#i feel like doors are a repeating image in the show too

[starkeyslibrary]

The Bachelor - Episode 1 | Limo Arrivals

the bachelor masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x female!reader

words: 5.0k

The villa glowed like a dream under the night sky, golden light spilling down the grand staircase, flickering against the perfectly manicured hedges. It looked like something out of a fairytale or a reality show. Which, you reminded yourself, it very much was.

Inside the limo, the energy had shifted. The jokes were quieter now, nerves humming in the space between the women seated shoulder to shoulder, careful not to wrinkle dresses or smear lipstick. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, pretending to be calm, eyes fixed on the window as the mansion grew larger with each turn of the tires.

“I can’t believe he’s actually waiting out there.” One girl whispered, breathless. “What if I blank out and forget my name?” “What if he’s not even cute in person?”

A few of them laughed too loud. One girl was already reapplying gloss for the third time. You just breathed in slowly and tried to quiet your heartbeat.

This wasn’t supposed to be real.

You hadn’t imaged it going further than a funny story between you and your best friend. But then came the callback…. and the second one… and the whirlwind that brought you here. And now, you were about to step out of a limo and meet a man the rest of America would be watching you fall in love or fail with.

Your name was called.

The door opened.

The air hit your skin first, cool, slightly floral from the rose arrangements lining the path. The mansion towered in the distance. But all you saw was him.

Rafe Cameron.

He stood at the end of the driveaway in a tailored black suite, his posture relaxed but solid. Not trying too hard. Not posturing for the camera. And somehow, that made it worse.

Your breath hitched.

And when your heels hit the driveaway, his head turned toward you instantly.

Your pulse kicked up, but you smiled as you approached, keeping your stride steady. Shoulders back. Voice ready.

“Hey there,” you said, letting your eyes meet his and hold.

“Hey,” he replied, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m Rafe.”

“I know,” you teased, with a quick grin. “Kind of hard to miss the guy everyone’s here for.”

That earned a smile from him real and fast in the best way.

“And you are…?”

“Y/N. From Staten Island.”

“Staten Island,” he repeated, a flicker of surprise in his expression. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“That’s the fun part,” you said, stepping a little closer. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Good,” he said, a little slower now. “I like surprises.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just charged.

You pulled back just a hair, still smiling. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Thirty-one more names to remember.”

Rafe grinned. “Something tells me yours won’t be hard to remember.”

You paused at that, feeling the weight of the moment shift. You weren’t expecting that, not so soon. But there it was.

You glanced over your shoulder as you turned toward the mansion. “We’ll see if you still remember it later.”

“I will,” he said quiet, certain, just loud enough for you to hear.

And you believed him.

Because as you walked away, you could feel it. The unmistakable heat of someone still watching.

Inside the villa, the energy was electric, almost humming. Twinkling lights wrapped around beams, champagne flutes lined the trays of perfectly dressed servers, and soft lounge music played underneath the buzz of whispered nerves.

You stood just off to the side of the grand foyer, heels planted, fingers curled loosely around a glass of something bubbly. A producer had gently nudged you into your mark, then disappeared, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts... and a wide-open view of the driveway.

The limo door opened again.

“That’s Samantha Jamerson,” someone whispered behind you. “She’s the model. From Dallas.”

Samantha stepped out like she was walking onto a runway — head high, hair glossy under the lights, dress clinging in all the right places. She wore confidence like perfume.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “Not intimidating at all.”

Another girl followed just moments later — Evalin Rossio, the makeup artist from Burbank. Her entrance was bolder, more theatrical. She strutted up to Rafe in sparkling heels, handed him a lipstick tube, and said something you couldn’t hear… but whatever it was, it made him laugh.

You exhaled through your nose. Lightly. Casually.

Then came Daisy Cameron.

She stepped out of the limo with the kind of grace that made the air feel quieter for a second — all smooth lines and timeless beauty in a butter-yellow satin gown. She didn’t rush. Every step felt intentional, like she’d been here before in some other life.

In her hands, she held a single white gardenia.

When she reached Rafe, she didn’t say anything right away. Just offered him the flower, eyes locked on his in a way that was soft, but piercing.

“A gardenia,” she said finally, voice low. “It means ‘secret love’... or ‘a new beginning,’ depending on who you ask.”

Rafe smiled slowly, clearly taken off guard. “Which one are you offering me?”

She leaned in just close enough for the cameras, not close enough to make it desperate.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

And just like that, she turned and walked toward the mansion without another word.

There was a beat of silence. Even from a distance, you could see the way Rafe looked after her, a little surprised, a little intrigued.

“Okay, wow,” someone muttered behind you.

You didn’t respond, just took a slow sip of champagne and glanced at the doors as they opened for the next woman. Because it was clear now:

Every girl here had their version of “memorable.” The real question was, would it last?

The living room of the villa was warm with light and filled with too many beautiful women to count. Glittering dresses caught the glow of chandeliers, laughter buzzed softly in every corner, and champagne flowed like nerves — constantly and without warning.

You stood near the edge of a sitting area, fingers curled around the stem of your glass, quietly taking it all in. A few cameras hovered, not too close, but always there. You were still trying to ignore them.

“This place is insane,” a voice said beside you — low, friendly, with a quiet kind of warmth.

You turned and found a woman already smiling at you. She wore a soft mauve dress, her hair pulled into a loose braid. There was something open and real about her — the kind of presence that calmed you, not challenged you.

“Daniella,” she offered. “ICU nurse. From Minnesota. And currently trying to keep my blood pressure under control.”

You gave her a smile back. “Same. I mean, not the nurse part. Just.. all of this.”

“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since I got out of the limo,” she added, laughing lightly. “Is it weird to admit I keep forgetting there are cameras?”

“Not weird. It’s either that or pretend they’re part of the furniture.”

Daniella laughed again and just like that, you felt your shoulders relax a little.

A third woman joined you moments later. Tall, sleek, confident but not in a way that made you feel small. She had a designer look and a warm smile to match.

“You two look like you’re actually enjoying yourselves,”

“We’re faking it well,” you replied.

“Good. That’s basically the job tonight.” She extended a hand. “Kayla. Interior design. L.A. You?”

“Y/N,” you answered. “New York.”

“Daniella, from Minnesota.”

The three of you stood there a moment longer, sipping drinks, trying to act like the cameras weren’t tucked behind potted palms and over shoulders. Laughter echoed from somewhere near the fireplace as a cluster of women posed for photos and took turns casually peeking at the front door.

“Do you think he’ll come in and grab someone right away?” Daniella asked softly.

“Maybe,” Kayla replied. “If he’s smart, he’ll start with someone unforgettable.”

They didn’t say it, but the unspoken words hung between you; and we’re all hoping that’s us.

You stayed quiet, letting their voices drift around you, eyes flicking once toward the front entrance.

The final woman had made her entrance. You couldn’t even remember her name, just that her gown shimmered like glitter under a spotlight and her laughter carried through the driveaway like she was already winning.

Inside the mansion, the air had shifted.

Everyone knew what was coming.

A hush fell over the room when Jesse Palmer stepped into the center of it all, dressed in a dark suit, face calm but with that unmistakable glint of drama in his eyes.

“Ladies,” he said with a warm smile, “welcome to night one.”

A few soft cheers and nervous laughs through the crowd.

“Tonight, you’ll each have a chance to spend one-on-one with Rafe. Make the most of it. He’s here to find something real. And at the end of the night…”

He paused for full effect.

“.. Rafe will be handing out the first roses of the season.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. You knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud made it hit different. It wasn’t just nerves anymore, it was pressure.

Jesse gave a small nod along with a soft smile, then stepped aside.

And then, Rafe walked in.

He looked sharp, dark jacket, shirt unbuttoned just enough to keep it relaxed. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he moved through the room. Calm. Confident. Collected. His eyes scanned the space, landing briefly on each woman, but when they passed over you, they paused.

Just a beat longer than everyone else.

It wasn’t dramatic, and you were sure half of the room didn’t notice.

But you did.

He picked up a glass from a nearby tray, and the rest of you followed. Flutes clinked together softly.

“Thank you all for being here,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “I know how much courage it takes to put yourself out there like this and I don’t take that for granted. I came here because I’ve spent most of my life building something. A company. A future. But I want more than that now. I crave more.”

His gaze moved through the crowd.

“I want to build something real. With someone. I don’t know how this will unfold. But I’m here with an open heart.. and I hope you are too.”

The group murmured softly. Glasses lifted.

“To something real,” Rafe said.

“To something real,” the women echoed.

You sipped your drink, heart tight in your chest.

And just like that, the cocktail party really began.

Time passed like it was both racing and crawling. Rafe was pulled almost immediately. First by Zoe, a fiery brunette from Miami who wasted no time claiming her spot. Everyone pretended not to notice. No one succeeded.

You hovered near Daniella and Kayla, watching as one by one women made their move. Some subtle. Some not at all. There was laughing. Playful touches. A few over-rehearsed lines that landed like a scripted TV.

Then Zoe returned.

Her lipstick was smudged just lightly. Her smile? Smug.

“You guys,” she announced, fanning herself with her hand. “Let’s just say… first night magic is real.”

Gasps and squeals rippled through the group. You watched the reactions more than you watched her.

“You kissed him?” Someone on the couch asked, eyebrows raised.

Zoe shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It just happened.”

You turned your face away slightly, hiding the sudden knot of anxiety bloomed in your chest. You didn’t expect to feel… this. Not yet. But you did. And it was real.

So when the timing felt right after another girl returned, giddy and breathless – you stepped away from the group.

You spotted him near the edge of the patio, half in shadow, glass in hand, eyes scanning the lights twinkling in the distance like he was trying to slow the night down.

Maybe it was bold, maybe it was overdue. But your heels clicked against the stone like a quiet declaration as you stepped toward him.

He turned to face you, and there it was again. That small shift in his expression when he saw you. Like the air had changed.

“I was hoping you would,” he said.

He placed his drink on the railing behind him, then stepped closer his hand grazing lightly across your bare back as he guided you forward. The gesture was effortless, almost instinctive, but it send a hum down your spine.

He led you to a quieter corner of the terrace, where fairy lights dangled over low-hanging vines and the music from inside was just a whisper. It felt like your own little pocked of the night.

You sat beside him, just far enough not to touch, but close enough to feel the tension humming in the space between.

“So, Staten Island,” he said, smiling as he leaned back. “I’ve been thinking about that all night.”

“You say that like I’m a rare species.”

“Maybe you are,” he shot back, grinning. “Okay, let’s trade,” he said, turning slightly to face you. “One thing you actually like about where you’re from?”

You paused for a second, then nodded. “The honesty. People don’t pretend much. What you see is what you get.”

“That explains a lot about you, actually.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Definitely.”

You smiled at that, ducking your head a little. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you that no one probably expects.”

He leaned in a touch, not enough to close the gap, but enough to feel intentional.

“I go off-grid once a year. No phone, no emails. Just me and the woods. Camping, hiking, chopping firewood, the whole thing.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Wait, like actual camping? In a tent?”

“Tent, hammock, sometimes just a sleeping bag if I’m cocky.”

You laughed. “I pictures you more… five-star hotel with a view.”

“I do like a view,” he said, eyes locking on yours for a second too long. “Just depends on the company.”

Your breath caught slightly. You leaned back, your gaze steady on his. “Alright, Mr. Off-Grid. My turn again.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Hit me.”

“What’s your biggest red flag?”

He grinned. “What, you mean besides agreeing to date thirty-two women on TV?”

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I said red flag, not suicide mission.”

He laughed low, “Fair, I guess.. I like control. More than I should, probably.”

“Ah,” you said, swirling your drink. “So you’re a bit of a menace too.”

“Maybe,” he said eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “But not in broad daylight.”

You smirked. “Coward.”

He mirrored your expression. “Okay then. Same question. What’s your red flag?”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “I know what I want. And I say it. Some men find that… unsettling.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted. “Sounds like clarity to me.”

“Dangerous word,” you said. “People say they want honesty, but they really want reassurance.”

He studied you for a beat, “And what do you want?”

You tilted your head, keeping him in your sights. “Someone who can keep up.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That sounds like a dare.”

“It might be,” you said, your tone light, but your gaze unflinching.

A beat of silence passed between you. Not awkward, not expectant, just charged.

He leaned in slightly, enough to blur the line between playful and something more pointed. His knuckles brushed the bench between you.

You held his gaze, not flinching. “You always stare like that.”

“Only when someone’s making it interesting.”

You smiled slowly. “And how am I doing?”

He opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but then;

“Hi,” came a voice from a few feet away. Soft, but clearly practiced. One of the other women, stepping forward with a polite-but-not-really smile. “Sorry to interrupt.. would it be okay if I grabbed you for a minute?”

Rafe turned to her immediately, respectful, gracious even. “Yeah, of course?” Then back to you. “I owe you a rematch.”

You gave him a lazy smile, playful but grounded. “Good. I wasn’t finished winning.”

He laughed under his breath, and with a parting glance.

You leaned back, lips still curved, the buzz of the conversation lingering on your skin like static.

Confessional – Rafe

He sits on the velvet chair, jacket unbuttoned.

“She’s… sharp,” he says, almost to himself first. Then he looks up at the camera. “Y/N’s not trying to impress me. It’s like she showed up and decided to see if I was worth her time.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“And that kind of honesty? It’s rare and bold. And yeah I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already thinking about the next time I get her alone.”

Back at the Cocktail party

You made your way back toward the main crowd, heels clicking with a little more ease than when you’d walked out. As you approached the couches near the fire pit, Kayla spotted you first and raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

You dropped into the cushion between her and Daniella, crossing your legs slowly. “We talked.”

Daniella leaned in. “That’s all we’re getting? You were gone for, like, twenty minutes.”

“I mean… it was a good talk,” you said, playing it cool but the edge of your mouth betrayed you. A hint of smile. Just enough

“Oh my god, you like him,” Kayla gasped, pointing at you.

You held up a hand. “Relax. I don’t even know him.”

“Mm-hm,” Daniella said, sipping her drink. “But you’re thinking about it.”

You let out a breath and looked toward the patio, where Rafe was now laughing with someone else.

“He’s… sharp,” you finally said. “Smarter than I expected.”

“And hot,” Kayla added helpfully.

Daniella nudged her. “Let her pretend she’s deep.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s more than just charming. That’s rare for me.”

There was a pause, then Kayla said, “So.. do you think you’ve got a shot?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you swirled the ice in your drink and glanced at the cluster of women still waiting their turn.

“If I want it?” you said. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Daniella raised her brows. “Damn.”

Kayla grinned. “Guess we’ll all just try not to take it personally.”

You gave her a look. “Oh, come on. You think I’m scared of a little healthy competition?”

Daniella raised her brows. “You’ve gotten way too calm. Like suspiciously calm.”

You shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “I’m here to make a connection, and if he sees it too, great. If not? His loss.”

Kayla let out a low whistle. “Okay, cool girl. Coaching session, please.”

You glanced out toward the patio, where Rafe was still talking to a blonde girl, laughing at something she’d said, charming. As always, too charming.

“Honestly?” you said, shifting to face Daniella. “You should go next.”

Daniella blinked. “What? No, I’m not even sure what I’d say. I was gonna wait till it felt more natural.”

“Natural is a myth on this show,” you said, gently but firmly. “You think anyone’s first rose comes from waiting around to be noticed? If you want time, go take it babe.”

“She’s right,” Kayla added.

“I just don’t want to be that girl,” Daniella said.

You leaned forward, voice softer now. “That girl gets to figure out if she actually likes him, not just the idea of him. You deserve that chance.”

Daniella looked between you and Kayla, then out at the patio.

“You’re sure it won’t come off… pushy?”

“You’re not interrupting a marriage proposal,” you said. “It’s five minutes of conversation. Go claim your five.”

Kayla reached over and gave Daniella’s shoulder a squeeze. “Honestly, the way he looked at you when you walked in earlier? I’d bet on you.”

That earned a small, nervous smile from Daniella. But it grew into something steadier.

“Okay,” she said, standing and brushing invisible lint off her dress. “Okay. You’re right. I’m gonna go.”

You raised your glass to her like a salute. “Make him forget his own name.”

Kayla laughed, and Daniella tosses you both a grateful glance before walking toward the patio with quiet determination.

Once she was out of earshot, Kayla leaned in and whispered, “You’re dangerous when you go into hype mode.”

You just smirked and sipped your drink. “I like knowing the right women are getting in the room.”

Kayla gave you a sideways look. “So what happens if it comes down to all three of us?”

You didn’t blink. “Then may the best woman win.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with understanding — not rivalry, but respect.

Then, clinking glasses again, Kayla said, “To playing smart.”

You grinned. “To playing well.”

Not far off, pockets of women had formed. Clusters of sequins and bare shoulders catching the firelight. Laughter rose and fell in waves, paired with the occasional anxious glance toward the patio.

Near the charcuterie table, two women stood shoulder to shoulder, nibbling nervously on crackers more out of habit than hunger.

“I swear I blacked out the second he looked at me,” one said with a laugh, covering her face. “Did I even speak? I can’t tell.”

“You smiled. A lot.” The women next to her assured her, nudging her gently. “And you didn’t trip. That’s already a win.”

Across the way, three women lounged on a circular couch, shoes kicked off and tucked beneath them.

“I keep telling myself I’m not going to spiral,” one was saying, twirling the straw in her drink. “but then I see another girl walk off with him and it’s like okay, I’m spiralling.”

The girl beside her hummed in agreement. “Same. But also, like.. how do you even stand out without being that girl?”

The third gave a half-shrug. “You just be you. The right energy finds its match, right?”

They nodded, and for a moment, the conversation settled into a quiet kind of calm nerves shared out loud always seemed a little smaller.

At the edge of the group, someone pulled out a tube of lip gloss and offered it around. Another handed over blotting paper, small but familiar rituals. The kind women learn to perform for each other in rooms like this.

“I think Daniella’s out there with him now,” someone murmured.

A few heads turned. One girl smiled. “Good. I liked her vibe. She deserves her moment.”

“Totally. She’s sweet. I hope she kills it. But like... also, I hope I get my moment too.”

Someone raised a glass. “To our own damn fairy tales.”

They clinked glasses gently, not as a toast to rivalry, but to resilience.

And just like that, the night moved on. Full of eyes watching doors, hands smoothing dresses and hearts trying not to hope too loudly.

You were curled into one of the velvet sofas with Kayla and Daniella when the room shifted.

The conversations dimmed. The posture of every woman sharpened.

Jesse Palmer stepped through the open archway, carrying it.

The First Impression Rose. It sat atop a sleek white marble platter.

You sat up straighter. Everyone did.

“Ladies,” Jesse said, glancing around the room. “Rafe has made a decision.”

A pause just long enough for tension to ripple across the group.

“He is ready to give out the First Impression Rose.”

He placed the platter down on the marble coffee table, the rose bright against the glass surface.

And then, without another word, Jesse walked out, leaving the rose in the center of the room like a lit fuse.

The quiet buzz that followed was unmistakable. Nervous laughter. Crossed legs uncrossed, then crossed again. Someone sat up, smoothing her dress without realizing it.

“Is he coming in here to give it out?” one girl whispered.

But before anyone could answer, Rafe stepped into the room.

Tall. Composed. Smile relaxed, but unreadable.

“Evening, ladies,” he said smoothly.

A few voices returned his greeting. Most just watched.

He walked toward the rose with even steps, paused, and looked down at it. Then, without saying a word, he picked it up.

And turned around.

He left the room.

For a second, no one moved.

Then –

“Wait, he’s not giving it to someone in here?” “Awch.” “Oh my God. Who is he going to?”

Chairs shifted. A few girls leaned toward the windows.

You turned your head just in time to catch a glimpse of him outside, walking across the patio, rose in hand.

And there, near the string-lit reflecting pool, stood Sierra.

She turned as he approached. And you didn’t need to hear the words to know exactly what was happening.

He held the rose out. She nodded. He smiled.

It was clean. Quiet.

A flicker sparkled low in your chest. Not jealousy, not really. Just that quiet, steady drumbeat of not this time. You sipped your drink. This was only the beginning.

Confessional - Rafe (after handing out the First Impression Rose)

Rafe is seated comfortably, bowtie slightly loosened, hand still resting loosely on his knee like he hasn’t fully come down from the night.

“Giving that first rose... it’s a weird pressure. You want to trust your gut, but you’re also very aware that thirty-one other people are watching.”

He smiles slightly, thoughtful.

“Sierra felt grounded. There’s something warm and steady about her energy. That stood out.”

A pause. He glances off-camera, then back.

“But there were other moments tonight… ones I’m still thinking about. There’s a lot I haven’t figured out yet.”

The clinking of glasses quieted the moment Jesse Palmer stepped into the villa, dressed in a sharp black suit and wearing the kind of practiced calm that only came with hosting this exact moment many times before.

“Ladies,” he said, voice even but charged with gravity. “I hope tonight brought you clarity, connection… and hopefully a little fun.”

A few soft laughs floated through the room some sincere, some strained. Eyes darted from one face to another. Makeup was still fresh, but nerves had started to show.

Jesse’s gaze swept the room before continuing. “As you know, Rafe has already given out the First Impression Rose.”

You didn’t need to look, you already knew where Sierra was standing, her rose pressed to the front of her dress. She smiled gently as a few girls glanced her way. You couldn’t blame them.

Production had gathered all thirty-two of you together now. A single room, no more movement, no more distractions. This was it. The waiting was done.

Jesse turned slightly, angling toward the open doors behind him.

“And with that,” he said, “it’s time for the next step.”

Outside, Rafe stood just past the threshold, tall, steady, hands clasped loosely in front of him. There was a subtle shift in the air the second his eyes scanned the room, like the weight of the evening had finally settled on everyone’s shoulders.

“This journey starts fast,” Jesse said, voice steady, “and it starts now.”

He turned to Rafe with a small nod.

“Rafe, I’ll turn it over to you for your second decision of the night — the First Rose Ceremony.”

A few girls straightened their spines. One adjusted the hem of her dress. No one breathed too loudly.

“Rafe,” Jesse said, “whenever you’re ready.”

“Hi, everyone,” he said, voice smooth but a little tentative.

A chorus of voices replied all at once: “Hiiiii.”

It came from all corners of the room soft, sweet, slightly sing-song. The kind of collective response that only thirty-two women standing in full glam under a chandelier could produce.

Rafe let out a short laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I’m still not used to that,” he said. “Not sure I ever will be.”

A few girls giggled. The room relaxed. Just a notch.

Then he took a small step forward, glancing around the room letting the quiet settle for a moment.

“I know this was a long night,” he said, his voice a little more grounded now. “And I just want to say thank you. I don’t take any of this lightly. The time you’ve all put in, the nerves, the conversations, everything.”

His eyes scanned the faces across from him.

“You’re all incredible in your own ways. And I’m really sorry if tonight doesn’t go the way you hoped. Just know that I see you. And I appreciate you.”

A beat passed. Then he turned toward the pedestal and reached for the first rose.

The first name called:  “Talia.”

A brunette in a crimson dress stepped forward, visibly relieved.

“Talia,” Rafe said gently, “will you accept this rose?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling only slightly.

“Selene.”  “Will you accept this rose?”  “Yes.”

A few names later:

“Y/N.”

Your name settled into the room like a bell struck once: clear, resonant, and undeniably real.

You stepped forward, pulse steady despite the anticipation crawling over your skin.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure. “Will you accept this rose?”

You didn’t blink. “I will.”

The rose was light in your hand. The meaning behind it, not so much.

You returned to your place in the line, careful to keep your expression composed, but your fingers curled just slightly tighter around the stem than necessary.

Confessional – Y/N

The camera cuts to Y/N, sitting in the velvet chair. Her heels are off, tucked beside her. She’s calm, but her eyes are sharp.

“I’d be lying if I said the First Impression Rose didn’t sting a little. It’s not jealousy… it’s just this weird feeling of ‘okay, so this is how it’s going to go.’”

She breathes out a laugh, small but real.

“But I got a rose. And I got time with him. Real time. So I’m not worried. If anything, I’m just more... curious. Because I think he sees it too. He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.”

Present

“Kayla.”

She let out a soft breath and walked up with a confident, steady step.  “Will you accept this rose?”  “Absolutely.”

Confessional – Kayla

Kayla sits comfortably, legs crossed, one hand fidgeting with a ring on her finger.

“Tonight was… intense. It’s easy to forget how fast it all moves until you’re standing there waiting to hear your name.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, glancing up like she’s replaying something.

Present

“Daniella.”

Her smile bloomed genuinely hopeful.  “Will you accept this rose?”  “Yes. Thank you.”

Confessional – Daniella

Daniella sits forward in the chair, her rose still in her hand like she hasn’t let herself fully relax yet. Her hair is slightly looser, but her smile is calm, earned.

“I almost didn’t do it. I kept waiting for the right time  like it would just open up perfectly for me. But this place doesn’t work like that. You either step in… or you watch someone else take the shot you wanted.”

She glances down at the rose, then back up with a quiet kind of pride.

“He saw me. Not just physically like, actually saw me. And that five-minute conversation? It changed the whole night.”

Back to the Ceremony

One by one, the roses were handed out. Gratitude, nerves, hope, each layered thick in the air as the room slowly thinned.

The final rose sat alone on the pedestal when Jesse stepped forward again.

“Ladies,” he said, “this is the final rose tonight.”

Everyone stilled.

It was offered.  Accepted.  And just like that, it was done.

The women who hadn’t been called; Samantha, Jess, Rachel, Erika, Olivia, Evalin, Christen, Whitney, Holland, and Allie were gently escorted aside. Hugs exchanged.

You glanced sideways, finding Kayla and Daniella among the crowd.  They each held their roses like little promises.  And somewhere behind your ribs, something softened, then sharpened again.

This was only the beginning.  And you were still standing.

authors note: i'd love to hear what you all think of this first episode. your feedback means so much and is always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it. please feel free to send me your thoughts on what you'd like to see in this series—specific date ideas, slow-burn romances, potential drama, anything you’re craving!

fun fact: I’ve only seen one season of The Bachelor years ago, so this is just as much of a wild ride for me as it is for you. thanks so much for all the love!

important note: if you’d like to be added, please send me a message or comment under this post! please also make sure you follow, comment and interact so you can get tagged and stay tagged. 💖

the bachelor taglist: @xoxo4chrisss @serendippindots @akobx @wandabillywrites @drewsephrry @justdamnpeachy @thewackywriter @drewsphswife @astridwisp @carisd @itsamusical4lifee @ts1mp0ne @fairyjinn @chaotickittenanchor @sophiesmovingcastle5 @saviorcomplexrry

[wackywatchdotcom]

hm..... pomni taking peoples hand as a repeating image in the show..... happens in ep 1, with ragatha, its kinda evoked with her reaching for the final exit door, ep 2 is pretty blatant with it i dont need to say anything else on that, and in episode 3 the scene with kinger..... episode 4 doesnt have anything with this i dont think (i COULD technically say her raising her hand at the beginning of the ep but that is a MASSIVE stretch and doesnt fit with what the other instances seem to be representing. her waving at gummigoo MAYBE but the image just really isnt present in the episode, looking at it realistically) but im thinking about this...... cus i feel like its probably notable in the dream sequence in ep 2 that its her arm that gets all fucked up

[ahqkas]

“NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your roommate is the menacing red hood — who just happens to have a soft spot for you WORD COUNT! 1.5k WARNINGS / TAGS! roommates jason & reader, cursing, smoking, mention of alcohol consumption, reader is described to wear makeup, use of petnames ( doll ) NOTES! i need a vigilante bf sb. based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THERE IS A STARVED DOG IN THE BACK OF JASON TODD’S THROAT.

It keeps barking, baring its sharp canines at whoever dares to step too close to comfort. It isn’t afraid to bite, to leave permanent marks in its wake because it had been hurt once before and the past hadn’t been so kind. So, it rips things apart, shows its strength to intimidate. A mechanism to keep itself safe. To remain whole.

The dog craves violence and roughness to represent the image it once created. It also craves touch, and not the bittersweet one. The kind that aches to feel, the kind that feels undeserving.

Jason isn’t a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites.

He’s chaos wrapped in leather. He’s the rumble of a motorbike tearing down an empty street, the smell of gasoline and adrenaline falling behind him. He’s sharp edges and electricity, the lighting that splits the sky just before the rain comes down. He’s a storm caged in a human shell, unpredictable and restless. Jason is late nights bathed in neon lights and the rush of speed that makes your heart race. He’s fire and fury, a protective shield made of calluses and scars.

You, on the other hand, are the softness in a world that’s far too loud. You’re the quiet that follows the first snowfall, the kind that blankets the earth in white stillness. You’re the warmth of vanilla in a kitchen. You’re the calmness of a gentle breeze, the soft glow of a candle against the darkness. There’s nothing harsh about you; you’re delicate without being fragile, a sweetness that lasts long after you first taste it. You’re a handwritten note, a favorite song played on repeat, kindness that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Where Jason is a storm, you’re the eye. He’s the clash of thunder, you’re the calmness that follows. He’s leather jackets and combat boots, you’re large sweaters and bare feet on fluffy carpet. He pushes the word back with his fists while you disarm it with your smile.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for you.

Jason’s large combat boots were heavy on the hardwood as he stepped through the apartment door. He didn’t use one of the windows tonight since he had the luxury to change out of his vigilante clothing. The brown leather jacket still hung from his broad shoulders, but all the other equipment that created the complete look of Red Hood was safely stashed under the stairs of your fire escape.

Red Hood was one side of Jason’s many personalities he tried to shield you from.

He was quiet, mindful of his steps. He avoided the creaking spot on the floor, and he avoided closing the door too roughly. He had told you one too many times that he could take a look at the things that just made your life annoyingly difficult, but you waved him off with sweet words and he obeyed like a man possessed. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his liking but he shook it off. You were supposed to be out anyway, something about a party your friends dragged you at.

The faint scent of cigarettes hit him before the quiet breeze of the night air rusted the curtains, and Red Hood was instantly on alert. His fingers moved before his mind could even process the situation, feeling the sharpness of his blade tucked in the belf of his pants.

His legs followed, taking him toward the balcony door and stepping outside into the night. He expected anything: a stray cat wandering through various apartments on a hunt for leftovers or even a rookie thief trying to break in. But he didn’t expect you, sitting on a plastic chair with a cigarette between your lips. One his cigarettes.

There you were, knees pulled close to your chest, the heels of your feet digging into the cheap plastic so you wouldn’t fall.

Draped in one of his hoodies he forgot on the couch earlier, you looked like you were ready to call it a day. Still, impossibly beautiful even with that tired look in your eyes. You pulled the cigarette out, puffing a white swirl of smoke into the darkness.

Jason stepped closer, his tall frame easily towering over yours. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” The sight of you, your cheeks flushed with alcohol and your hair a little wild from the chill wind, tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

Your glassy eyes met his and your lips tugged into a beaming smile. “Hey, Jason,” you mumbled his name out like it was a melody you hadn’t quite learned yet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home. And you’re drunk. Smoking my shit.”

“I stole it from your jacket’s pocket when I did the laundry. I figured you wouldn’t miss one,” you held up the cancer stick towards him, as if to say, ta-da! Look what I found.

You were holding a piece of him. He crouched in front of you, his gloved fingers gently plucking the cigarette from your hand before you could protest. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know. I guess I’m a bad influence for you,” he muttered while his thumb brushed over the filter, the bark of the dog in his throat quieting for a moment. There was a faint pink outline on the white paper. A mark of your lips.

You tilted your head, studying him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You could never be a bad influence.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as he put the cigarette against the railing, the faint hiss breaking the silence between you. Then, he flicked it over the edge of the railing, watching the embers spiral down into the darkness below. The city roared faintly beneath you, but here, on this tiny balcony, it was just the two of you.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” your brows knitted into the frown he grew to adore.

“That I’m not a bad influence,” his lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something bittersweet. It was all a big joke to him; you didn’t know his true nature and yet here you were defending the man you thought you knew. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, doll.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gazed up at Jason like he hung the moon just for you. The look in your eyes softened. “I know enough, Jay. I know you’d rather jump off this balcony than let anything happen to me. I know you leave food for the stray cat, even though you complain how she’s too noisy at night. And I know that when you’re quiet like this,” you bumped your knee against his, trailing slightly into a quieter tone of your voice, “it’s because you’re hiding something.”

The dog inside Jason growled lowly, warning him to keep his guard up. To start building thicker walls around his bleeding heart. This would only end in tears and anguish. But you weren’t barking back. You held your heart in an open palm, extended toward him.

You leaned forward after a minute of his silence, hand brushing against his knee, and Jason stiffened. “You’re not mad, right? About the cigarette” you voiced your thoughts hesitantly.

Jason sighed, running a hand through the dark strands of his hair. “I should be. But seeing you out here like this . . . ” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face and cataloging every single detail. The flush on your cheeks and glass in your eyes. The aftermath of alcohol. “I can’t be mad. Just–don’t do it again, okay? You don’t need to mess with that shit.”

Your lips parted like you were about to argue, but then you closed them again, nodding slowly. Jason exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He stood up, holding out a calloused hand to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold out here.”

You stared at his hand for a moment before slipping your smaller one into it. His grip was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse quickened under his touch. He didn’t let go as he led you back into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind the two of you.

The dog in his chest stirred, restless and uneasy. It barked once, softly, a reminder of all the ways he could ruin this. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his jaw tightening against the weight of it. The dog craved destruction, violence, and chaos—it had always craved those things. But now, as he watched you drunkenly lean into him, the dog hesitated.

It whimpered. Then it lay down, its teeth still bared but its growl silenced, if only for tonight. Because for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something strange, something almost unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the absence of violence or the dull ache of longing. It was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something in this world he didn’t have to break to keep.

[moongirlcleo]

Pillow Talk

Tags: Oral Fixation, Caught in the Act, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Teasing, F!Reader, Fingering, Rough Sex Note: Check out all of my works on AO3! - | link

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You were just trying to take the edge off—nothing serious, just a little relief. Then Caleb walked in. Now he’s got you pinned, all smirks and wandering hands, acting like he wasn’t desperate for you as well. "If you wanted me that bad, pipsqueak, all you had to do was ask." Yeah… this is not how you thought the night would go.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside your window, neon lights casting a faint glow across your sheets. You should be sleeping. You tried to sleep. But your body had other ideas—specifically, ideas about him.

Caleb.

It started innocently enough—just a passing thought, an idle fantasy as you tossed and turned. But then you pictured his hands, firm and steady. His voice, low and teasing. The way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, when his gaze lingers a second too long.

And that’s how you ended up here.

On your stomach, hips rolling, the friction of the pillow between your thighs almost enough to satisfy the ache, but not quite. You bite your lip, muffling a whimper of his name aloud as you rock against it, thighs squeezing, chasing after something that feels just out of reach. The sheets are damp beneath you, the heat between your legs unbearable, your mind lost in the image of Caleb behind you—his strong hands gripping your hips, his voice murmuring filthy promises in your ear.

Your breath catches, your movements becoming more frantic, the pressure building—

And then—

A slow, deliberate clap sounds from the doorway.

You freeze.

Your heart lurches into your throat as your head snaps up, eyes wide, blood draining from your face in pure, unfiltered horror.

Caleb leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smirk stretching across his lips.

“Well, well.” His voice is smooth, teasing. “Didn’t expect the show tonight, but damn if I’m not impressed.”

Your mouth opens—closes—opens again, but nothing comes out. You’re still sprawled out over the pillow, your body betraying you, still pressed against it in a way that tells him exactly what you were doing.

His amethyst eyes flicker over you, unhurried, taking in every detail—your flushed skin, the way your fingers still clutch the sheets, the way your thighs tremble, aching for something more.

Caleb tilts his head. “Now, pipsqueak,” he drawls, stepping inside and shutting the door with a quiet click, “how are you gonna talk your way out of this one?

Your brain scrambles, panic and mortification flooding your veins as you frantically try to assemble words into something—anything—that can salvage this situation.

“I—I wasn’t—”

Caleb lifts a brow, amused. “Oh? You weren’t?” He nods toward your still-straddled pillow, his smirk deepening. “Could’ve fooled me, pipsqueak.”

Your body burns.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, trying to gather what little dignity remains, but all it does is make the situation worse. Caleb’s gaze darkens as he watches the way your body shifts—how your thighs twitch, the way your shirt hangs loose off your shoulder, exposing the flushed skin beneath.

You swallow. “I was just—trying to get comfortable.”

He laughs.

It’s low, rich, downright sinful. Like you just told him the funniest joke of his life.

“Comfortable?” He repeats the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he’s savoring it. “Huh. That’s a new one.”

His hands slide into his pockets as he moves closer, his steps leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to watch you implode.

Your pulse hammers as you scramble for another excuse. “I—had a cramp?”

Caleb grins. “A cramp.”

You nod way too quickly. “Yeah! A—um—muscle cramp. My legs were sore from—uh—training?”

He hums, his head tilting, eyes sharp. “That why you were moaning my name, then?”

Oh, fuck.

You feel the heat snap up to your ears. “I wasn’t—”

Caleb presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, clearly delighted by your struggle. “No? Must’ve been my imagination, then.” He leans down slightly, voice lowering just enough to make your stomach flip. “Y’know, since I definitely heard you.”

Your breath catches.

His eyes flick to your parted lips before dragging lower, tracing the curve of your throat, the way your chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

Caleb exhales through his nose, sharp and amused, but there’s something thicker beneath it now—something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re cute when you panic, pipsqueak,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, his amusement edged with something darker.

You need to do something, anything, to shift control back in your favor before you combust.

So, you cross your arms, throwing him a glare—one that would’ve been a lot more effective if your entire body wasn’t still betraying you. “Okay, fine, maybe I was—” you gesture vaguely at the pillow, “—doing something—but you shouldn’t have been watching.”

Caleb grins, slow and dangerous. “Hey, pipsqueak.” He leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You left the door unlocked.”

Your stomach plummets.

He chuckles, low and teasing. “Kinda seems like you wanted to get caught.”

One second, you’re scrambling for another excuse, another half-hearted denial that he would’ve loved to tear apart, and the next?

You’re pinned.

His hands grab your thighs, yanking you forward so suddenly that your breath stutters in your throat. Your back hits the mattress, and Caleb—Caleb is on you, caging you in with his forearms braced against the bed, his body flush against yours, heat radiating off him like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, voice dipped in rough amusement, “if you wanted me this bad, pipsqueak, all you had to do was ask.”

Your stomach flips, thighs instinctively squeezing together beneath him, and he notices. Oh, he notices. His gaze flickers downward, pupils blown with satisfaction.

He smirks, wicked and knowing. “Ohhh,” he breathes, dragging a hand slowly, torturously up your side. “That got you, huh?”

You glare, but it’s utterly pathetic considering how thoroughly your body is betraying you. “Shut up, Caleb.”

His grin widens, all sharp teeth and smug amusement. “Oh, Y/N.” His fingers graze up your thigh, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “That’s not how this works.”

You try to shift, try to salvage what’s left of your dignity, but it’s pointless. He’s got you exactly where he wants you, and worst of all?

You want him there.

Caleb’s voice drops, smooth and taunting. “Be honest, pipsqueak.” His fingers tighten just enough against your skin. “You were thinking about me while you did it, weren’t you?”

Your body burns, and Caleb lives for it.

His smirk darkens. “C’mon. Say it.”

Your jaw tightens, teeth digging into your lip, and fuck, you hate how much this is affecting you.

Caleb leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he commands, his voice gravel and smoke. “Tell me you were fucking yourself to the thought of me.”

A shudder racks through you. You can’t say it. You won’t say it—

He presses down, his weight firm and unrelenting, and suddenly, the friction is too much. Your breath stumbles, a sound—a desperate, helpless sound—slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

And Caleb?

He groans, low and wrecked, like that noise broke something in him.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, voice rasped with restraint. “I’m done waiting.”

Then he’s kissing you, hard, fierce, like he’s been starving for you all this time and he’s finally, finally allowed to eat.

His hands claim you, gripping, kneading, owning, and every inch of your body responds, pressing, arching, needing.

You don’t know if you lost, or if this was your plan all along.

But hell, you’re not complaining.

His kiss is hungry, all heat and dominance, lips crushing against yours as his hands roam—fingers splaying across your thighs, gripping your hips, claiming you like he has every right to. And at this moment? He does.

Because you let him.

You want him.

And fuck, he knows it.

“Didn’t even have the patience to wait for me, huh?” Caleb taunts against your lips, his voice a low, dark thing that vibrates straight through you. He drags his teeth along your bottom lip, pulling, teasing, before sucking the sting away with a kiss so hot it leaves you breathless.

His hands trail down, slow, deliberate, until his fingers are teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts—like he’s giving you a chance to stop him. Like he’s giving you an out.

But neither of you are stupid.

You’re not stopping this.

You arch into him, pressing your thighs tighter around his hips, a silent plea wrapped in a challenge.

And Caleb? He smirks against your skin.

“Oh, pipsqueak,” he purrs, slipping his fingers beneath your shorts, grazing over damp fabric. “You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”

Your breath catches as he rubs slow, teasing circles over the wet spot on your panties, his touch barely there—just enough to make you whimper, not enough to satisfy.

“You were thinking about me,” he murmurs, his voice dripping satisfaction. “Humping that poor little pillow, soaking it through, all because you wanted me.”

His teeth graze your jaw as he presses down, his fingers slipping against you, spreading that slick exactly where he wants it.

“Did it feel good?” Caleb asks, his lips trailing down your throat, sucking just lightly—just enough to make you shiver. “Or did you stop before you could finish?”

You don’t answer.

Because you can’t.

Not when he slides two fingers between your folds, spreading your slick, teasing your entrance but not giving you what you want.

Not when he presses a single, devastating kiss to your collarbone and whispers,

“Don’t worry, pipsqueak.”

His fingers press inside, slow, stretching, filling you.

“I’ll take care of you properly.”

And fuck, he does.

His fingers move deep, curling just right, finding that spot that makes you jolt, makes your mouth drop open on a silent cry.

Caleb grins, watching you.

“Oh, yeah,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. “This is way better than your pillow, huh?”

And all you can do is moan, hips rocking against his hand, begging for more. 

His fingers thrust deep, curling against that perfect spot inside you, his pace unrelenting, dragging moan after moan from your lips. Every time you try to bite them back, to keep some scrap of dignity, he punishes you for it—his fingers slowing, teasing, withholding exactly what you need.

“Aw, pipsqueak,” Caleb mocks, his voice all dark amusement as he watches you squirm. “You’re shy now? Funny, didn’t seem so shy when you were riding that pillow like it owed you money.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, your body betraying you as your hips rock into his touch, chasing the pleasure he’s dangling just out of reach.

You’re soaked, slick dripping down his fingers, onto his palm, and he’s eating up every single second of your desperation.

“So needy,” Caleb tuts, pulling his fingers from you, dragging them slowly over your clit before pulling away entirely. “And greedy, too.”

You whine before you can stop yourself, thighs trembling, aching for more.

And Caleb? Oh, he lives for it.

“Poor thing,” he croons, his fingers slipping under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, smoldering, but beneath the amusement, there’s something else—something possessive.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing over your lower lip, pressing just slightly into your mouth, teasing. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

You nod, too fast, too eager. But it’s not enough.

“Use your words, pipsqueak,” Caleb orders, his voice dropping.

Your breath shudders. “Y-Yes. Yes, Caleb, I’ll be good.”

His smirk is wicked.

“Good girl.”

Then, in one swift movement, he flips you onto your stomach, his hands firm on your waist, dragging you up onto your knees.

Your pulse spikes.

Oh. Oh.

“You made me wait, pipsqueak,” he rasps, his hands spreading you open, his cock hot and hard against you. “Made me sit there while you fucked yourself to the thought of me.”

His grip tightens.

“So now?”

His hips snap forward, burying himself inside you in one, slow, brutal stroke.

“I’m gonna make you feel just how bad you’ve been.”

Your cry is wrecked, pleasure and shock crashing through you as he fills you, stretching you open with the kind of ruthless precision that makes your mind white out.

Caleb groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your hips as he bottoms out, giving you no time to adjust before he starts moving.

Hard. Fast.

Each thrust is punishing, knocking the air from your lungs, pushing you into the mattress. The slick sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, filthy, loud—there’s no way anyone outside wouldn’t hear if they walked past.

Not that you can care.

Not when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that sends you spiraling, makes you clench tight around him.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his pace stuttering for half a second before he growls and grips the back of your neck, forcing your cheek into the mattress.

“You feel that?” he breathes, his lips ghosting your ear, his cock dragging through your soaked, needy walls with every deep, unrelenting thrust. “No pillow could ever fuck you like this.”

You keen, back arching, hands gripping at the sheets as pleasure piles on top of itself, threatening to break you.

Caleb grins.

“Bet you won’t even think about humping that thing again after this.”

He snaps his hips forward—hard, perfect—and your moan cuts off, turning into something higher, something desperate.

“Oh, that’s it,” Caleb praises, his fingers tightening on your waist as he fucks into you like a man possessed. “Gonna let me ruin you, pipsqueak? Gonna let me make sure you never need that pillow again?”

You nod, moaning so loud you barely hear your own voice. “Yes—Caleb, yes, please—”

And fuck, does he love when you beg.

His fingers snake into your hair, gripping tight as he pulls your head back, his mouth right against your ear.

“That’s my girl.”

Then, without warning, he snaps his hips into you one last time, hitting so deep it sends you over the edge, your body locking up as the pleasure rips through you.

Your vision whites out, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips as your release crashes over you, making you shake, making you clench down on him so tight he groans, his pace losing rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck—” Caleb grits out, his grip bruising as he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a wrecked groan.

He stills, his breath ragged, his body pressing against yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

For a long, long moment, the only sound in the room is the panting of your breaths, the aftershocks shuddering through you.

Then—Caleb chuckles, his lips pressing against your spine, a slow, lazy kiss.

“Told you,” he murmurs, smug as hell.

You groan, half-buried in the mattress.

“Shut up.”

Caleb grins, biting lightly at your shoulder before rolling over, pulling you with him.

His arms wrap tightly around you as he murmurs, “you love it.”

[uzurakis]

hi again!! (ik I just sent in a request I just had another one LMFAOOO) im back bc I got another request/idea!! jjk men (..yuta n Megumi 🙏 n whoever else u want :3) who got into a nasty argument (could be from ur argument post but it doesn’t have to be connected to that post!!) and then gets really injured on a mission right after the argument! it’s up to you if reader + jjk men end up making up, or it could end on a angsty route of them anxiously waiting for reader to wake up while trying to think to ways to apologize with regret; doesn’t rlly matter!! do what you want 😛😛

HEY, WAKE UP . . PLEASE?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. first, i apologize this one took a very long time because i wanted to carefully hit the right spots and nail the each character. second, i only make 3 characters this time ‘cause each one of them is long enough to read. third, i wanna make you guys suffer <3 enjoy !!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi’s fingers trembled as he reached out to touch your hand, the memory of his harsh words replaying in his mind. “why didn’t i see it coming?” he muttered to himself, voice hardly above a whisper. the guilt was suffocating, the feeling that he had failed you as a partner, both in life and on the field, gnawing at him relentlessly.

he hadn’t slept since you were brought in, eyes red and heavy, his emerald pupils weren’t evident anymore with the dark circles underneath a testament to his vigil. every beep of the monitors felt like a countdown, each passing second a reminder of how fragile everything was. he kept running through what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this from happening.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, repeating the words tremendously. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

“i’m so sorry. i never meant for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

his mind was filled with images of your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. he wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, to hear your voice, to have the chance to make things right.

the silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. megumi’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and determination. he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show you that he cared more than he had ever managed to express. but how could he make up for the pain he had caused? how could he prove to you that he was truly sorry?

he squeezed your hand gently, as if the simple touch could convey all the words he struggled to find. “please wake up,” he pleaded softly. “i need to tell you how much you mean to me. i need to show you that i can do better. that i will do better. please, just wake up.”

as the hours dragged on, megumi’s resolve only strengthened. he would make things right, no matter what it took. the door to your room opened, but megumi didn’t look up. his focus was entirely on you, silently willing you to open your eyes. he wouldn’t leave your side until you did. he couldn’t. the weight of his regret was too heavy, his love for you too deep.

“please,” he whispered again, each syllable filled with desperation. “come back to me.”

GOJO SATORU

“you’re always so damn reckless!” gojo had shouted, his voice echoing in the small office.

“maybe if you weren’t so arrogant all the time, you’d understand why!” you had snapped back, feeling the sting of his words cut deep.

now, the same guy sat by your hospital bed, his usually confident demeanor shattered. his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, blood seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. the sight of you lying there, pale and unmoving, tore at his heart. he cursed himself repeatedly, the words tumbling out in a desperate, angry whisper.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, voice breaking. “why the hell did this have to happen? why couldn’t i fucking save you?”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to give him some sign that you were still there with him. the argument replayed in his mind, each harsh word a dagger in his chest. he wanted to take it all back, to tell you how much he loved you and needed you.

“shit,” he hissed, slamming his fist into the armrest of the chair. “i’m supposed to be the strongest, but what the hell does that mean if i can’t even protect you?”

a hollow aching threatened to eat away at his chest, a gnawing remorse. tears blurred his vision as he looked at you, voice a broken whisper. “wake up. i want to apologize. i want you to know how sorry i am.”

the room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. gojo’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of guilt, also his helplessness. he had faced countless curses and enemies without flinching, but this, seeing you like this, was unbearable.

he cursed again, the words raw and filled with pain. “damn it, why didn’t i stop you? why didn’t i fucking do something?”

his mind raced, trying to think of ways to make it right, to fix what had been broken. but all he could do was wait and hope. he reached out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip trembling.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i love you. please, just wake up. i don’t know what i’ll do if you don’t.”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

yuta, who was normally expressive, was pale and drawn as he sat beside your bed. his voice was crushed by the weight of his remorse, and he was unable to speak. he was completely broken by the sight of you there, so still and vulnerable, in ways he never imagined. his fingers barely touched yours as he extended a shaking hand, fearing that the slightest touch could break you.

memories of the argument replayed in his mind, each moment seared into his consciousness. your angry words echoed in his ears, mingling with his own harsh retorts. he remembered the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you were done talking. he had let you walk away, his anger blinding him to the danger you were about to face.

tears welled up in yuta’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. he had to be strong for you, even though you couldn’t sense a thing. the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast that whispered of his failures. he had promised to protect you, to be there for you, and yet here you were, injured and unresponsive, because he had let his anger get the better of him.

“it’s all my fault,” he grumbled, voice barely audible in the sterile room. “i should have stopped you. i should have been there.”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to open your eyes and tell him it was okay. but you remained still, your breathing steady but shallow. yuta’s mind was a storm of regret and self-recrimination. he blamed himself for everything, convinced that his failure to resolve things before you left had led to this. if only he had followed you, things might have been different.

“wake up, please,” he begged, voice breaking. “you can’t do this to me..”

he felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, determined not to break in front of you. he had to be strong, even if it felt like he was falling apart inside. the thought of losing you was unbearable, a gap that threatened to swallow him whole.

“why did i let you go?” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “why didn’t i fight for us?”

the minutes stretched into hours, each one an eternity as yuta sat by your side, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, couldn’t bear the thought that he might have lost you because of his own stubbornness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice choked with emotion. he stayed there, silent and unmoving, the weight of his regret a constant presence. all he could do was wait and hope, praying that you would wake up and give him the chance to apologize, to tell you how much you meant to him. until then, he would sit by your side, holding on to the hope that you would come back to him.

“i love you. please, just give me a chance to make things right.”

@uzurakis

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙💄 ̟ strawberry lip balm

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: niki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After sleeping over Niki's house with some friends the night before, you accidentally left your favorite chapstick behind

──Warnings: cursing, kissing

──A/N: yall this literally took me only one hour

masterlist

You.

You were the only thing on Nishimura Riki's mind ever since he had found your strawberry lip balm sitting on his bathroom sink.

Last night, you and Jake slept over at Niki's place. The three of you had so much fun playing Mario Kart all night and ordering your favorite foods. Niki had watched you put on that strawberry lip balm at least 20 times last night. You were typically the type to leave things at people's house accidentally but he didn't think you would end up forgetting something so important to you.

Niki layed on his bed, staring at the small lip balm. It was pink and decorated with strawberries and pink lettering. He held it in between his fingers, rolling it to read the label for the hundredth time. He contemplated whether he wanted to show up at your door to give you your lip balm now or wait until you noticed it was gone.

The thought of you putting the lip balm on your plump lips flooded his mind once again. The scene played on repeat until it almost annoyed him. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing in frustration. Sure, he kinda liked you and kinda really wanted to kiss you but you were his friend. And his best friend was best friends with you too. Having the image of your blush tinted lips on his mind all day wasn't making his guilt any better.

He was even more guilty knowing that all he wanted right now was to taste your lips. Now he had your lip balm in his hand. It was an opportunity but would he feel super bad about it after? Absolutely.

Niki opened the cap of the lip balm. It had a red tint like a real strawberry and was a bit shimmery as well. The image of your lips flashed in his mind again. Maybe he would just quickly see how the lip balm smelled... He held the small pink lip balm under his nose. As you would expect, it smelled like artificial strawberries and had a hint of honey too.

The phone buzzed making him flinch, quickly closing the lip balm and tossing it to the side. Grabbing the phone, he read a text from you.

Y/n-ie♡Hey I think I left my lip balm at your house Can I come pick it up?

He immediately began typing back, telling you he had found it and he was at home.

Y/n-ie♡great I'll be over in 5

He sat up, feeling his face begin to heat. You had texted him right as he was smelling your lip balm. He felt like a total creep. Past that feeling, the desire to taste your lips still lingered, making him feel even worse.

Niki layed back down and turned to his side, eyeing the lip balm beside him. The idea of using your lip balm on his own lips popped into his mind. He quickly shook off the idea though. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to get you off his mind.

Not for long though.

He grabbed the lip balm, quickly pulling the cap off. He observed the way the flecks of glitter shimmered as he turned the lip balm. Hesitantly, he brought it up to lips. He swallowed before swiping the pink lip balm across his bottom lip. He frantically put the cap back on and threw it to the side once again. He felt horrible for using your things without your permission.

Niki licked his lips, tasting a mixture of strawberries and honey. Though he still wanted to know how it tasted on your lips.

Then there was a knock at the door. Fuck. 5 minutes had gone by too quickly. He shot up from his bed, grabbed the lip balm, and dashed toward the door. As soon as the door opened, his eyes darted to your lips. Still plump and pink even without your signature lip balm.

Great, way to go Niki.

"Hey Ki. I'm soooo glad you have my lip balm. I was looking for it all morning. I thought I was going crazy." You rambled as he tried his best to avoid looking down at your pretty lips.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Here." He said quickly, reaching out to hand you your lip balm, still avoiding eye contact. He still felt ashamed for what he had done a few seconds earlier.

You took the lip balm from his hand. Just as he was about to turn away you opened your mouth to speak again. "Riki," Shit, his full name. You noticed already. He snapped his gaze toward you. "Did you use my lip balm?"

"No."

"Yes you did. You have glitter on your lips." Fuck. You had caught him. He stood there in silence with a look of shock like a deer in headlights. You just laughed though. He had totally overstepped a boundary and you just laughed at it. "Ki, why'd you use mine? Don't you have like 30 of your own?"

"Well, I-" He stuttered. He didn't know what to tell you. Oh yeah I used your lip balm like a total freak because I wanted to know what your lips taste like. No fucking way he would tell you that.

You raised an eyebrow at him. In addition, you crossed your arms. He could never lie to you when you did that.

"I'm sorry." he started by apologizing. "I wanted to k- to kiss you but you know... friends don't do that. So uh.. I used the lip balm and I'm really sorry. It was weird, sorry." He stuttered, bowing his head to repeatedly apologize. Again, you just laughed. His guilty expression was replaced with a look of confusion.

"You could have just told me, Ki. Here," you pulled open your lip balm and spread it across your lips. "I gotchu."

Before Niki could process what was happening, you had put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in to kiss him. Your lips were so much softer than he could have ever imagined. The taste of strawberries and honey returned to his taste buds but a hundred times better this time. Just one kiss had him feeling dizzy. Subconsciously, he grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"As good as you imagined?" You whispered against his lips. You felt his arms wrap around you fully, hugging you tight against his body.

"Better." He said before pressing his lips onto yours again.

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[icepip]

something thats been on the brain lately: yuji having a major crush on gojo’s wife. i just know he’s into milfs. gojo shows him pictures of his family on his phone but ‘accidentally’ swipes too far and shows him a nude of his wife and yuji definitely jerks off to it later that night.

omg anon this idea is soooo good and yummy im actually obsessed with it.. tried writing a little something for it!! im not sure how happy i am with it but i hope you enjoy it <3

for context, i was kinda imagining yuji after graduating, still working with gojo as a sorcerer. so they're technically "equals" but yuji still sees gojo as a teacher/authority figure !

tags: 18+/mdni. masturbation. oral (f rec.). ~600 words. not proofread (sorry for the probably mixed up tenses).

“oops, sorry, yuji! just pretend you didn't see that.”

the words play on repeat, circling around in his head as he tries desperately to pay attention to the mission brief. it's nearly impossible to do so, every blink supplying him with the image of you.

yuji always thought you were beautiful, but this was something entirely different. you were heavenly. gorgeous and irresistible as gojo swiped one picture too far, showing his former student photos from his vacation. going from the breathtaking view from the balcony of the house he was staying at, to a picture of you on the bed. thighs spread open and every inch of your skin on display.

it's a sight yuji will never forget. a debauched glimpse of a fantasy of his own.

what he would do to be able to get you underneath him, to have his hands on your curves, to be the one bringing you pleasure. would you be sweet to him like you are now? always so polite and kind when yuji gets the chance to speak to you. you would compliment him when he was still a student, his cheeks beginning to burn when you said he could surpass gojo one day. would you praise him like that again? tell him how good his mouth feels against your tits?

the scraping of chairs against the floor pulls him out of his head, realizing that everyone has been dismissed. he doesn't recall a single thing that was mentioned during the meeting, but he also doesn't care at the moment. the only thing on his mind is you.

yuji finds whatever excuse he can to leave, feigning a sickness to rush to his apartment. he waves off any concern, blaming his sudden fever on his lunch earlier. he doesn't look toward gojo as he exits.

the door closes behind yuji and he leans back against it, his eyes screwing shut as he finally allows himself to imagine.

the warmth of your skin as his lips trail down your body, the soft and pleased sighs you would make, the way your hands would squeeze at his shoulders as he makes his way lower and lower. your voice would be breathy as you beg him not to tease you, his mouth so close to where you need him, but not quite there.

yuji groans your name, his hand over his growing bulge, palming at it. he's already so worked up, though he supposes he's been like this since he saw the picture.

he could see how wet you were, your arousal catching the low light of the room and glistening. you were practically inviting yuji to fall between your plush thighs. he'd spend all day there if you let him — positive that he would never tire of eating you out. how could he, when you look so sweet and appetizing?

he'd pull away eventually, of course. his breathing heavy and mouth and chin covered with your juices, he would stop when you beg him to fuck you, when you whine that you can't take it anymore, that you need him.

yuji would take his time, lining up his cock at your entrance and pushing in slowly, watching your face as it screwed up in pleasure. every inch taking longer than the last until he was finally, finally, buried inside you.

he doesn't even get his dick out of his underwear before he's cumming, spilling inside his pants. but it's still not enough.

the rest of his day is spent imagining you in every way he can imagine, not stopping until he physically can't keep up anymore.

[almostfoxglove]

HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is. 

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun. 

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation. 

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight? 

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below. 

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands. 

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs. 

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze. 

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring. 

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin. 

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word. 

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take. 

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe. 

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on. 

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[blueeyedgirll]

cuddles - emily prentiss x bau!reader

this fic includes: fluff, cuddling, only one bed trope (kind of?), vague descriptions of cm typical violence, no beta or proofread we die like emily’s fake death, penelope garcia being the best person to ever have graced the earth, no use of y/n, f!reader

a/n: guys i’m on season 7 now (^_-) also i don’t know how the fbi works SUE ME

“God, what a mess!” Emily exclaims, setting her bags down in the corner of the hotel room.

Unfortunately, due to the horrendously overcrowded convention going on nearby and your latest unsub’s comfort zone, you, JJ, Penelope, and Emily were forced to share a room.

“I can’t believe they could only give us two rooms. Couldn’t we have just stayed somewhere else?” JJ adds, removing her coat and hanging it in the room’s tiny closet.

“Unfortunately, my friends, our administration seems to love us enough to pay for our hotels, but not enough to move us into a company they don’t have a rapport with,” Penelope explains. She removes her hair accessories and piles them on the bathroom counter, her foot wedged in the bathroom door to stay in the conversation. “But it’s like a sleepover! Us girls get to share a room, and the boys have their own.”

“I haven’t had a sleepover since I was 12,” JJ says.

“Me neither,” you pipe up. “So who’s sleeping where tonight?”

Your eyes scan the room. Four girls, two beds, and eight eyes glancing at each other.

“I’m fine with sharing, but I do need to let you know I tend to steal blankets,” Penelope says, placing her accessories in a small box.

“Yeah, I’m fine with anything.” JJ says.

You and Emily briefly lock eyes. If you said sleeping in the same bed as Emily didn’t sound amazing, you’d be a liar. She’d been distracting you from your work and almost all your thoughts for the last few weeks; something about her demeanor, or her dark, sharp features, or that streak of playfulness she lets show on occasion. Whatever it is, it continues to drive you up a wall.

“Well, if none of you care, I want the bed closer to the AC unit because it is a stupidly warm night here.” Penelope steps over to the bed on the right side of the room, unpacking a fuzzy blanket and an extra pillow — how did she fit that in there? — from her bag.

“True that. If you two don’t mind, I’ll sleep closer to the AC too.” JJ says, looking between the two of you before moving.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You say, just a little bit too happy. You tell Emily to go ahead and get comfortable because you’re going to change. She nods as you shut yourself in the bathroom.

You use the bathroom to take a moment, take a breath. Part of you wonders what it will be like, sleeping in the same bed as Emily. The rest of you wonders how you’re going to keep your cool.

You change into your sleep clothes, a tank top and small shorts. The cool air of the room makes the hair on your body stand up.

You walk back out to a dark, silent room. The only light left on was the one to the left of Emily.

“Ready for bed?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing into bed and wrapping the soft covers around you. Emily clicks the light off and slides down in the bed.

Before you can even start relaxing, images of the day flash back into your mind. The things the unsub did to his victims. The distraught loved ones of the deceased. The endless papers, leading you to repeated dead ends.

It only feels like a few minutes, but over the course of time, you grow colder and more restless. You toss and turn, trying to get more comfortable, but to no avail. Sighing, you turn to check the time, trying to find an estimate of how much sleep you would get.

The clock reads 4:24. You start contemplating just waking up extra early, but before you can reach a conclusion, you hear a whisper.

“Hey, you alright?” Emily whispers, turning to face you.

You pause for a moment. How honest should you be?

“Yeah, just… cold,” you say.

Emily takes a moment. You think she’s going to get up to grab a blanket, or lend you a hoodie, or anything else, but she scoots over to where you are and wraps her warm arms around your body. She gives you a firm squeeze. You know she knows you’re not just cold.

She starts to move away like it was just a hug. Before you can make a better decision, your hands stop her.

“Do you want me to stay?” Emily whispers.

You nod. Even though the darkness, Emily understands. She moves back to you, tucking your head into her shoulder. She wraps her arms around your middle and pulls the blanket fully over you.

She smells like lotion and coffee and clean clothes. It’s addictive. You nuzzle your head deeper into her, earning a small laugh and her hand making its way into your hair. She runs her nails over your scalp, brushing the hair off your neck.

“Are you okay?” she asks. You just hum, making her laugh again. “Goodnight. Sleep well for me.”

And with her arms around you, hand in your hair, you drift off into a comforting sleep.

bonus — the next morning, you wake up to giggling, which is quickly hushed. the entire day you and emily are the victims of glances and hushed whispers. on the jet home, you finally decide to ask penelope what was up with it. she doesn’t verbally respond, just shows you a picture of you sleeping like a baby, tucked into emily’s chest. at that moment she comes over, smiles, and walks back to her seat.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

QUEEN’S THRONE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

> the first image has no implication of readers skin tone, the picture itself has the feel of the fic!!

word count. 2041

summary. you have been feeling insecure and been nitpicking yourself apart. bucky notices and shows you how much he loves your body by asking you to sit on his face

warnings. 18+ only!! reader is feeling insecure within her body and weight, descriptions involving self doubts, little bit of body worship, cunnilingus, face sitting, bucky being a munch and cuming untouched. minors dni

based on this request

No one ever really prepares you for how difficult it is to like yourself, to find parts of your body you don't hate. To not tear yourself apart over things you deem ugly or heinous. 

There's no manual you get for counteracting these doubts in your mind. You're supposed to trick yourself into thinking otherwise - to deceive the mistrust in your brain. But sometimes, the lies you tell yourself to feel better have no effect on you - the affirmations you repeat in rituals feeling like robotic words from self-help blogs. 

You stand naked in front of the full-length mirror in your room, towel on the floor pooled around your ankles. Damp strings of hair collecting on your shoulders, the almost dry strands indicating the time you've stood looking at yourself.

The skin under your eyes soaked with tears, flesh sore and tender from the last near twenty minutes of picking yourself apart. Your gaze hones in on yourself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of your thighs, mindlessly staring at the chub you consider ugly.

Your eyes sadly trail up to your stomach, taking note of the wideness of your hips and patches of stretch marks that litter those areas. Seeing yourself in the reflection after a day of feeling bad about yourself was not a healthy coping mechanism, nor was it one you would encourage - but there was just something inside of you, something inside your brain telling you to nitpick your 'problem' areas. 

It was like there was an evil little gremlin in your mind that made things worse for yourself. That made you give in to the doubts and insecurities - that made you believe them.

Sometimes, you had a better hold on that gremlin, quietening that voice with your own, but on others, like today, that was not the case. You had a difficult day, feeling like a sore thumb everywhere you went - feeling like you stood out in all the worst ways. But that was not the truth - the people you passed on the street were too preoccupied with their own spiral of doubt and shame to even notice your 'problem' areas. 

But, right now, you had no space left for rationality - that loud, pitiful voice overshowing the logical parts of your brain.

You hear a light knock on the door, the sound snapping you out of thought. 

"You've been in there a while. Everything okay?" your boyfriend, James, calls out, his tone soft. 

You clear your throat and grab an oversized tee - throwing on the closest one you can find. "Yeah, out in a minute," you reply, evening your voice to avoid detection. 

"Mind if I come in. Need to grab something," Bucky asks, words muffling behind the closed door.

You hesitate momentarily. "Okay."

The door opens, and Bucky steps into the room, eyes immediately landing on the back of you - head cocking to the side suspiciously. He picks up a t-shirt he pretended to need and walks around the bed to you on the other side - standing beside you as you look out the window. 

"What you looking at?" he asks, subtly scoping you out. 

"Just been looking at the moon," you lie, nodding to the silver crescent in the night sky.

Though he doesn't believe you, keeping his eyes on you as you try to redirect his attention. He extends his neck, reaching his head out to see more than just the side of your face - to see the giveaway he knew was there.

He twists you around more to look at him, making you show your face that you've been trying to hide. His eyes land on yours momentarily before you divert them away, turning from his gaze almost shamefully. He takes note of the sore under your eyes, how they look damp and swollen - how tired you look.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. "What's the matter?" he repeats quieter, features softening as he looks at you.

"Nothing," you shrug, turning away from him. "Probably just tired," you partially lie.

He parts focus from you and begins to place together the pieces you weren't willing to share. He glances around the room until he lands on the mirror, the towel on the floor confirming his theory. 

Poking his neck out, trying to meet your gaze again, he calls your name - trying to refocus you.

"You have to stop doing that to yourself," he murmurs, twisting you around to him for the final time. "You're so mean to yourself, and you don't deserve it," he softly shakes his head, reinforcing his words. 

"I wasn't doing that," you reply, bottom lip beginning to tremble with your lie. "I don't do— I don't do that anymore."

His head tilts to the side, not believing you. "Honey," he coos, drawing out the term of endearment as he brings you in for a hug - wrapping you up in an embrace. 

"I don't," you continue, voice almost breaking. "I don't," you repeat, shaking your head softly in the crook of his neck. 

"Okay," he hums, brushing comforting strokes up your back, soothing you. "I know," he murmurs.

He holds you like that, large hands engulfing the middle of your back, caressing you with delicate touch and waiting for you to pull away. 

"I'm sorry," you sniffle, backing away as you wipe your nose on your hand. "I'm being stupid," you shrug with a weak smile, self-depreciation creeping in.

Bucky shakes his head firmly, a soft furrow of his brows indicating his distaste for the topic. He extends his hands to your face, placing palms over your cheeks - stilling your face and making you look at him. "Stop it," he scolds, voice warm and gentle. His hands secure on your face, eyes boring into yours. "You have to stop doing that."

You sigh, a slow, uneasy exhale leaving your lips as if to steady yourself.

"I think you're perfect," he whispers, pressing a kiss onto your cheek - absorbing the tear from your skin. "I wish you could see it too."

His hands leave the placement on your cheeks, moving down to rest on your hips over your tee. One flesh, one metal sitting on the curve. He keeps his eyes locked on you, looking for signs of discomfort, only to find none - your gaze trusting and enamoured. 

Bending at the knee in front of you and at eye level with your 'problem' areas, he glides his hands up your outer thighs - palms running over them intently. He keeps his eyes locked on your upper legs, watching the soft jiggle of the chub - utterly captivated by their beautiful shape.

He hesitantly runs his hands higher and towards your hips, forearms catching on the hem of your t-shirt, rising and revealing your bare pussy underneath. He inhales harshly, the lewd sight of you mere inches away from your face. 

He presses soft kisses over your plump thighs, almost worshipping you - on his knees, kissing parts of you he adores most. He glances up to meet your gaze, your eyes already locked on him.

His kisses trail higher, lining up the crease between cunt and thigh, working up the cute swell of your tummy. "You're beautiful," he murmurs,

words muffling into your hip. "And so perfect."

You rake your fingers into his hair, softly stroking his scalp - all thoughts from earlier dissipating slowly, everything feeling inconsequential with your pretty boyfriend on his knees between your legs.

"Sit on my face," he mutters, pulling away from your stomach to look up at you. "I want you on my face."

Your half-lidden eyes fling open, shock almost slapping you across the face. "What?" you question, gently tugging Bucky's head away from your tummy. "No," you shake your head. "I'll hurt you."

He faintly chuckles as he stands, leaning back onto the mattress. "You won't," he smiles, resting his head on the pillows behind, getting comfortable. "Come on," he nods you over, beckoning you to your throne. 

"I don't know," you reply sheepishly, glancing over him.

"You don't have to sit— just hover."

You step closer and kneel on the bed, pausing like you're debating yourself. "I don't want to squash you."

"You won't," he shakes his head, his expression eager. "Just... come on."

With a gentle sigh and a nod, you crawl up the bed, scooching along the mattress on your knees until you're beside his head. You grip the headboard for support as you lift a leg, placing it on the other side of his head, situating yourself in a hover over his face. 

"I don't want to hurt you— please tell me if I do," you worry, lifting the hem of your t-shirt to get a better look at him below.

"Promise," he says lowly, placing his hands on the swell of your thighs, slowly guiding your pussy closer.

He lays his tongue flat against the slit of your cunt, an immediate pleased hum muffling into your folds. The warm contact of his tongue makes your thighs tremble and breath hitch, everything feeling new from this heightening position. 

With light pressure, he swipes through your pussy lips, tongue lapping you in a leisure rhythm as the tip of his nose bumps at your clit.

His palms graze over your thighs, reaching up to the crease where he can get a hold of you and push you down onto his face. But you notice his pawing and swat his hands off - raising yourself back into a hover and lifting further away.

Bucky doesn't let you go far before he's pushing you back down, a firm grip on your waist keeping you still. "Stay," he muffles into your cunt, caressing it with slow, sloppy kisses.

He laps at your pussy, burying his tongue further into the wet warmth of you - repeated pleasure-filled groans vibrating against you as you give into the bliss. You finally allow yourself to enjoy the moment without doubt getting in the way - all worry slowly being replaced by euphoria as you sink further onto his face.

Meeting his gaze over the top of your pussy, he gives you a wink - the act like silent praise, him voicelessly applauding you for tuning out the voice in your head. 

With one hand on the headboard, you dip the other down, circling the ache in your clit a few times before moving into the short, dark brown hairs at the top of his head. Tugging on his hair as if you're holding him there.

His grip on your waist trails down, moving back to the plush of your thighs where he squeezes - fingers digging into the doughy flesh. He holds you there, muffling moans against your folds as he coats the insides of his boxers in a sheen of his cum - the taste and feel of you alone, enough to send him over the edge.

You twist your neck, looking over your shoulder to the tented cock in his sweats, his head protruding through the wet patch of where he just came. A breath gets caught in your throat at the lewd image, and it all begins to feel like too much, all your senses consumed in the feeling.

With the knot tightening in your tummy, you feel yourself grow closer to the edge - the soft jerk of your hips indicating the closeness of your climax. Within moments, you're cuming on Bucky's tongue, whining broken and spluttered noises into the air.

He continues to hold you there, making out with your cunt through your orgasm - lapping up everything that seeped out. Letting you smear your juices on the bottom half of his face.

You lift your leg from the other side of his head, moving from his face and flopping backwards onto the bed. Laying heads and tails, completely spent. 

But Bucky follows after you - not letting you get far. And before you have a second to process it, he's back between your legs, lips kissing at the soft plush of your inner thighs.

Poking his head up to look at you, he asks. "One more?"

[rainylana]

Taste on an Image: New neighbor

Eddie Munson x female reader

a little longer than my usually one of these! just a fluffy blurb! no warnings!

“Why don’t you go say hi instead of standing there gawking.” Wayne shook his head, closing the door to the trailer as he gave his nephew a once over.

Eddie jumped, surprised by his uncle’s appearance. “I’m not gawking.” He swallowed. “I’m observing from afar.”

“Well whatever it is you’re doing is probably freaking her out.” Wayne pointed to you outside in the yard, a few trailers down the road as you hung clothes outside on your line.

“She doesn’t even know I’m here.” Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning against the mailbox. “Geez, she sure is pretty, ain’t she?”

“Yeah.” Wayne gave a gruff nod. “Go talk to her. Be neighborly. God knows no one else around here will be.” He patted his nephews shoulder and went inside, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.

You’d moved in just a few days ago, gaining the attention of Eddie like bees to honey. You were gorgeous, and by the looks of it, single. He readjusted his jacket and slicked back his hair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to make sure no absent crumbs were festering on his mouth. Last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself.

Eddie walked down the gravel road, waving awkwardly at the neighbors he past that were halfway drunk for the weekend.

“Hello.” He called out to you, standing near your mailbox.

You spun around, smile on your face that nearly made him fall flat on his back, and took a step forward. “Hi!”

God, he was in love already.

“Hi.” He repeated again, lifting up a hand he wasn’t sure what he was doing with. “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson. We’re neighbors. I live just a few trailers down.” He pointed down the road to his house, blushing as he did so.

“Oh, how nice!” You beamed, setting down your laundry. “I’m y/n.” You quickly walked toward him, extending your hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you. It’s sweet of you to come introduce yourself. No one has yet. I was starting to think I wasn’t wanted.” You laughed, tucking your hands in your pockets.

Your authenticity of casualness made his nerves settle. “Yeah, well, the people are weary of strangers.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of kids around here, too, so be careful when you leave. I almost run one over every time I pull out of my driveway.” He chuckled, brown eyes crinkling under the sun.

You laughed and he swore it made his heart swell. Two minutes in and he was already whipped.

“Is it just you?” He asked, peaking over your shoulder and back at your home.

“Just me.” You pursed your lips. “I’m from Chicago. I used to work in the news paper office downtown but decided I needed a change of scenery.” You shrugged your shoulders, the wind barely whistling over your words.

“I run the mechanic shop here in town with my uncle.” Eddie pointed over his shoulder down to his home. “I live with him. Have ever since I was a boy.”

“Well I’d love to meet him sometime!” You smiled. “Maybe you can show me around town later this week? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I’d be honored to escort you.” He smirked, giving you a wink that made you snicker. “Just give me a day. There’s a great diner that I can sweet talk the waitresses in giving us free desert.”

“You seem like you’re good at sweet talking.” You give him a playful look, crossing your arms.

“Well, I don’t like to brag.” He held out his arms, closing his eyes briefly in a smug look.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, looking back to your clothes line that was blowing in the wind. “I’d invite you in for something to drink but I’m afraid I’m not quiet finished unpacking yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He held out a ringed hand. “You need any help? Wayne and I would be happy to assist.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head politely. “I’ll be finished soon. It’s mostly just my clothes and some decorations. I really don’t have that much.”

He could almost feel his uncle’s eyes searing into the back of his head.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself.” He stepped back. “Let us know if you need anything. Oh! And remember,” He pointed to your car. “You’ve got a mechanic for a neighbor if you ever need one.”

He left while he was ahead, feeling confident that he hadn’t embarrassed himself. He smiled the whole walk home, fists clenched in a celebratory manor as he practically skipped inside.

“Well?” Wayne asked, leaning against the fridge.

“What do you mean well?” Eddie snorted. “Like you didn’t stare at us the whole time through the window.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man hid his smirk behind his mud of coffee.

“She’s nice.” He plopped down on the couch. “She smiles a lot. She’s beautiful. I don’t know, Wayne, this might be the girl of my dreams.” Eddie laughed, shaking his head with pursed lips.

“Uh-huh.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t start planning a wedding yet, son.”

[daisyblog]

Angel Baby

Too Young Masterlist Summary: Louis and YN welcome their second baby, and Arthur becomes a big brother.

warning: childbirth, labour, birth, hospital

9th of September 2024

If Louis was glad he made any decision in life, he was thankful that he decided to come straight home from the festival in Munich. He had managed to sleep for a little bit on the flight home but he couldn’t wait to get into bed next to YN and wake up with Arthur in the morning.

Spotting Harry’s car on the driveway wasn’t unusual because he would often stay with YN and Arthur when Louis was away. Opening the front door, Louis was trying to open the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb anyone.

The dim light that was on in the living room caught Louis eye. But what surprised him was YN and Harry wide awake. YN was sat on the birthing ball and Harry on the edge of the sofa.

“Hey! Is everything alright?”. Louis walked further into the room, walking closer to YN as he placed a peck to her forehead, aware Harry was in the room.

“I’m having contractions but worry pants over here”. YN signaled towards Harry with her thumb. “Thinks I’m about to give birth within the next five minutes the way he’s been frantically phoning everyone”.

“M’sorry for being worried about my sister”. Harry joked as he looked to Louis for some back up.

“To be fair love, Harry was only looking after you”. Louis kneeled down in front of YN as she still sat on the large grey ball. “How painful are they?”.

YN knew he was referring to the contractions, as he gently rubbed his hand over her thigh. “They’re manageable at the moment”.

“Well we’ll keep timing them and let the hospital know when you need to go in”. Louis smiled up at YN who shared the same look. “We’re having a baby!”.

---

Within two hours, the contraction had become quite intense. YN felt her tummy tighten as the pain spread from her bump around to her back.

“Birth scares me”. Harry voiced as he watched his sister cling to Louis. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head burned into his shoulder as she breathed through the pain.

“Keep breathing through it babe…you’re doing amazing”. Louis rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head.

As the contraction ended YN sat back up straight as she took a rest in between. Knowing another one could hit her at any point. “I’m sure I said that you could give birth this time”.

Louis chuckled as he remembered the conversation during Arthur’s birth. “You did…but I didn’t think there would be a next time then…and also I don’t have the right body parts”.

“I forgot how painful this was”. YN held onto Louis’ hand as she prepared for the next one.

---

“I can’t do this…I can’t do this”. YN repeated as she sat on the edge of the sofa, Harry now being the victim of the famous hand squeeze.

“You can…you did it once and you’re going to make Arthur so proud when he finds out you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted”. Harry encouraged, knowing mentioning Arthur would help.

“I can feel another one”. YN tensed up as she anticipated the pain. Her eyes closed tight as she dreamed about when she would have gas and air at the hospital.

Louis appeared with a bottle of water just in time as he cringed at how tight YN was squeezing her brothers hand.

---

Harry stayed at the house to look after Arthur, whilst YN and Louis were at the hospital. Anne was on her way but this was the downside of living so far away from her Mum.

Like she had done many years ago, YN kept the gas and air nozzle securely in her hand sucking on it probably more than she needed to.

“Do you have any children already? Or is this your first?”. The midwife asked as she sat in the room wi the couple.

“We have a little boy, Arthur…he’s nine”. Louis couldn’t hide his smile as he spoke about their son, and showed her a quick photo of him.

The midwife’s eyes widened. “Waw! He’s the image of you…perhaps this one will look like Mummy”.

---

YN was laying on the bed, the nozzle still attached to her hand. Louis was moving the hair out of her face as she now had a layer of sweat covering her forehead.

“YN I’m so sorry my darling…but we’re going to have to break your waters because your contraction are starting to slow down”. The midwife’s voice was full of sympathy, knowing how painful it could be.

With the tool in her hand ready, YN held onto Louis tightly. “You’re so strong and I’m so proud of you”.

The pain was something YN hadn’t felt before. “AHHH!”. She cried out in pain as she felt the water burst from her.

“You were amazing darling…keep sucking that gas and air for me”. The midwife gave an encouraging smile.

---

The contraction become more frequent and YN could not keep still as she moved from different positions. If she was not bouncing on the ball, she was sat in the chair next to the bed. If she was not in the birthing pool, she was clinging onto Louis, hoping it would ease the pressure.

As Louis massaged the bottom of YN’s back, getting a sense of deja vu, he felt her tense up more than she had been.

“Babe? You alright?”. He swallowed thickly, as YN froze.

“I think…I think I can feel the baby”. At the words, the midwife shot up from her seat and quickly glanced under YN’s gown.

“Lie down on the bed for me…baby’s head is crowning”. The midwife moved around the room quickly gathering everything she needed.

YN laid down like she was told, her legs up in the correct position, trying to relax as she was about to meet her baby.

---

“Baby’s head is out…and I think in about three to four pushes, you’re going to be cuddling your little baby”. The midwife spoke from her position at the end of the hospital bed.

Louis quickly glanced down and could see his baby’s head. Seeing his babies be born was something he found breathtaking and he was in absolute awe of YN for doing it.

YN found strength within and began to push. She repeated the action over and over. Louis was by her side as he waited for the sound to fill the room.

And the sound of a newborn cry finally filled the room, as tears ran down Louis and YN’s cheeks when the little one was placed on YN’s chest.

“I’m so proud of you…and I love you so much”. Louis left several kisses on YN’s head before the final one on her lips.

“I couldn’t have done it without you…I love you”. YN’s voice was tired but the adrenaline was pumping through her.

“Mummy and Daddy love you little one”. YN gently kissed the newborns head.

---

YN couldn’t decide who was more excited as Arthur, Harry and her Mum walked through the hospital room door.

Arthur ran straight to his Mum, who was laid underneath a blanket. “I’ve missed you my boy”. She wrapped her arms around him.

“I’ve missed you too Mum…I’ve been nagging Uncle Harry to come and see you”. Arthur held onto his mother for longer.

Harry and Anne hugged YN and congratulated her and Louis on the birth of their baby. The room was full of happiness and smiles as they looked at the little baby in Louis’ arms.

“Hey lad…do you want to have your first big brother cuddle?”. Louis felt his heart melt as Arthur eagerly nodded and ran over to his father’s side.

Arthur sat in the chair, waiting for Louis to place the newborn into his arms. The minute Louis placed the baby into Arthur’s hands, the four adults all shared a loving look, and wiped the tears away from their cheeks.

“Hi baby…I’m Arthur, your big brother”. Louis and YN shared a look as they knew this was the right time to share the news.

“And this is Elsie…your little sister”.

---

ynstyles and louist91

liked by lottietomlinson, annetwist and 1,672,665 others

ynstyles Our babies🤍Welcome to the world Elsie Johannah Tomlinson🩷 View all 10,733 comments

lottietomlinson Our sweet Arthur and Elsie🥹🤍

annetwist My heart could burst❤️I’m one lucky Nanny🩵🩷🩷 ⌞ynstyles The absolute best🥰❤️

the.daisytomlinson I love being an auntie to all these babies❤️

thephoebetomlinson my beautiful nephew and niece🩵🩷Auntie Phee loves you lots xx

gemmastyles We are so lucky❤️Aunties little cuties xx

louisfan5 OMG THE BABY IS HERE!!!

louisfan3 Louis a girl dad🩷🩷🩷

harryfan9 Harry is an uncle to another girl🥹💕

Taglist :@jillsvalentinex @itsmytimetoodream @peterholland04 @youcan-nolonger-run @chronicallybubbly @macy-tpwk @wh0s-nadii @lillisummers

[mrsriddlenott]

CAN U WRITE SOME MATTHEO RIDDLE SMUT?! I GOT AN IDEA!! The (fem) reader obsessed with mattheos abs arms viens hands- anyways- they’re making out in her dorm and she starts dry humping him and eventually c0ckw@arming Mattheo for litteraly hours on end and her skirt covers them up but they’re hanging out with their friends the whole time-

~ Patience ~

[masterlist][Pt2]

Bf!Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader

Thank you for the idea I’ve been wanting to do something like this so I hope you enjoy it🥰☺️

Warnings:Dom Sub Dynamics, Cockwarming,Orgasm Denial(?),Exhibitionism,Smut.

As soon as the bathroom door opened your eyes started roaming your boyfriend’s beautifully sculpted body as you unknowingly began chewing on your bottom lip, letting your eyes follow the drops of water trailing through the line between his abs.

“See something you like Pretty Girl?” Mattheo chuckled as he strutted out of the bathroom in only a towel. You lightly hummed at his words as your eyes traveled down his prominent veins on his wet biceps and forearms. Your eyes lingered on his large hand holding his towel together as he laughed at your obvious neediness.

“Something you want Princess?” Mattheo asked in a deep, teasing voice as he moved to where you sat cross legged on his bed.

“Yes Sir.” You almost immediately spoke, perking up at his closeness. In any other case you’d be embarrassed at your readiness to respond, but you were far too horny to care.

“Well, you’ll just have to be a good girl and be patient for me, our friends will be here any minute and I need to get dressed Baby,” Mattheo said in a voice laced in false pity before chuckling at your whine as he made his way to his dresser, dropping his towel and showing off his semi-hard dick for you to see. He took his time picking out his clothes as you watched him, squirming and clenching your thighs together. He dressed slowly before pulling you into a passionate kiss by your chin, shoving you to your back and caging you in his arms on his bed.

Mattheo had zero intention of giving you the release you were aching for as he let his fingers trail down your body, fingering the waistband of your skirt before moving back up to your neck, repeating his actions as you whined under him. Your lips moved in sync as his tongue explored your mouth, making you moan lightly and grind on his thigh desperately. He chuckled into your mouth as his door opened, pulling away and eyeing you as you huffed up at him.

“Hey Theo, did you bring it?” Mattheo asked, eyeing you with a smirk before leaving you shocked and frustrated on his bed as he stood to meet Theo and Blaise, walking to the small couch Mattheo had seated next to his bookshelf. You huffed as you sat up and eyed Mattheo who only smirked and sent you a wink before grabbing one of the joints Theo had brought.

“Patience Princess” Mattheo’s voice spoke in your head, making you jump slightly, drawing the attention of the other two boys.

“You okay y/n/n?” Blaise asked through a hit as he lit a joint for himself. You sighed and slightly jumped off the edge of Mattheo’s bed and made your way to his bathroom, feeling his eyes on you as you slammed the door behind you.

“Baby….I know you’re not seriously thinking about finishing alone….?” As you felt Mattheo’s mind searching through your own you pulled yourself up to sit on the counter of his sink, closing your eyes and focusing hard on filling your brain with images of you touching yourself.

It wasn’t even a full minute before Mattheo was rushing into the room and slamming the door behind him, you giggled at his frustration as he eyed you, still clothed and decent on the counter. However, instead of immediately throwing himself at you as you had expected, he roughly grabbed you by your wrist with a whispered growl of “Needy brat”, pulling you from the bathroom as you stumbled to keep up.

When you were dragged into his room you noticed now that Enzo and Draco had joined the others, filling the room with smoke and the smell of alcohol. Mattheo gently shoved you down onto his bed when you got to it, quickly following after you, hands immediately pulling you into his chest.

“Is this what you want? You want to be fucked in front of all our friends Princess?” He spoke in your thoughts, his lips ghosting over your neck, hands gripping your hips and rutting his hard dick against your behind. Your eyes widen as you noticed his hand falling to pull himself discreetly from his boxers and rest himself on the waistband of his grey sweats. Your mind raced with thoughts of him taking you with no care in the world as his mind invaded yours seeking consent.

“Don’t make a sound Baby, you’re gonna hold me while I think on your punishment for being such a needy little brat,” As his words filled your mind, he pushed himself fully inside of you, resting his arm over your waist and his head in your neck, pulling you close under the guise of innocent cuddling as your skirt hid his dick that was lost inside you to the hilt.

Mattheo groaned as you clenched around him, giving you a warning squeeze on your hip as he began conversation with Theo. You were growing more and more impatient as the conversation topic switched from quidditch to parties to holiday plans as you attempted to join in every once in a while, at Mattheo’s orders in your thoughts.

After the first hour you were already drenching the front of his sweats as he pulsed and twitched inside you at every little movement. He could admit, he was growing impatient as well, only he was much better at holding back than you ever were. He began teasing you in your mind as he allowed you to clench around him, ignoring the conversation with his friends as he watched you close your eyes in frustration at his words.

He chuckled at you, conveniently at the same moment Blaise made a joke that went unheard as Mattheo began filling your mind with dirty thoughts. Images of Mattheo pushing you to your stomach and pounding into you had you almost moaning as he warned you of the consequences of making any noise.

“Your pretty sounds are just for me Baby,” He’d speak through the images of the various positions he’d take you in after your friends decide to leave for their own manors.

After the second hour Mattheo began slowly, so slowly it was barley noticeable to even you at first, circling his hips, just as much for his release as yours. Your lips threatened to release moans as his tip rubbed against your g-spot over and over at every one of his movements. He breathed heavily as he restrained himself from destroying you in front of your stoned and drunk group of friends.

Mattheo feared one or all of the boys would see or even hear his actions but it only stirred him on further. The thought of being caught had him aching inside you as he made a mental note to discuss his new discovery with you later on.

As the third hour approached Mattheo decided he’d had enough of his own game. Shocking you as he abruptly pulled out of you, hiding the evidence of your actions as he told your friends you were tired, practically forcing them out the door with no further explanation before leaping back onto the bed.

His hands were immediately pulling your clothes off your body as you tugged at his. He was back inside you before either of you were fully unclothed. You skirt was pushed up your bare torso as he nipped and licked at your chest and neck. You gripped his bare, sweaty shoulders as he pounded into you, finally speaking out loud as he praised your patience.

~~~~

[solspina]

To Take Away it's Pain

Luis Dante ⋆˙⟡ - for @justanothermemestrider

my very very late half of a writing trade! i am so sorry this took 3 months and may feel rushed, college paired with physical therapy and writers block is a deadly combo.

being the wife of the chapter master is no easy task, especially when your husband goes silent for days on end. after consulting dante's closest consul and finally finding her husband, dante must confess to his days-old hidden secret.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: trigger warning mephiston, red thirst and general 40k stuff

“And you’re sure, lord Mephiston?”

“Certain.” The lord of death replied, making it near obvious that he paid no mind to her concerned gaze. Her eyes remained fixated on the cascading crimson robes that adorned his lower half, or the way they flowed like a fountain of blood from his waist as he paced around his quarters, eyes closed, mind deep in thought. “I do not tell you this to bring you fear, just in hopes that you exercise caution, and understand that you have a safe place within the librarius if things are to go wrong.”

She nodded her head in agreement before her eyes met the floor instead. She sat perched atop Mephiston’s desk, quiet and still, for she had already spoken her piece to the chief librarian. He spoke very little, and the wisdom that fell from his lips spilled out in indecipherable riddles and in a jumble of accents she often asked him to repeat.

“I just don’t understand why he’s been so avoidant lately, Mephiston.” She spoke, finally finding the courage to cut the tension in the air. “He confided in you about something you’re not telling me. Please just tell me what’s wrong with my Dante. I am afraid.”

The lord of death shook his head. “It is not my place to tell you of things I have been trusted with.” he replied and watched her face contort into clear disappointment, perhaps anger. “But I can tell you that he is afraid too - of how you will feel when you know the cause of his recent… irritation.” said Mephiston with the slightest of smiles across his face.

His fangs very slightly peeked from behind his lips when he smiled. Beautiful, genuine, and dangerous all the same. It would be a lie to say that the chief librarian did not make her just as discomforted as he did Dante, yet her frustration toward him grew greater than the gnawing feeling within to avoid snapping at him.

“I need you to tell me what you know about Dante. I command it.” She spoke as she slid down from her sitting position on his desk. Her tone had become more hardened, her eyes narrow and her shoulders held in perfect noble posture. She tried to appear larger, to show her authority as the chapter master’s beloved, to show that she was not afraid; a façade that came crashing down the moment Mephiston stepped closer to match her display of command.

He kneeled to her height and cocked his head to the side, clearly amused by her attempt at standing up to something powerful beyond her comprehension. “Do not forget you are in my librarius, little angel. Dante has little command here.” His hair fell over his shoulders as he leaned down to her height, his face mere inches away from hers, eyes illuminated a gentle blue. She held her expression despite her hummingbird heart pounding in her chest. Whether it was from fear or genuine determination was his knowledge and his alone, a feeling not even her pitiful human mind could comprehend.

He pulled away from being so close to her after a few moments, satisfied with her lack of willingness to back down. “He is in his quarters, if I transport you there myself you can catch him before he attempts to flee again.” said Mephiston as he opened a small window into the warp with a wave of his hand, the elaborate door to Dante’s personal quarters a clear image a mere few feet into the portal.

She stared in awe at the window for a few moments before she turned to thank the lord of death, and yet the moment she met his gaze he had grabbed the back of her robes and tossed her through the portal with little effort. She landed on the opposite side with a soft thump, and the portal slammed shut behind her, the image of Mephiston on the opposite end faded with it. Impatient he was, as always.

She sat at the door to the Lord Regent's quarters and stared down at her hands for a moment before curling her fingers into fists and inhaling a deep breath. "I can do this," she told herself, expression filled with an incredibly calm determination. "Just have to talk to him."

She did not allow herself a moment of doubt before entering Dante's quarters, a place she treated as unfamiliar even though she too slept there each time she needed a place to rest. Dante himself sat on the edge of his massive bed, noticeably shocked at his wife's sudden intrusion and even more shocked she knew where he was after he had so carefully watched her daily routine and made sure it hadn't aligned with his over the past few days.

"My love..." He spoke, excited for a moment before he urgently buried his face in his hands and covered it, seeming to remember he had a dire secret to hide. "How did you know I was-"

"The Chief Librarian and I spoke. He tells me you aren't telling me something."

Dante flinched slightly, clearly taken aback by her incredibly harsh tone. She did not hesitate when it came to interrupting her husband's rather irrelevant questions. According to the lord of death, he had been hiding information from her for days. He could afford her at the very least a few moments of her own secrecy.

He would be a complete fool to assume his own wife was not suspicious of his hands covering his visage. A part of her softened at the sight of him shying away from her as if he were a dog that had been cornered, fearing punishment if it looked its accuser in the eye.

"Dante..."

Her facade of anger came crashing down around her the moment she heard the slightest of sniffles coming from the chapter master followed by what seemed like an endless slurring of explanations and apologies. "Don't look at me... I'm sorry... I didn't want to..." He wept gently into his hands, and yet not a single word told his wife the full truth she was after.

“My angel… what did you- “

“Blood… living blood…” He murmured as he buried one hand further into his face and gripped at the sheets of his bed with the other. His knuckles turned an incredibly pale white at the strength of his grip. “My oath… I…”

Dante finally allowed his tears to flow freely, and his wife simply stood still in front of him. She watched his chest rise and fall with sobs, and eyed at the bleeding claw marks in his arms left by none other than his own fingernails, likely something he felt was a much-deserved act of self-penitence.

"You are saying that you took living blood, Lord Dante?"

He stiffened under the use of such a title from his own wife, as if it were not one he heard at each moment of each day. Even in spite of his evident fear, he curled in on himself further and nodded frantically.

"Please," He whispered, his voice weak and muted underneath persecution - the consequences of his actions. "Forgive me."

Silence hung heavy in the air for more than a few insatiably uncomfortable moments. Dante's wife did not dare to speak underneath the weight of the realization that her husband had become weak, and Dante did not dare release his body from the position of one of old terra's aquatic crustaceans, lest she have to meet his eye.

The chapter master was almost certain that this matter meant divorce for him.

Not only had he hidden a great secret from his wife, but he had broken a centuries-old oath that would surely tarnish his reputation in the face of many, beginning with his chief librarian and beloved wife.

And yet, the very second he felt he were going to finally curl up and die, her laughter filled the room like a sudden and gentle symphony meant only for his ears. Not composed or pompous chuckles meant to impress for diplomacy, but genuine and heartfelt laughter. The shock alone was enough to catch him off guard and bring his sunken eyes to meet her form as she sat down next to him, her eyes filling with tears as her giggles failed to find any restraint.

"You hid from me over something so small?" She struggled to catch her breath. "Oh, oh forgive me my love. It's just that-"

"You are laughing..."

Dante tilted his head to one side as she took his face into her palms, meeting his eyes with her own and giving him a smile so soft he nearly forgot he had exsanguinated a baseline to the point of death.

"I could never hate you over something so small. You have been alive for a dozen lifetimes, tending to your own needs is not selfish, especially when what you need is freely offered."

Dante felt the grip of guilt release his mind ever so slightly and took a deep, shuddering breath before nodding and releasing his bodily tension as much as he physically could. He met his wife's smile with his own to the very best of his ability and allowed her to crawl into his lap. She settled on placing her stomach against his thighs, lying face down across his crossed legs, effectively trapping him sat on his own mattress as he rubbed gentle circles into her back, releasing short, silent, sob-filled breaths as days worth of emotional tension tied to a secret he had far overestimated fell from his cracked lips.

"No more hiding," She proclaimed, teasing and yet commanding. "I want you here when I wake from my sleep, this time."

Solspina's Scribellum✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

@astrohymn @moodymisty @undeaddream

@kit-williams @lemon-russ @egrets-not-regrets

@justeverythingnothingelse

(please comment to be added/removed from my taglist !!)

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

stay by my side

↖ navigation: nct masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: bf! jeno x fem! reader

↬ tags: jeno refers to you as baby, ft! 00z because when will they not cause chaos, jeno and reader shares a home/ apartment!, reader is also 00z's friend!!, brief mention of period (and jeno having a period tracker for you)

summary: nothing went to plan, but jeno wasn't gonna complain

word count: 1.3k words

jeno dons on his outer coat, checking himself in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. a little worried that you hadn't gotten out of bed despite the sun being sky high already, he strides over to you.

"baby, i'm about to go out. are you up?"

he wasn't going to leave the house until he knew you were awake. the sheets rustled and he pulls back the cover by a bit, "rise and shine my sleepy baby." he sits by the edge of your shared bed, head cocked to the side as he observed each and every of your moves.

you made a noise at the back of your throat—a protest to having been woken by him—and opened your eyes to meet jeno's twinkling (and more awake) ones, "hey..."

jeno immediately frowned at the scratchy tone of your voice, "you don't sound good. you feeling alright?"

“’m just tired. are you leaving now?” you cleared your throat as if attempting to get rid of the sleep in your system. “yeah. i’m out with the boys for a bowling session."

he brushes the stray strands of hair away from your face and catches you leaning into his hold. gently, he pressed his palm directly against forehead.

good, no temperature. he tucks the covers comfortably around your chest, patting you as he did. you wiggled a bit to lie down on your side, eyes half-opened as you stared back at him.

"will you be alright?" he repeats again, fingers intertwined with yours.

you yawned, “i should be. just really tired.” jeno cups your face in his hands and pressed multiple kisses all over your face, causing you to briefly smile at the affectionate action. "i'll be back as soon as i can."

"i will miss you."

that few words seemed to pierce his heart and it throbbed uncomfortably against his ribs.

as he stands up, he was torn between hanging out with his friends and also to just be there for you. you sensed his hesitance, squeezing his arm, "jeno, i'll be okay. our friends are gonna make a fuss if you don't show your handsome face in a few."

"anything you're on my hot dial, alright? just ring me." he emphasized, making sure you acknowledge his request before he leaves the room. he glances through the whole house, making sure that windows were shut, the hot water had just been boiled and everything was placed away neatly—just the way you liked it.

momentary worry gave way to anticipation when he sees the message from jaemin, telling them they were waiting downstairs. he slips on his sneakers and locks the door with a soft click, dashing down the steps 2 at a time towards the apartment's carpark.

"yo! you're here!" jaemin greets from behind the steering wheel as the window winds down. "hurry up or we're going to be late!" haechan—who was in the shotgun seat—hollered at him.

jeno makes his way over, but stopped when the image of you pitifully (you claimed you were fine...but were you really?) lying in bed surfaced in his mind. did he imagine it or were you looking a little paler too, with a slight hint of pain lacing your voice earlier?

"i...don't think i'm gonna go with you guys."

"look at him. it's definitely a lover's quarrel." haechan teased, arm slightly leaning out of the window frame. renjun cranes his neck from the back seats, "if you're grounded or something, then we're just gonna go ahead."

jaemin makes a show of inching the car forward by a few centimetres, causing all three of them to laugh.

"the kind of friends i have." jeno dramatically shakes his head. "one, i'm not having a lover's quarrel. two, i'm not grounded. the thing is, my lover is just feeling under the weather and i don't feel assured leaving her alone."

"jeno being a sappy lover is difficult for my mind to wrap around. he didn't even visit me when i broke my arm." jaemin joked to break the tension and everyone laughed again.

"i'm sorry guys. i know we've planned this for a while now."

haechan waved him off, "we get it, loverboy. now go before i start gagging!" renjun smacks the back of haechan's head, earning him a pained "ow!", before looking back jeno, "jeno-ah, just go up. we'll get going first."

jeno spun around, "i'll treat y'all to something next time. i promise."

----

as jeno makes his way back up, he receives a notification from the period tracker app and everything clicks into place. the way you were subtly hunched over yesterday, mentioning about how your back hurt and even the resurgence of your chocolate cravings all made sense now.

jeno slots the key into the lock and swings open the door. as expected, you were in deep sleep considering the fact that everything was still in place. toeing off his shoes by the door, he closed it shut behind him and hurriedly made his way over to the room.

"baby..." he greets and you groggily gazed at him. "didn't you just leave...? why did you come back?" despite your words sounding like you wanted him to go, your opened arms begged him to stay. and stay he would, as he comes up to you, "i'm worried for you, so i came back."

the face you made was worth it because you tugged him even closer, till his entire body was up on the bed and toppled over you. with his arms bracketing your body, you were effectively caged in his warm embrace.

"you didn't have to..." he chuckles when you hid your warm face in the juncture of his neck, his body relaxing knowing that it was the right thing to have chosen to stay by your side.

"i know that. i wanted to. the guys were chill with it." he pushed himself up on his elbows, a hair's breadth away from your blushing face. "so...how does netflix and chill sound?"

"i would love that. hopefully our friends don't get too mad that we're spending time again this week."

----

much to your surprise, the other 3 made their appearance by the door, armed with takeout and other goodies mid movie.

"what are you doing here?" jeno stands with his arms on his hips, bewildered. the movie was playing in the background and you peeked out your head from amidst the soft blankets, "haechan? jaemin and renjun?"

"because these two were bickering about how not fun it would be without you or actually either of you two. and then when we reached the alley, the booking got cancelled because we were actually really late. so we decided to crash your pity party." renjun summarized, not forgetting to point to the two troublemakers.

haechan being haechan, shuffles into the dim apartment which was set up for the movie, "i think this is better than the bowling alley. there were too many kids there anyways." jaemin huffs, "you're the real problem here haech. anyways where is my bestie!"

jaemin pushes past jeno, sheds off his coat and makes himself comfortable beside you. he gave you a once over before wagging his fingers, "girl, you look like you need some of these food. eat up and don't even try to feed your self-sufficient boyfriend."

you burst out laughing at the whole situation: an appalled jeno staring at the three of them making themselves in you two's shared home (you did say they were welcomed anytime they wanted to), haechan already starting to eat the takeout, renjun raiding your kitchen for utensils and cups, jaemin who was outright haggling you in front of your boyfriend.

jeno clambers onto the sofa, manhandling you out of jaemin's grasp. jaemin huffs, but immediately got distracted by the food haechan held out to him, renjun automatically rewinding the movie to the start so that they could watch it.

"a stay at home kinda day huh?"

"wouldn't change it for the world."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[soap-ify]

i was wondering if you could write Price praising/body worshipping his girlfriend (the reader) for being so good even when he gets home from a mission? ᰔ She’s been so good waiting for him to get back and always listening to him in bed, he missed her so much and wants to thank her for everything she always does

instead of him coming home and crashing he’s so happy to be back with her and praises her endlessly while fucking her so good !

oh price would just be the sweetest!

cw — cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, soft sex he's so in love, subtle religious imagery.

this mission was a brutal one, grotesque images simply etched onto price’s head as he opened the door of his house, his mood nothing short of foul. that was until he smelled the comforting scent of his home and you that his mind started to clear a bit, features softening up out of pure adoration.

oh, you. he could never be less grateful, just so enamoured by how dear you were. quickly undoing his boots and putting them aside, he marched towards the bedroom, fully determined to thank you properly for waiting for him.

ending up in between your legs while he kneeled on the ground with all your clothes scattered besides him, he didn’t even let you greet him properly after you saw him, silencing all your worried questions with his mouth that was busy with your cunt, his tongue dragging up and down your sensitive clit deliberately slow while applying just the right amount of pressing, two thick fingers gently thrusting in and out of your warm hole, curling up inside to hit that sweet spot that made you moan oh so deliciously.

“been so good f’me, hm? such a sweetheart, always doing an amazing job taking care of everything while m’gone for work.” he mumbled and pulled away for a second, letting you catch a glimpse of his beard glistening with your wetness, those blue eyes of his half open and soft, looking at you so fondly.

he hated leaving you all alone in this house in agonising suspense whenever he’d be gone for missions, even after all the promises he’d make of coming back safe to you, promises he never broke. still, all the time away from you was simply torture. he needed to make it up to you, show you how lucky of a man he is.

diving back into your cunt, his fingers continued to thrust into you while his mouth latched onto your clit, gently sucking onto it until you came apart on his fingers, letting him patiently taste you up, the moans leaving your lips sounding nothing less than the songs sung by angels.

“oh, john…” you breathed heavily softly, your orgasm leaving your body feeling tingly, eyes looking down at price who was still on his knees, beginning to press soft kisses on your thighs now, moving down to kiss both your knees and calves, kissing you over and over, mumbling sweet praises to you — he adored and worshiped you as if you were his very goddess, which you were. he’d even get on the ground and kiss it to show how much you meant to him, how you are the holy light comforting the filthiness etched within him.

“you’re beautiful.” the smile adorning his lips made your heart skip a bit, watching him get up on his feet once more before climbing on top of you, gently easing you down onto the mattress. “i love you. fuck- i love you, sweetheart.” with a groan, he moved down to press some more kisses on your neck, making you feel the rough edges of his beard scratching your skin. “can never tell you enough of that, y'know? never.”

he nearly melted right there and then when he felt your fingers gently scratching his scalp, your breathing soothing his nerves. “my baby, i love you.” he just couldn’t stop repeating it, it almost hurt. he didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve someone so perfect who was still willing to put up with a wrecked mess like him hidden beneath all that sternness.

“i love you too…” your voice came out quiet yet assured, brimming with nothing but pure love.

soft rustles of clothes could be heard as price got rid of his own a bit too eagerly, eyes fixed on you. “oh, fuck.” he grunted under his breath once his hand held the base of his cock, all girthy and already leaking almost pathetically. he gently tapped the tip of his cock on your puffy clit a few times, grinning at the little whine that escaped you before he finally aligned it against your tight hole, gently pushing it into your cunt. your warmth enveloped him, his hips stuttering just a bit once he was overcome with emotions, poorly hiding them.

“my sweet, sweet love.” slowly caging his strong arms around your head, he felt your legs wrap around his hips while he began to slowly thrust his girthy cock into you, fully pressed down on you. your hands dug into his back while his face was aligned with yours, giving him the perfect chance to press loving kisses on your forehead and nose.

his embrace felt like a prayer of its own, his thrusts not losing their momentum despite his body aching to go a bit faster. no, not today. it was all about you today, to give you all the gentle love he held deep within him. you could feel his bushy happy trail rubbing against your clit, making it a bit achy in a good way. he probably didn’t have time to trim it properly during deployment, and oh were you grateful.

“j-john, feels so good.” you moaned blissfully into his ear, pleasure coursing through every fiber of yours, your walls clenching around him with every kiss he gave to your face, drowning your moans once he pressed his lips to yours.

it wasn’t long until your orgasm came crashing down on you once again, washing over you pleasantly while you drenched his cock. he twitched inside you, grunting as his arms came down to wrap around you and pull you impossibly close, his head burying into your sweaty neck while he continued to fuck you until he felt his balls tighten, filling you up with his warm cum.

he wasn’t willing to get away from you after that, running you a warm bath and washing you while he kissed your tits, hands massaging your thighs with the foam of the soap, the sweet aroma of lavender lingering in the bathroom, both of you fully content.