling and wrapping his arms around you, swinging one of them lazily around your neck.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Ace groaned softly and kissed your cheek a couple of times, planting kisses on the way to your lips, where he lingered for a few seconds.

“I just want to pamper my pretty boy, am I not allowed to?”

Whenever you called him ‘pretty boy’, Ace’s heart fluttered, and he felt all bubbly inside, so full of himself that he believed he could face the entire world if he really wanted to. He smiled as his cheeks gained a red tone, and he melted under the new kisses over his face.

“Sometimes I wonder if I can kiss each of your freckles,” you said as your fingertips trailed along the freckles on his shoulder; they descended for all his body and imprinted constellations upon his skin.

Ace hummed, raising one of his eyebrows at you. “Well, if you want to try… I wouldn’t be opposed to it, babe.”

“Hm, right,” you muttered with a smile, kissing his forehead. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Just the idea of it seemed to get Ace a little eager, grinning as he allowed you to keep bathing him with compliments and caressing. He sighed and leaned into your touches, groaning when you started running your fingers through his hair again. Playing with his hair could easily drive Ace to sleep, but it wasn’t your intention, so you pulled your hand away as soon as he started closing his eyes, much to his displeasure.

“Have you eaten today?” It was a question that usually would be useless, really—his huge appetite dismissed any worry about his intake of food, but that was before the Summit War. After that, the pain and stress of carrying Roger’s blood in his hands took upon him again, and there he was, believing he didn’t deserve any care in the world. Sometimes, the guilt would still drag along the sad smiles he flashed you whenever you gave him affection, but it was growing considerably lower through time. You hoped that, someday, he wouldn’t feel like his life was a burden.

A soft hum came from Ace as he rubbed his eye, looking away, immediately snatching a sigh from you.

“Come on, Ace, love, you’re better than that.” You looked at the bedside table, noticing a tray of food sitting there. It’d probably been brought for lunch, a couple of hours ago. “Look, there’s even some ramen here. Why don’t you try it? Or do you want fresh food? You know everyone is doing their best for you, try to eat a little bit, pretty boy.” You kissed the tip of his nose, making him scrunch his nose with a small sound.

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the day?” Ace’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked at you with those eyes, enough to make your heart heavy. “You’ve been busy all day long, only checking on me now and then. I like having you around, even if I’m just napping. I like your presence.”

A sigh escaped your nose as you heard Ace, frowning a little at his words. You should’ve done better, really. “Okay,” you said with a nod. “I’ll go let Pops know I’m spending the rest of the day with you, okay? Don’t move a single finger while I go there! I’ll know if you do!”

When Ace chuckled, something stirred in your chest, spreading warmth all within it.

“Okay! But give me another kiss before you leave and more when you come back, okay?” Ace’s arms wrapped tighter around your neck, making you roll your eyes before pressing your lips to his gently. He didn’t seem to be a big fan of the light kiss, instead deepening the kiss with a soft hum, keeping your lips together until you were both out of air.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #oneshot #imagine #scenario

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conanssummerchild · 2 months ago

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a lot of the time it kinda feels like jess's storyline is too dark for gilmore girls, so it's always There but it's never reaaally adressed or gone in depth into, which is fine because that's what fanfiction is for but it frustrates me that people take what they see on the show at face value and don't read into the subtext (i've been told i dive too deep into the subtext, but i'd rather that than to not dive at all. to stay on the shore. lame)

additionally, jess is portrayed a certain way on the show (angry, rebellious) which i love about him because i crave that specific flavour of traumatised characters in media (so i can project) but some people don't seem to link his backstory to his current way of being. i'm not saying that his actions should be excused because of his past, but i wish he could get a little more understanding, from the other characters (mostly luke, who treats him better than anyone else but fails to actually understand his trauma-- by no fault of luke's own, he's just a little out of his depth) and from the viewers. i see people talking about it as if jess's character was just like:

"oh this kid's loser dad walked out on him as soon as he was born, which obviously had no effect on him, he had no father figure unless you want to count the men who continuously entered and just as quickly dissapeared from his and his mother's life, his mum also drank copiously-- again, none of this must've had any effect on this kid's life. his mum then very resonably gave up on him because he fucking sucks for no reason, and sent him away. leather jacket wearing bad boy"

when it's more like jess was raised by a single mother (who had him very young), she was an addict and jess was raised in a life of instability and neglect due to this, financial problems and his mother's boyfriends, he begins to act out becuase of it and gets sent to an unfamilliar town to live with his uncle who is essentially a stranger. all of these experiences from such a young age obviously affected jess's mental state and ability to form relationships with other people deeply. this, again, doesn't excuse a lot of his actions but i think it does explain at least some of them

it also doesn't help that the show revolves so much around rory (obviously, it's called gilmore girls, not the jess mariano show) which causes jess's actions to be linked to rory in a way that gets ridiculous at some point. like jess coming back because luke stole his car and luke telling him to stay away from rory. you mean this teenager (who luke, his first relatively stable parental figure, not too long ago kicked out) flunked out of high school, met his deadbeat dad for the first time in 18 years and was promptly rejected by him and is about to spend a freezing cold night sleeping in his car, but of course he's here for rory. be for real

i love jess and i'm happy with how most of his storylines panned out but i always yearn for a little more. an acknowledgement of why he may be reluctant to let liz back into his life, him and lorelai having an actual conversation where she tries to actually understand his experiences not assume she does because of her own, luke being a little gentler with jess sometimes, an explanation of what happened while jess was away that suddenly made him so emotionally mature and well adjusted. idk, just something that's been on my mind

#alex says shit #gilmore girls #jess mariano #luke danes #liz danes #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #i need to stay off reddit because they could not misinterpret jess's character more if they tried #i feel a burning rage every time i leave that site

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cloveroctobers · 11 months ago

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95 DEGREES — ARMANDO ARETAS x BLACK! Reader [Summer Randoms]

A/N: because y’all have been showing love on my first drop and I’ve been thinking about little moments with him since!!! *sings* I’m sprungggg! This was also Inspired by Rihanna acting accordingly on insta to this song towards A$AP 🤭

SYNOPSIS: you’re a content creator who’s on livestream during your vacation with your man. it’s summer time, you’re fine and think it’s cool to act up so Armando reminds you just exactly who he is.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of a character from: power ghost ;) just for a side of messiness, mentions of being in the itty bitty titty community, a little steamy moment somewhere, & me possibly or most likely butchering some Spanish!

<- read my previous anthology piece here.

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

This Cuban heat made you feel like you were in hell to be honest. That’s why you alternated between jumping in the pool and lounging on the pool chairs but you can only do that for so long. Not according to Armando though, he had no issue catching a nap or three right underneath the sun but not without you spraying him down. You didn’t play with the sun and neither did that little sun spot that always appeared like the shape of an orange on your right shoulder every summer.

He started to doze off just by you rubbing the sunscreen into his glowing skin and the longer you stared at him, looking like that, you decided to leave him be before diving into your monthly read. After forty-five minutes of doing that you checked on Armando and got to snacking on the spread of fruit while enjoying some peach Bellini’s on the side.

This vacation was deeply needed so you understood how exhausted Armando tended to be, considering that he barely slept. When you weren’t around it took hearing your voice across the phone to help him find slumber. Now? Far away from Miami (by boat at least) and Mexico City, he had no problem catching a few Z’s knowing that you were not far from him.

So you being you, you had to entertain yourself by going to the side of the pool setting up your tripod and phone. You thought about sitting along the trimming but knew it would be too damn hot, so you moved up ahead to the patio to grab one of the bistro chairs from the checkered outdoor table.

Logging onto Instagram live, you patiently waited for some viewers to show up, greeting a few users that you interacted with before, a few internet friends, and others that also sent their greetings in. It’s easy work for you, chatting and seeing what everyone is up to. You answered a few questions about your channel, with the main one being: if there’s been any vlogging going on after revealing you’re on vacation but not where.

~ ctej01: i see armando don’t know what to do wit all that. No way you’re on vacation looking good af n bored. ijs ~

Which set the comments off after that messaged appeared. Of course your ex, Cane Tejada had to be in your live and in your business.

“Don’t you have some other hoes to fuck around with instead of worrying about how much I’m thriving with my man? You must miss me so bad. You’re so used to screwing things up that you don’t even know what the good life looks like, boy bye.” You clapped back, being aware that you should never give this cheater this much attention but you had a little time.

However you knew better than to go back and forth with Cane. He was good at getting a rise out of you and always wanted the last say.

And he could have that because once you said your peace, you started to pay him dust ignoring his laughing emojis and whatever else he decided to throw into the comments. You ended up only talking to the people that mattered and supported you, not some dude who only cared about getting off with other women who can never give him love past the physical. He didn’t respect you so you didn’t have to respect him. That relationship’s been dead for a solid year, maybe even close to two—if you kept track—and here comes this man always lurking. It only amplified once it was revealed that you were no longer in the streets.

Deciding that it was too quiet at the villa you minimized your live to head over to your fav music app, shuffling a random hot girl summer playlist and went back to your live. Scrapping the chair back after you heard that heavy Memphis accent, you already knew you were about to get in your zone regardless of who tried to ruin it.

“It’s 7pm, Friday. Happy Friday y’all!” You grinned after holding up your pointer and thumb.

You fanned yourself with a sway of your hips, “it’s 95 degrees, hoo!”

Unbeknownst to you, Armando had woken up from his third or fifth nap and had sat up looking for you after spotting your sarong abandoned on the chair next to him. It didn’t take him long to find you on your phone, telling no other than your obsessive ex off. There was no doubt in Armando’s mind that you could handle yourself but he was growing tired of that New York native’s game. Armando can only imagine how you felt, it was petty stuff at first—Cane was three years younger anyway so no shock there, leaving comments online like a punk before he even took it further to start leaving voicemails almost threatening that he would come out to Miami.

Armando of course didn’t take that lightly since a lot of his time was now dedicated to AMMO and he always prioritized your safety, doing his own research to find out exactly the kind of guy Cane Tejada is. The dark web provided everything Armando needed (he still had his own style whether the team liked it or not) and it’s not like Cane scared him or anything, it’s the fact that he thought he could continue to be disrespectful even with the relationship being tossed in the dumpster where it belonged.

Armando had plans for him but he just wanted to enjoy his vacation with you first.

“I ain’t got no ni—and no ni—ain’t got me!” You pounded on your chest, fixing the strap to your bikini afterwards just in case of spillage—although you were part of the itty bitty but still they were reserved goods.

You swiftly turned to the side for the next line, which Armando admired just how nice it sat even from a profile view, arms folded as you ran a hand along the side of the shape of your ass, “I’m bout to show my ass—

And with that, you watched in horror as your phone was smacked right across the trimming of the stone pool. The device skidded from your tripod before plunking right into the pool water. Your mouth dropped in shock as you slowly glanced over your shoulder just to feel Armando right behind you.

His husky and straight forward voice hit your ears as he said, “Hope that’s waterproof.”

Sucking your teeth, you turn to the man who meets your eyes, “excuse you?!”

He shrugs his shoulders, biting into a plum as he slowly scans his eyes over your melanin that contrasts over the yellow and green floral set you had on, “what?” He chewed, “Something wrong?”

“Not you trying to rain on my parade to be turnt up with my n-ggas and my bitches.” You placed your hands on your hips in annoyance.

Armando blinks, “you could do that without showing your ass to Cane.”

You tilted your head to the side at this.

Armando was hardly the jealous type, he didn’t care much for anyone having their eyes on you because they should admire you but it was once they started being vocal or even trying to touch you that he had a problem with. Your ex was sitting behind a screen and Armando knew that if Cane really wanted to—if he wasn’t too caught up in his mommy’s business, he could pull up.

And Armando had something for his ass.

“I don’t give a shit about him.”

You’ve done everything by kicking him out of the life and blocking him along with future accounts but with a guy like him? He always found ways around any blockage.

“I know.” Armando kept his usual leveled tone as he held your stare while you molded your lips into your mouth, scratching at your second protective style for the season in confusion.

Clasping your hands together you exhaled, “then what the hell was that?”

Armando finished his plum, licking at his fingers and then his lips before he sat the remains on a table near by. When he turns back to you, he makes a show of getting up close and personal. Lightly gripping your forearms, the pad of his fingertips gently running over your famous sunspot, he flicks his eyes to yours.

“A what don’t got you?” He questioned.

Oh here we go.

You try not to roll your eyes but you’re oh so tempted, “it’s a song and it’s summer! Let me live.”

“And you can do that but not screaming that with your whole chest to viewers.” Armando debates.

Scoffing your reply, “I didn’t see you complaining so much when we were crip walking to ‘not like us,’ the first day we got here.”

Armando pauses, “…that was different.”

“How?”

He doesn’t want to argue, so his hands just slide down to the sides of your ass. With his right hand his pats one side demanding, “jump.”

“No.”

Armando raises his brows and huffs, “okay.” And takes it upon himself to bend and lift you right over his shoulder.

Yelping you quickly find something on his frame to hold onto as he starts walking, “Arman!” You scream just as he jumps into the pool with you in his arms.

When you both resurface, you flick water right at Arman who is smirking while floating towards you. “I told you to jump but since you want to be difficult, i did the honors.”

“Of what? Getting on my nerves?” You start swimming towards one of the edges where’s there’s seating and Armando doesn’t hesitate to follow you.

He snakes a hand across your waist, turning you to face him. His eyes scan all over your face, a faint dimple still playing on one side of his cheek as he soaks in your annoyance. Gently he’s pushing you elsewhere from the seating of the pool and to the wall.

Armando pressed his forehead against yours, “i thought you wanted to play since you were just doing that on Instagram. So how about i give you something to play with?”

“What—

His lips are smashed right to yours, his facial hair tickling against your chin. His kisses burn against your lips as he moves with speed, hands on your hips and your body doesn’t need to fight against your brain to understand what’s happening. Your legs wrap against his hips and your chest to chest with the possibility of your necklaces getting tangled but there’s no one else the both of you wanted to be close to in this moment.

Your nails are scratching along the shortened hair at the back but he knows you’ll be gripping the top once he’s inside. Normally his kisses are soft yet tender while his hands are rough and calculated but right now? Everything is scorching from the weather to simply Armando’s body heat. His ego doesn’t want to give you time to breathe but out of the decency of his heart he does yet that’s no relief because his fingers are at work now.

“Damn mami, I don’t even have to warm you up do I?” He quizzes with a glance downwards.

The pool wall is scratching against your back, the curling of his pointer and the pressing of his thumb that’s just a little higher is dirty work and he knows it. You don’t have time for his shit talking because you’re yanking him by the neck to shut him right up. He matches your speed with no hesitation tasting sweet like plums and mint, your tongues doing just the perfect dance against the Cuban heat. He grunts when you catch him off guard, getting your own feel in his swim trunks.

He pulls back with a pop of your lips, his own movements faltering for a second as you only caress but even that is just right. He pulls his fingers away and place them right at your lips, silently commanding what to do. And so you do, tongue running along the length before sucking, holding Armando’s dilated stare while gripping harder.

“Sweeter than plums, huh?” He asks, his other hand cupping the side of your face.

You hum, ready to slip a hand inside but his smacks your hand away from his waistband. He does the honors of pulling his trunks down just enough and once he gets his other hand back from your lips, his hands are hot on your hips as he lifts you up higher before pushing your own suit to the side to settle right where he belongs.

The moans that echoes through the both of your lips is music to your ears. Armando always gives it time, still in amazement of how you were made to feel around him. He’s panting as he brings his attention back to you but your eyes are closed, also trying to savor him.

“Eyes on me, mami.” He tells you lightly tapping the side of your jaw, “you good?”

You nod before your eyes open to meet his and you match his smirk or freak or whatever. And when he begins to move against you, stretching you so nicely, you have no choice but to bite down on his shoulder (to not scare the birds of course!) so you can recreate a similar spot on your own.

Half lidded you’re lounging on the bed in a robe, your eyes widen as knees knock against the side of the mattress. You lean back against your hand, peering up at Armando that’s softly grinning down at you. He holds out your chipped phone to you and says, “I got you and apparently…you got me too.”

He moves the material to peek at the teeth marks at the top of his own shoulder.

“Shut up,” you croak while Armando laughs bending down to place a chaste kiss to your brow before he crawls over to the back of you.

He loops a hand around you, pulling you right to his chest in a matching robe, letting you get your rest this time.

After at least two minutes passed you awake with a snore, making Armando crane his neck to look at down at you. You snuggle against his chest and whisper, “can you order some garlic parm nugs for later?”

Armando chest jumps with light laughter as he squeezes your shoulder, “yeah baby, whatever you want. It’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Kay,” you sigh, “l love you.”

Armando quirks up a small smile as he gently rubs your back soothingly, “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼 〰〰〰〰〰 𓇼 𓇼

Continue with my anthology summer writings & prompts here.

#Spotify #queued #armando aretas #armando Aretas lowrey #armando aretas x black! reader #armando aretas x reader #summer writings #bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die #cane tejada #jacob scipio

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seancekitsch · 4 months ago

Note

Can I request Jayvik x Reader? I'm so excited you want to write for Arcane

another little shortie but i like this dynamic 💖

Jayce hums a happy tune despite his lateness, excited that today was going to be the beginning of a new project in the lab. He knew that Viktor and you were already at the lab setting things up, having gotten up way earlier than him this morning. But even with his lateness, he has treats. For you there’s a garlic bagel with chive and onion cream cheese and a hot cup of tea, for Viktor a chocolate croissant and some sweet milk, and for himself an iced mocha and bacon egg and cheese on an biscuit with hot sauce. He shifts the bag under his cup carrier, yanking the door open with a free hand as he concludes his song, ready for the greeting and praise the two of you will give him when he shows off the breakfast haul.

Only, he’s not greeted with hugs or loud greetings or praise for remembering everyone’s breakfast order. Instead he hears hushed voices, quiet moans coming from the far side of the room.

Viktor has you on his lap, your cardigan discarded on his desk as he presses sloppy kisses to your neck.

“Right there?” he asks you, and then dives back in, Jayce can see that with this kiss his tongue even darts out to lick at your pulse point. You encourage him with a moan, throwing your head back.

“Should I be jealous?” Jayce speaks up, placing the food and drinks on one of the tables as he steps forward. You dont break away from Viktor or his kisses, but you do call out his name, an excited moan of a noise that beckons him closer. You unwrap one of your arms from Viktor, holding it out until Jayce reaches out to grab it, and you easily pull him in closer to the embrace.

“We got bored waiting for you,” Viktor explains, his lips wet and shining in the lamp light, “So I started conducting my own little experiment. You see, I wanted to find out what spots made her… react the most.”

“Wanna test his hypothesis?” you ask, and then your lips press against his thumb, kissing from the base to the tip , letting the his thumb rest on your bottom lip. Jayce knows this game of yours, and plays along gladly, pressing his thumb past your teeth, letting it settle on your tongue. Greedily, you start sucking on his thumb as Viktor goes back to attacking your neck, no doubt leaving marks on your pretty skin. It’s almost too much already for Jayce, who wishes neither of you had left the apartment this morning so that you could continue this on the nice fluffy bedding instead of Viktor’s desk. Either way, Jayce practically short circuits when you hollow out your cheeks around his thumb, locking eyes with him as if daring him.

Jayce pulls you up from Viktor’s lap then, his earlier guess correct as you cry out when Viktor’s teeth graze your neck a little too harshly at the action, and Jayce takes the time to kiss you deeply. His tongue is quick to slide between the seam of your lips, hot and hungry and still tasting of the sip of mocha he had on the way over. You kiss back eagerly, but you always do, always showering your men in endless affection and attention. Your hands tangle in his hair as you pull on the shorter strands at the base of his skull, everything to work him up but—

“Wait! Shit,” Jayce pulls back from you as a string of mumbled expletives leave his mouth, “breakfast is gonna get cold if we don’t eat it quick.”

He grabs the bag and passes out each of your items, and you follow suit to grab yours and Viktor’s drinks to bring back to the desk, taking your seat back on Viktor’s lap.

“Oh Jay, you shouldn’t have!” you tell him, “my breath is gonna be so stinky after this!”

“Eh, I like it,” Viktor shrugs, and the two of you look at him as if he’s gone mad.

“What? It is… endearing. It is your stink,” he explains, and unwraps his chocolate croissant before either of you can respond.

“So we’re gonna continue this little experiment after we fuel up?” Jayce asks, taking a seat on top of the desk.

“As long as both of you take extensive notes,” you tell him, and both of your men agree to that.

#jayvik x reader #jayce talis x reader #viktor x reader

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mint-yooxgi · 7 months ago

Text

Kinktober Day 15 - Yandere!Siren!Yeosang + Predator/Prey & Body Worship

@thesafecafe Said: Hi Jackie! I'd like to request Yandere! Siren Yeosang + Consensual Predator/prey & Body worship for the kinktober prompts! A/n: *Mr. Krabs voice* DAY FIFTEEN! GIVE IT UP FOR DAY FIFTEEN! Lmaooo no, but in all seriousness, I was not expecting this one to be this long. I had a little too much fun writing it. Also, Yan!Siren!Yeosang with a breeding kink was not on my 2024 bingo card, but here we are! Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Yandere, Possession, Monstrous Features, Breeding Word Count: 2,582 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

The cove is near silent, the only sounds heard being the gentle rush of water against the shore. It’s steady, and rhythmic, matching a particular heartbeat as eyes peer above water. Inky black surrounds the faintest glimmer of golden irises, mirroring the way the moon illuminates the surface of the sea, and blending together in perfect harmony.

Below the surface, a tail swishes languidly, keeping him afloat.

The deepest of black scales cut through the water, the richest of golds shining between the veins. His colouring has always allowed him to blend in well with his surroundings, and tonight is no excuse. It’s one of the many reasons why he’s the best hunter in his guild.

Yeosang slows his breathing even further, straining his ears to hear any discrepancies in the area. He knows you’re around here somewhere, but you’ve hidden yourself better than he ever could have imagined.

It irritates him. You should already be in his grasp, pinned beneath him on the shore as he finally claims you as his own. After all, he’s certainly waited long enough for this moment. It’s not like he’s been anticipating mating with you for months now, or anything…

Closing his eyes, Yeosang takes in a deep breath. Stilling his movements as much as he can, he focusses in on his surroundings. The sound of the tide does not change, but perhaps he’ll be able to hear your breathing-

There!

Golden eyes snap open, the faintest of vibrations felt beneath the surface of the water. His head snaps towards a small nook, hidden away behind some rocks. There, ripples dance almost inconceivably across the surface of the water.

A slip on your part may just be your one fatal mistake.

Silently, Yeosang slides beneath the water, submerging himself with the tide and inhaling deeply. The faintest bit of your intoxicating scent drifts in from that little alcove, and he swears he can hear the telltale signs of feet treading water.

He does not hesitate for a moment longer.

Like lightning, he streaks across the surface of the water. Though his movements are quick, not a sound is made, nor a shift in the tide to indicate his approaching presence. Each flick of his tail is precise, anticipation clawing at his chest and threatening to make his heart burst at any moment.

He dives deeper, ensuring that you won’t see him coming as he approaches you eagerly.

Your own movements are as minimal as can be, treading water near the edge of that little hidden alcove. Your body is nearly pressed right against the surrounding rocks, one hand gripping the surface to help keep your balance and hold yourself up. Your eyes watch the only known entrance to this little hiding place like a hawk, darting to look beneath the surface every now and again.

The erratic beating of your heart has seemed to calm for the moment thanks to some breathing exercises you’ve been using. You’ve synced each inhalation with the tide, your chest ebbing and flowing like the water around you. There’s no out-swimming or out-maneuvering the beautiful creature that pursues you while submerged beneath the waves. Your best option is to hide and hope to all hell that you can survive for as long as possible before getting caught.

Sparing another glance towards the depths below, your breath hitches in your throat. Excitement thrums through your veins as you see those all too familiar golden orbs surrounded by the deepest of blacks staring you down.

Your heart skips a beat, breath catching in your throat once more as you push yourself right up against the rocks. Your hands reach out on either side of you for a ledge, feet sliding against the cool smoothness behind you as he approaches. The fact that he purposely slows his movements the closer that he gets to you only sends a thrill shooting up your spine.

There’s no way out, and now, he’s finally found you.

A pleased, melodic hum fills the surrounding cavern.

“I told you there was no point in hiding.” His deep voice rumbles out, nothing but his eyes breaching the surface of the water.

The way you can hear every word he speaks so clearly, even with his mouth still concealed beneath the waves has a shiver caressing your spine. His piercing gaze stares you down, and you cannot help the way your whole body seems to freeze at the predatory look in his eyes.

Slowly, he begins stalking towards you.

“There’s nowhere to escape, My Precious Pearl.” Another melodic hum fills the air, the water eerily silent around you. “You’re trapped now.”

Flicking your gaze beside his head, you glance the only opening. Bending your legs, you prepare to push yourself off of the rocks, planning to rush passed him as a last ditch attempt to evade your pursuer.

Only, he’s faster.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Yeosang tuts, his arms now securely wrapped around you and pulling you flush against the smooth, sculpted planes of his chest. “You’re mine now.”

Gently, his nose traces over the side of your neck, inhaling you deeply.

A shudder wracks his spine as his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck- you smell incredible.” He coos, arms tightening around your waist. “My Precious Pearl,” he nuzzles into you affectionately, “I finally found you.”

“Yeosang…” Your voice is but a whisper, attempting to free yourself from his grasp.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily.” He growls, pressing you against him ever tighter. “I caught you, fair and square. Finally, you’re mine.”

Your hands come up to settle on his upper chest, eyes nearly fluttering as you feel him beginning to trace his lips against your pulse. The moment he starts pressing kisses along your skin, your lips part, trusting him to hold you steady as he wraps you securely in his arms.

“Oh, yeah?” A shaky exhale is given, leaning the slightest bit away from him teasingly. “Just what part of me belongs to you?”

Yeosang’s eyes flash, another low growl shaking his chest.

“Everything.” His claws dig into your thighs, tracing his fingers up and down your skin. “Your everything belongs to me.”

Sliding your hands up his shoulders and around his neck, your fingers begin teasingly threading through his hair.

“Says who?” Narrowing your eyes, a knowing smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

His tail twitches beneath the water as his eyes flash. “Me.”

Before you even have a chance to respond, Yeosang has disappeared beneath the surface of the waves. His hands never leave your body, tracing down your sides and shredding through the minuscule amount of clothing you still have on.

The way his claws feel dancing across your skin has your lips parting in a moan.

His hands encircle your ankles, and your breath hitches. Only, what you don’t expect him to do is push you against the stones, using his strength to keep you balanced and afloat.

Gently, his thumbs begin to caress the inside of your ankles.

“Such beautiful feet.” A melodic hum can be heard reverberating from beneath the water. “I would split the very earth in two should anything befall your path, Beloved.”

The feeling of him leaning in to place a tender kiss to the inside arch of either foot makes you giggle, his hair tickling your skin.

“I will lay waste to anybody at your feet whom should choose to belittle you, cheat you… hurt you.” His eyes flash, glancing up at you from below with an intensity you’ve only ever seen a few times before. “Your feet are mine to wash, and ensure no discomfort ever befalls you again.”

Your heart flutters, toes wiggling happily as Yeosang shifts up your body.

“There is nothing more satisfying than the feeling of your legs wrapped around me, My Pearl.” He continues, tracing his claws gently up your calves. “Such beautiful skin… So soft and smooth…”

Each touch is tender, Yeosang taking his time to admire you properly.

“Mine to worship.” He squeezes the flesh of your inner thighs appreciatively. “Mine to touch. Mine to make shake in uncontrollable ecstasy.”

A soft gasp of his name slips passed your lips, and you swear you can see him smirk from beneath the surface of the water.

“You do not know how beautiful you are, Beloved. I promise to spend every day of the rest of our lives together telling you just how incredible you are.” He hums, taking his time to trail kisses up your inner thighs, nipping at the skin and biting small marks for all to see. “And if anybody so much as questions that, or makes you doubt your worth, I will not hesitate to rid them of their lower halves.”

Nosing his way up your thigh, your breath hitches. You can feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation the closer he gets to your cunt. Only, to your disappointment, or perhaps, great relief, he brushes right passed your core.

Sliding his hands up the curve of your ass, his fingers finally settle onto the skin of your lower back.

Pressing his face into your stomach, Yeosang inhales deeply. A shudder caresses his spine, his claws digging lightly into your lower back as he holds you close. Soft kisses are placed in a halo around your stomach, his tongue darting out to flick against your skin.

“There is nothing about you that I do not love.” A loving sigh accompanies his words, nuzzling his face deeper against your stomach. “Every inch of you is perfect, especially for me.”

Your hands shift back to his hair, fingers gently threading through the strands as his tail flicks languidly beneath the surface.

“I’ve always wondered…” Yeosang hums softly, peeking up at you with that familiar golden gaze. “Would you let me breed you? Would you let me fill you so full of my seed that it’d be dripping out of you for weeks?”

A whimper escapes you, clenching hard from his words.

His one hand slips between your legs, parting your folds and dragging the tips of his fingers gently over you.

“Fuck- you’re already soaked, Precious,” He shudders against you, fingers finding your clit and circling that swollen little nub slowly. “Are you this wet from the thought of me filling you with my come? Does the idea of me fucking you full of my seed, and claiming you as my own turn you on that much?”

“Yes!” A desperate whine parts your lips, tossing your head back to rest against the rocks. “Fuck- I want to feel you claiming this pussy as your own-“

A choked moan escapes you as he slides a finger into your cunt.

Yeosang chuckles, using his thumb to continue circling over your clit.

“Keep going, Beloved.” His nose nudges against your stomach as he slowly lowers himself between your legs. Golden orbs flash up at you from within the darkness. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Another whimper escapes you as you feel him settle your legs over his shoulders. His head nuzzles against your inner thigh, hair tickling your skin as he adds another finger. Languidly, he pumps them into you, massaging your inner walls as his thumb circles over your clit.

The way your thighs twitch has a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Fuck- Yeosang!” Your hips roll forwards, attempting to seek the most amount of pleasure that you can in this moment. Only, the way he slows the movements of his thumb, practically stalling his fingers as he buries them deep inside of you has you whining for more.

Meeting his gaze, you understand that in order for him to give you what you want, you have to give him what he wants.

“I want you to claim me!” Your words come out rushed, attempting to grind your hips against his hand. A gasp escapes you as he curls his fingers lightly. “Want you to fill me full of your come until all I can think about is you.”

Your whole body jolts as he removes his thumb from your clit only to lean in and press a chaste kiss to that swollen little bud. The fact that you can feel his smirk against your cunt makes your thighs twitch.

“Been thinking about you so much, Baby,” You admit with a hum. “Been thinking about how good you’d feel buried deep inside of me… about the way your skin would feel pressed against my own as you make me scream your name…”

Yeosang’s pleased growl reverberates against your cunt, his tongue darting out to begin flicking at your clit. The whole while, his fingers never stop their languid pace as they curl deep inside of you.

Not even a moment later, his lips are wrapping around your clit, suckling lightly at you as he grips your ass with his free hand.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I want you to fill me so full of your seed that I’d feel empty without you.” You pant, fingers tightening in his hair. The way you can feel him sucking harder on your clit as you speak lets you know that he’s enjoying your words as much as you were enjoying his own earlier. “Fuck! Yeosang-“ You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. “I want you to fuck a baby into me!”

As soon as those words fall from your lips, your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. Your body arches off of the rocks, a loud moan escaping you as you come clinging onto his hair for dear life. Your thighs shake, threatening to close around his head at any moment as he continues to suckle your clit between his lips while pumping his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high for as long as he can.

Your chest heaves as you attempt to catch your breath, whole body twitching as he finally slows his movements over you. Your eyes flutter as he slips his fingers from you, sighing blissfully as you feel him kissing his way back up your body.

Breaching the surface once more, Yeosang immediately presses his lips to yours. Your legs automatically wrap themselves around his waist as he pushes you flush against the rocks, needing to feel every inch of your bare skin against his own.

“You’re so perfect when you come for me,” He breathes, cupping your cheek gingerly with his one hand.

You smile against his lips. “You make me this way.”

Yeosang hums, nuzzling his nose affectionately against your own. “Mine.”

A soft giggle fills the air as you peck his lips. “Yours.”

You can feel his free hand caressing over your side, his claws sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. A moment later, he reaches around to squeeze your ass, pressing himself firmly against your core. You can feel two very solid and almost identical weights settled against the skin of your thighs, the gold lining his scales shimmering beneath the water.

Looking down, you cannot help the hitch in your breath, nor the way your heart jumps excitedly inside of your chest.

“I hope you’re ready, Beloved,” he hums, leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. The head of each of his cocks brushes up against your core, beginning to press the slightest bit into you and beginning to stretch you open. “Because I’m about to fuck a baby into you.”

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anjeliquesworld · 4 months ago

Text

Thaddeus ABC headcanon

Note: currently hoping for my baby to heal soon😭🙏 ----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------♡----------------------------

A - Artistic: Thaddeus has a surprising talent for sketching, often expressing his emotions through intricate drawings that he keeps to himself. He actually keeps a little sketchbook in his pocket. It's one of the many little secrets he has.

B - Bold: Thaddeus doesn’t shy away from making his intentions clear. If he’s attracted to you, he won’t waste time playing games. His confidence is magnetic, and he knows how to make you feel like the center of his world with just a look or a playful, suggestive remark.

C - Charming: Despite his rough edges, Thaddeus has a certain charm that makes him hard to dislike, especially when he’s being sarcastic or playful. He knows for a fact how attractive he is and uses it to his advantage. He knows how to work a room and isn’t afraid to show a little bit of his more playful, daring side.

D - Deep Thinker: Beneath his tough exterior, Thaddeus often reflects on life’s deeper meanings and struggles, though he rarely shares these thoughts with others. He has a tendency to overthink people’s actions and words due to his tough past.

E - Empath: He may not show it outwardly, but Thaddeus cares deeply about those close to him and can be surprisingly empathetic when they’re in need.

F - Funny Durian: Thaddeus loves to make people laugh, but his jokes tend to be a bit sharp or dark, matching his more cynical side. His teasing can range from sweet to sarcastic, but it’s always done in a way that makes you feel like he’s trying to keep things lighthearted, even when things are a little serious.

G - Glutton: Thaddeus loves candy. When he feels sad, he eats a bunch of sweet treats. His favorite candy is Tanghulu (that's a fact ATP XD), a Chinese fruit skewer coated in a clear, hardened sugar syrup.

H - Heated: When things get heated, whether it’s a heated argument or a more intimate encounter, Thaddeus dives in fully. There’s no holding back when he’s in the mood; he gives everything with a fervor that makes every touch feel even more electrifying.

I - Independent: Thaddeus values his independence and often pushes away help, preferring to handle things on his own. He looks for people who think with their own heads and are independent as well.

J - Jealousy: Thaddeus’s jealousy manifests in a darker, possessive way. While he usually maintains control, when he feels threatened, he becomes extremely territorial. Thaddeus doesn’t like feeling vulnerable, and his jealousy can turn into a quiet, smoldering rage that he keeps hidden, biding its time until the right moment to strike.

K - Kindness in Disguise: Beneath his rough exterior, Thaddeus is capable of great kindness, though it’s often hidden under layers of sarcasm or gruffness.

L - Loyal: Once someone earns Thaddeus’s trust, he is fiercely loyal and will go to great lengths to protect them. He would even go out of his way to protect and cherish them.

M - Mysterious: Thaddeus often keeps things about himself shrouded in mystery, leaving others to guess his true feelings or intentions. He finds it difficult to let people into his heart and mind.

N - NSFW: Thaddeus has a playful side to him, especially when he’s feeling mischievous. He knows just how to make you blush with barely more than a few words. Whether it’s the way he whispers something naughty or the way his hands linger just a little too long, he knows how to stir up desire and leave you craving more.

O - Observant: Thaddeus is highly observant, catching details that others might overlook. It makes him excellent at reading people. He pays a lot of attention to details, even if they seem small and insignificant.

P - Protective: He’s incredibly protective of those he cares about, even if it means putting himself in harm's way. He goes to extreme lengths to protect those he loves, even if it means doing things that appear twisted or questionable in nature. When he’s really into someone, he has this way of holding you close, as if he doesn't want to let you go, and he’s not shy about it.

Q - Quick-Witted: Thaddeus is quick on his feet with sharp comebacks and clever remarks, often using humor to deflect from uncomfortable situations.

R - Rebellious: Thaddeus doesn’t like being told what to do and often goes against authority or societal expectations just for the sake of it.

S - Sexy Time: There’s a roughness to Thaddeus, a raw intensity that makes everything about him feel a little more dangerous. That, makes him sexy. This is part of his appeal—it makes him seem unpredictable, like you never quite know what he’ll do next, which is both thrilling and alluring. His physical appearance obviously plays a big part.

T - Touch Starved: Thaddeus may have difficulty sharing his emotions and feelings, but he loves physical contact, especially when in a relationship. He would find any excuse to touch them and have them close to him. He likes the feeling of your smooth skin under his fingers. He may, from time to time, appear clingy, but that's only because he's deeply devoted to you. Thaddeus is surprisingly affectionate in his own way, though it’s often more intense and possessive than soft.

U - Unpredictable: You never quite know what Thaddeus will do next, which makes him both exciting and difficult to deal with. He's an adventurer at heart, always looking for new challenges and to explore new horizons.

V - Vengeful: When wronged, Thaddeus has a tendency to seek revenge, especially if someone has hurt those he cares about.

W - Wounded: Thaddeus carries old emotional scars, and they occasionally bubble to the surface, making him act out in ways that confuse others. That's why he often isolates himself and finds it difficult to open up and make true friends.

X - X-rated: Thaddeus has a secretive, sultry side that he rarely lets anyone see. When he's feeling particularly confident or drawn to someone, he becomes a master of subtle flirtation—using his words, his gaze, and his body language to send messages that are anything but innocent. His charm can be dangerously persuasive, and though he keeps this side of him tightly under wraps, when it comes out, it’s intense, often leaving people both intrigued and a little flustered. He’s fully aware of his effect on others, but he enjoys the control it gives him, knowing he can get under someone’s skin without ever saying a word.

Y - Yearning for Something More: Thaddeus secretly longs for a deeper connection with others, but he’s too proud or afraid to admit it. In romance, he looks for a long-lasting relationship where trust and loyalty are mutual and unconditional.

Z - Zoning Out: Thaddeus has a tendency to zone out when he’s deep in thought or processing his emotions, especially when he's feeling overwhelmed or conflicted. During these moments, he can become incredibly distant and unresponsive to those around him, sometimes losing track of time.

-------------------------------------------------------🎀

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iamtired10 · 8 months ago

Text

full of love and kisses

— fluffy headcanons

pairing - members x female reader

synopsis - how each of them kiss you and make out with you :(

warning - kisses, again kisses, and once more, and yap, making out too

a/n - no hyein this time 'cause i’m still uncomfortable writing this kind of thing with her, she’s too young :(

kim minji

minji’s kisses are everything.

she’s the type of girlfriend who makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world when she’s with you.

every time she kisses you, it’s so soft and meaningful that you could swear the world just fades away.

when she’s in the mood to make out, she’ll pull you in so gently, cupping your face in her hands, and just look at you for a moment before diving in.

her kisses start out slow, almost teasing, but there’s this growing heat behind every touch.

“you don’t know how much i’ve missed this,” she whispers, her lips brushing yours.

and the best part?

she’s so attentive to your every reaction.

you can feel her smile against your lips whenever you sigh or lean in closer.

minji’s kisses are like a slow burn, but they always leave you feeling completely cherished—like you’re the center of her universe.

pham hanni

hanni is all teasing when it comes to kisses.

she’ll give you these little pecks, laughing as you try to chase her lips, always just barely out of reach.

“come on, is that all you’ve got?” she giggles, eyes sparkling as she pulls you in by the waist.

when she’s feeling clingy, though?

oh gurl. she’ll wrap her arms around your neck, leaning into you with a bright, playful grin before kissing you so sweetly that your heart actually skips a beat.

her kisses are full of energy—quick but packed with affection.

she’ll kiss you once, then again, and again, and again, each one making you feel like you’re the luckiest person alive.

when the kisses get deeper, she’s still playful, giggling into your mouth every time you try to kiss her harder.

“you’re so cute when you get all serious like that,” she teases, pulling back just to see you pout before kissing you again.

hanni’s all about making sure you’re both having fun, and her kisses leave you breathless but with a huge smile on your face.

danielle marsh

danielle’s kisses are like getting wrapped up in a warm blanket after a long day.

she’s so affectionate, and every kiss feels like it’s filled with all the love in the world.

when she kisses you, it’s like she’s telling you, without words, just how much you mean to her.

“you’re my everything,” she whispers against your lips, her arms around your waist pulling you even closer.

danielle doesn’t hold back when she’s in a kissing mood—she’s always got this soft smile playing on her lips, and you can feel the love in every single touch.

when you’re making out, she’s all about softness.

her kisses are slow but steady, as if she’s savoring each and every second with you.

she’ll give you sweet little pecks in between the deeper kisses, her fingers tracing along your back or tangled in your hair.

“i just love you so much,” she’ll say between kisses, and you can feel your heart melt right there.

every moment with danielle feels so perfect, like she’s trying to remind you just how deeply she loves you, with every single kiss.

kang haerin

haerin might not be the most outwardly expressive, but her kisses?

they’re like fire.

she’s not one to rush into things, but once she’s in the moment, she’s all in.

her kisses start soft, almost shy, but they build up with intensity the longer you’re with her.

haerin is all about the little things—the way she gently holds your hand as she leans in, the soft sigh she lets out when her lips finally meet yours.

she’s the type to let her actions speak for her, and when you’re making out with her, it’s electric.

you can feel her holding back at first, her kisses soft and gentle, but then—bam.

there’s this sudden intensity that leaves you breathless.

she’ll pull you close, her kisses growing deeper, more urgent, her hands gripping your waist as if she’s afraid to let you go.

“i… i really like you,” she’ll mutter between breaths, her voice low and filled with emotion.

haerin’s kisses are all about feeling, and every time she pulls you closer, you can feel the heat behind her actions.

a/n: ahem ahem 🤧

#new jeans x reader #newjeans #fluff #kim minji x reader #minji x reader #kim minji #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader #kang haerin x reader #haerin x reader #danielle marsh x reader #danielle x reader

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azsazz · 1 year ago

Text

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

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“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere.

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it.

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you.

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened.

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach.

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.”

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.”

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room.

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind.

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that.

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth.

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words.

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?”

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?”

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight.

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.”

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

#rhysand x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #rhys x reader #rhysand #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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