#i love him so much and i want to give him soft tender love

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[geneviveleocardius]

“kiss, fuck, or kill—

price, ghost, or könig?”

you had no idea how a silly game during downtime could spiral into this. the question had been innocent enough: “kiss, fuck, or kill—price, ghost, or könig?” you’d laughed, brushing off the idea, but soap had insisted, his grin wicked as he leaned in, waiting for your answer. the others in the room chuckled, the atmosphere light and playful.

“fine,” you had relented, rolling your eyes but secretly enjoying the attention. “i’d kiss könig. he’s just… so sweet and adorable. i really like him.”

soap hooted with laughter while könig, sitting off to the side, froze mid-drink. you’d missed the way his ears turned crimson under his hood.

“fucking ghost, though,” you added, biting your lip without realizing it. “he’s so… hot. just looking at him turns me on.”

ghost, who had been leaning against the far wall, tilted his head slightly. you didn’t notice the way his dark eyes sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his gaze.

“and price?” soap asked, barely containing his laughter.

“oh, i’m killing price,” you said, laughing. “he’s like a father figure to me. no way i could think of him any other way.”

the room had erupted in laughter, soap practically crying with amusement. you thought that was the end of it.

you were wrong.

a few days later, you found yourself cornered in the dimly lit storage room. könig and ghost stood in front of you, both men radiating a heat that made your pulse race. you didn’t know how it happened, but the door was closed, and the air felt heavy, charged.

“so,” ghost started, his deep voice laced with amusement, “fuck me because i’m hot, yeah?”

your throat went dry, your eyes darting between them. könig’s hood hid most of his face, but his eyes were locked on you, intense and burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

“and what about me?” könig asked, his voice softer but no less filled with tension. “adorable? sweet? you like me?”

“i—” you stammered, taking a step back until your spine hit the wall.

ghost chuckled darkly, stepping closer. “you really thought that little game wouldn’t reach us?”

könig moved in as well, his massive frame towering over you. “we couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he murmured, his voice low and thick. “you choosing us… the way you said it.”

“and now,” ghost added, his gloved hand reaching out to brush your cheek, “we’re gonna give you exactly what you want.”

your breath hitched as könig’s hands found your waist, his touch gentle but firm. “so pretty,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring you. his hands slid up your sides, tracing your curves with reverence.

behind you, ghost’s body pressed close, trapping you between them. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “she likes it rough,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear.

könig pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with adoration. “tell me if it’s too much, schatz,” he said softly, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

ghost chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “she’s tougher than she looks. aren’t you, love?”

before you could respond, könig’s lips were on yours again, his kiss deep and consuming. his hands roamed your body, gentle yet possessive, while ghost’s hands moved to your thighs, pulling you back against him.

you felt ghost’s teeth sink into the curve of your neck, a low growl rumbling from his chest. “so good for us,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with hunger.

könig’s kisses trailed down your jaw, his hands lifting your shirt to expose more of your skin. he pressed soft, worshipful kisses along your collarbone, his touch so tender it made your heart ache.

meanwhile, ghost’s grip on your hips tightened as he positioned you against him. “gonna mark you up, sweetheart,” he growled, his lips trailing hot kisses down the back of your neck. “everyone’s gonna know you’re ours.”

könig’s voice was a soothing counterpoint to ghost’s roughness. “you’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple. “so beautiful. i’ll take care of you.”

your head spun as the two of them worked in tandem, ghost’s rough dominance balanced by könig’s soft, attentive care. you felt every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, and it was overwhelming in the best way.

“you said it yourself,” ghost murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist as he slammed against you. “..you want us.”

könig’s lips brushed yours again, his voice soft but firm. “and we want you, schatz. always.”

the hours blurred together, their attention leaving you trembling and breathless. ghost’s gruff dominance and könig’s tender care were a perfect storm, leaving you marked and utterly claimed. by the time they finally let you rest, you were sure of one thing—your little confession had changed everything.

and neither of them would let you forget it.

[ladyymiisa]

PINCH ‘EM!

summary: katsuki just loves your cheeks!

tags: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader, fluff, katsuki and reader are still in high-school, katsuki is a tease

author’s note: starting the new year off strong with katsuki fluff!! i luv him sm

if there’s one thing about you that drives katsuki absolutely insane on a daily basis, it’s your cheeks.

those soft, round, ridiculously cute, rosy cheeks that make his brain glitch like an old vending machine. they give him such violent cuteness aggression that he’s genuinely considered throwing himself off a rooftop just to reset. it’s humiliating, really, how much power your dumb face has over him.

but watching you eat? that’s a whole other level of torture. the way your cheeks puff out with every bite, like you’re stockpiling food for winter, makes his eye twitch in equal parts annoyance and affection. he calls you chipmunk, because honestly, you might as well be one. it’s absurd, it’s irrational, and it’s ruining his life. but here he is, still watching, still obsessed, like the fool he is.

“kats—ow!” you whine mid food gulp, flinching as his fingers suddenly latch onto your cheeks like a crab on a mission. with zero warning, he starts squishing and pulling them, treating your face like it’s his own personal stress toy. “what the hell are you doing?”

you manage to gripe, trying to pry his hands off your poor, defenseless cheeks. your words are muffled as he stretches them in every direction, but he doesn’t bother answering. he’s far too focused on whatever weird satisfaction he’s getting from turning your face into putty in his hands.

“try that again,” he growls, giving your cheeks another firm pinch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “and i’ll squeeze ‘em even harder.”

you glare at him, your face still trapped in his grip. it’s hard to take him seriously when his smug smirk is stretched across his face like he just won the lottery. however, it’s clear that your discomfort is his entertainment, and it makes you want to bite back, but you can’t seem to muster the energy to do so.

meanwhile, katsuki is having the time of his life. it’s not his fault your skin is so damn malleable, like some kind of stress ball he can just squish and pull at his leisure. with every pinch, your face contorts in the most ridiculous ways, and it only makes his shit-eating smirk grow wider, as if he’s proud of the mess he’s making.

“y’look so stupid,” he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, though it sounds more like he’s speaking to himself. “stupid chipmunk,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost fond.

before you can even process what’s happening, his face is in front of yours, and with no warning, he plants a big, exaggerated smooch right on your lips. it’s awkward, considering how he’s still squishing your cheeks together, making your lips pucker out like a weird fish, but somehow, you can’t help but find it endearing.

then he does it again, this time a bit harder. and again. and again. each kiss lands wherever he can reach—your lips, your nose, your forehead, even your eyelids—like he’s trying to cover every inch of your face. you feel warmth spread across your chest from the tenderness of his gestures, even if they’re a little ridiculous. despite the absurdity of the situation, there’s something unexpectedly sweet about the way he’s so gentle with you, even when he’s teasing you relentlessly.

you’re about to tease him right back for being such a softie, ready to throw out a playful jab when, of course, he just has to ruin the moment.

“ew, katsuki!” you yelp, your voice high-pitched with surprise as he suddenly sinks his teeth into your right cheek. it’s not hard enough to hurt, more like a playful nip, but it’s wet and the way his tongue shamelessly flickers against the bite mark sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. you try to push him off, but he’s latched onto you like some feral animal.

“seriously?!” you gasp, squirming in his grip, but he remains completely unbothered. “this is disgusting! my cheek’s all wet now!” you cry, twisting and turning in his arms, trying to wipe the saliva off with your shoulder.

“serves you right for biting my shoulder earlier. y’thought i’d forget? hah.” he says with a wicked smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the mess he’s made of your face—flustered, pouty, and still glistening with the aftermath of his attack.

you groan, smacking his chest in frustration, but the bastard doesn’t even flinch. in fact, he looks proud of himself.

“you’re the absolute worst, katsuki bakugo.” you glare at him, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“yeah, i’m fuckin’ terrible,” he grins, clearly enjoying the annoyance in your voice. to emphasize his words—and to annoy you even further probably—he pinches the same cheek he just bit like an overbearing grandma checking to see if you had enough to eat.

yup, katsuki loves your cheeks, especially when they’re all flushed because of him.

[littlelamy]

hii i was wondering if you could do s2!rafe/soft!rafe and kook!reader having sex for the first time? and can rafe give reader aftercare afterwards? like rafe didnt know about aftercare but ever since he started dating reader hes been asking Sarah for advice and has been learning a lot. so he decides to put his new-found knowledge to use

author's note: hope you like it!! 1/2 requests completed today ;)

Rafe’s heart was racing as he held you, his chest pressed against yours, both of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and shared intimacy. The way you looked at him—eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from his kisses—made his breath hitch. You were glowing, a sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, hair splayed across the pillow like a halo. For a moment, he just stared, memorizing the way you looked, the way you felt beneath him.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, how you trusted him with something so intimate. He had spent so long wrapped up in his own insecurities, trying to live up to the expectations of those around him. But with you, none of that mattered. You saw him—truly saw him—and that terrified him as much as it made him feel alive.

Slowly, his lips found yours again, softer now, less urgent but no less passionate. His hands moved to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if you were made of porcelain. Every touch, every kiss, was deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment, storing it away to revisit later in his mind.

“I was scared,” he admitted quietly against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not of you… but of messing this up.”

You cupped his face, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You could never mess this up, Rafe. I’m here with you because I want to be.”

His lips trembled into a soft smile, and he kissed you again, lingering, as if he could communicate everything he felt through that one act. His hands roamed your body, learning the curves, the dips, the places that made you shiver. He trailed kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, down to your chest, each touch deliberate, reverent.

His fingers brushed over your nipples, eliciting a soft moan from your lips, and his mouth followed, warm and wet, sucking gently as his hand continued its exploration. He loved the way your body responded to him, the way you arched into his touch, the soft sounds you made spurring him on.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast. “I mean it.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. “I need you, Rafe.”

Those words sent a thrill through him, and he kissed his way down your body, trailing his lips over your stomach, nipping gently at your hip bones. He paused at the apex of your thighs, glancing up at you with a question in his eyes, seeking permission. When you nodded, he leaned in, his mouth hot and eager against your core.

The first swipe of his tongue made you gasp, your back arching off the bed. He took his time, learning what made you sigh, what made you moan, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady. He lavished attention on you, the taste of you intoxicating, as if he could get drunk on the essence of you alone.

“Rafe,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging gently as your hips bucked against his mouth. He groaned in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body.

He didn’t stop until you were trembling, gasping his name as you came apart beneath him, your body writhing with pleasure. Only then did he crawl back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, as if he was staking his claim.

“I love the way you taste,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. “I could spend forever just doing that.”

You blushed, your hands sliding down his chest, nails grazing lightly over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “I need you inside me, Rafe. Please.”

He didn’t make you wait. Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locking onto yours as he pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, giving you time to adjust. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the feeling of you surrounding him nearly undoing him on the spot.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stilled, letting you both catch your breath. “You feel so fucking good.”

“So do you,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Please, Rafe. Move.”

He obeyed, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, setting a slow, deliberate pace. Every stroke was measured, each movement designed to draw out your pleasure, to build you up slowly. He watched the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your lips parted, breathy moans spilling out with every thrust.

The rhythm built steadily, his movements becoming more urgent, more insistent as he lost himself in the sensation of being with you, the world narrowing down to the two of you, to the heat and the friction, to the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him, your body tightening around him.

“Me too,” he panted, his thrusts growing erratic, desperate as he chased his release. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

The tension in your body snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you came, your body spasming around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He followed with a groan, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he collapsed onto you, both of you trembling, sweaty, and utterly spent.

Rafe held you close, pressing kisses to your damp skin, murmuring soft words of affection as you both came down from the high. He didn’t pull away, didn’t let the moment end. Instead, he wrapped you in his arms, pulling the blanket over the two of you, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” he whispered after a while, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “I didn’t know it could feel so… right.”

You smiled, nuzzling into his chest. “That’s because it’s us. Together.”

As you both lay there, basking in the afterglow, Rafe’s arms wrapped securely around you, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah had told him. Aftercare. The concept had been foreign to him before, something he never considered, but Sarah had insisted it was important—especially if he wanted to make you feel truly cared for, truly safe.

His fingers continued tracing gentle patterns on your back as he mulled over her advice, his heart swelling with a mixture of affection and determination. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to be the man you deserved in every possible way.

Gently, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at you. “Hey,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Can I get you anything? Water? A warm towel?”

You blinked up at him, a little surprised but touched by the offer. “Water would be nice,” you admitted, your voice soft, still heavy with the remnants of pleasure.

Rafe smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. He padded to the kitchen, his mind racing with everything Sarah had told him. Hydration, comfort, reassurance. He filled a glass of water, grabbed a warm, damp towel, and returned to your side, careful not to disrupt the tranquility of the moment.

Sitting beside you, he handed you the water first, watching as you took a sip. “Drink as much as you want,” he encouraged gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want you to feel good.”

Once you’d had your fill, he set the glass aside and picked up the towel, his movements slow and deliberate as he began to clean you up. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he wiped away the sweat and any remnants of your shared intimacy, his eyes soft with a depth of care that made your heart flutter.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, your hand resting over his as he finished, his fingers entwining with yours.

He kissed your knuckles, a flush rising to his cheeks. “I asked Sarah about aftercare,” he admitted, his voice low but sincere. “I wanted to make sure I did everything right for you. She told me it’s about making sure you feel safe, loved… making sure your body and mind are taken care of.”

You smiled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The thought of Rafe going out of his way to learn how to care for you, to make you feel cherished, filled you with a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“And you’re doing amazing,” you assured him, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “I’ve never felt more loved, more safe.”

His eyes glimmered with emotion, and he leaned down to kiss you softly, his lips lingering against yours in a kiss that was more about love than lust. “I just want to be everything you need,” he murmured. “Because you’re everything I need.”

You pulled him back into bed, snuggling into his chest as he wrapped you up in his arms once more. His heart beat steadily beneath your ear, a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a sense of peace.

As he held you, Rafe couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fulfillment. This was new territory for him—being vulnerable, being attentive—but with you, it felt right. It felt like home. And as the two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth, Rafe silently thanked Sarah for her guidance and you for your trust, vowing to always be the man who put your happiness and comfort first.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl

[meanbossart]

I’m not sure how to ask this but who initiated the… ahem, **slayer screwing** activities between the two? Like what was that initial conversation like, if they even talked about it at all lol

Slayer-Layin' as the scholars call it is likely something that started and ended during the "honeymoon phase" of the Bhaalist DU drow timeline. That is the only iteration of him that gets the slayer-form, and I think what happened is that in the same way they were drunk in the power, control, riches and fashions of their newly-found position, the Slayer form also became this novelty and symbol of DU drow's status, representative of his power; and, at least then, Astarion would have found that attractive, not for what it is but for what it symbolizes. He may have wished for that power for himself, but in avail of it this will do. I don't think he would have engaged with the Slayer form otherwise.

So, at some point, DU drow shows off his new form to him. He does it not so differently from how he might gift him with jewels or fine clothes - a surprise awaiting for him in their private quarters, so he can enjoy his reaction away from prying eyes. And much like the garments and gems, he wants Astarion to touch them, feel how smooth and soft they are under his fingers, try them on, give them a spin.

In his Slayer form, DU drow would have insisted on his curiosity, aimed for familiarity. Touch whatever you want, stare for however long you like, watch me flick your curls and embrace you with the exact same level of tenderness I would were I down a pair of arms. He watches his grin turn into shocked laughs and eyes dart wildly trying to take in all of him. The more comfortable they get, the more he begins to touch back.

And I think it's the absurdity of it that has Astarion engaged and wondering how far this can go, as well as amazement. He still loves DU drow at this point (I guess he always will, though in this version of the story this feelings change over time) and as upset as he may be about remaining a spawn, shouldn't he count himself lucky to be Bhaal's favorite Favorite? To wield such a fearsome beast in whatever shape it takes with so much mastery, even under circumstances this intimate? Gods, but isn't he magnificent, really? Isn't he a sight yo behold? One that makes you want to drop to your knees?

It's a little bit of control, it's a little bit of genuine adoration, it's a little big of "well, when in rome"

[valkyrieromanoff]

HELLOOO?? your co-star!hayden fics are too gooddd it's making me combust GOD i would let that man do anything he wants with my body

🎀CO-STAR HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN: LOVE MAKING🎀

words: 2.7k

warning: MDNI, +18, sex, porn with a plot, romantic sex

a/n: hello there, another one featuring our fave co-star Hayden! Honestly, when I first wrote those headcanons, I didn’t think anyone would like them—but WOW, I’m so glad you all did! 🥹💖 Here’s another one, and I hope you love it just as much! 🫶 Thanks for 500 followers—you’re all amazing! 🎉💫

Your voice was a breathy whisper as his name fell from your lips, uttered like a fervent prayer.

"Hayden," you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss as he washed your bare skin with tender kisses. Your head rested on the pillow, a look of pure rapture on your face as Hayden's magical mouth traversed the expanse of your body.

You could feel his lips curving into a smile against your skin as he peppered your flesh with soft, lingering kisses. Slowly, deliberately, he worked his way downwards, his hands caressing and kneading the soft curves of his body as he went.

Your breasts rose and fell with each shuddering breath as Hayden's mouth dipped into the valley between them, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat and arousal that clung to your skin. Lower and lower he brushed, his kisses a trail of fire and electricity that left your nerve endings singing.

When he reached the dip of his navel, Hayden paused, pressing an especially tender kiss to the concave flesh. He lingered there, his breath hot and teasing, before continuing his sensual descent.

His hands slid down to your hips as he kissed his way lower, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs. Hayden's touch was electric, setting your skin ablaze with need and desire.

"Keep touching me like this," you whimpered needily, "and I won't be able to control myself. I'll beg you to take me hard and fast, to fuck me until I can't see straight."

Hayden's breath hitched as your thigh twitched, your body already aching for his touch once more. A wicked grin spread across his handsome face as he nuzzled the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, feeling you tremble beneath him.

"Someone's anxious," he teased, his voice a low, rumbling chuckle against your heated flesh. Hayden's palm pressed firmly against your thigh, halting your instinctive move to close yourself to him.

To punctuate his words, Hayden's teeth grazed your skin, a sharp nip to your thigh that felt a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core. Your back arched off the bed, a breathy moan escaping your lips at the sensation.

Hayden's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding you open and exposed to his hungry gauze. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, dark and blazing with renewed desire as he drank in the sight of your wanton display.

"Patience, my insatiable little minx," he purred, his fingers trailing teasingly along your inner thigh. "We have all the time in the world to explore each other's bodies. I want to savor every inch of you, to make this experience last."

To his emphasize point, Hayden's thumb brushed maddeningly close to your aching sex, not quite touching you where you needed him most. His grin turned positively sinful as he watched your body undulate beneath his teasing caress.

"Soon," he promised darkly, "I'll give you exactly what you need. But first, I want to drive you to the brink of madness with desire. I want you desperate, aching, and begging for my cock."

A soft, needy groan slipped from your lips as Hayden's teasing touch pushed you closer to the edge of desperation. Your mouth parted, ready to voice a complaint, but Hayden silenced you with a single, purposeful brush of his thumb against the damp spot forming on your panties.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that maddening touch as Hayden's thumb pressed against your clothed cunt. Through the thin fabric, he could feel the scorching heat radiating from your core, the unmistakable dampness that spoke of your arousal.

Hayden's eyes darkened with lust as he felt his reaction, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. He brought his face closer to your hips, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. Hayden placed an affectionate kiss to the damp patch on your panties, his lips lingering and savoring the taste of your essence seeing through the material.

"That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Getting so wet and ready for me already. You want to be a good girl for me, don't you baby?"

Hayden's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing along the sensitive skin just above your weeping sex. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, could hear the hitch in your breath as you fought the urge to grind yourself wantonly against his hand.

"Shhh, just let it happen," he croaked, his fingers dipping lower to brush maddeningly along his slick folds. "Let yourself feel every touch, every sensation. Give yourself over to the pleasure, and I promise I'll give you exactly what you need."

A needy whimper escaped your kiss-swollen lips as you arched your hips upwards, instinctively seeking more of Hayden's maddening touch. Your body cried out for friction, for stimulation, your aching cunt throbbing with the desperate need to be filled.

"Hayden," you mumbled, your voice high and breathy, strangled by the pleasure coiling tightly in your core.

The single syllable of his name was a half-moaning plea, a desperate entreaty for him to take mercy on you. Your chest heaved with each shuddering breath, your ample breasts rising and falling tenderly as you strained against his teasing touch.

Hayden's eyes flashed with hunger as he watched your body undulate beneath him, your hips undulating in a silent plea for more. A wicked grin spread across his handsome face as he drank in the sight of you, his touch growing bolder, more confident.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his fingers slipping beneath the crotch of your panties to stroke along your slick, bare folds. "Let me hear you. I want to hear those pretty little moans and whimpers as I touch you. Give voice to your desires, and I'll make sure they're all fulfilled."

Your voice was a breathy, needy whisper as you gazed up at Hayden with lust-darkened eyes. The desperation in your tone was unmistakable, your body trembling with the intensity of your arousal.

"I, I need you to really touch me, I don't want anything between us anymore," you confessed softly, your hips rolling upwards in a silent plea for more. "I want to feel your skin on mine, your fingers stroking my bare, aching cunt. Please, Hayden... I'm so empty inside. I need you to fill me, to stretch me, to make me whole again."

You reached down, your fingers hooking into the waistband of your soaked panties. With a shuddering breath, you slowly peel them down your thighs, lifting your hips to assist in their removal. As the fabric slid away, your glistening sex was revealed to Hayden's hungry gauze, the pink flesh slick and swollen with need.

The musky scent of your arousal filled the air as you bared yourself to him, your chest heaving with anticipation. Your inner thighs were slick with your essence, your body preparing itself for the hard, deep penetration you so desperately craved.

"Please, Hayden," you whimpered again, your voice barely above a whisper, "Touch me. Touch my pussy and make me yours. I need it so badly, I can't wait any longer."

Hayden's eyes shone with adoration and desire as he gazed down at his nude, wanting body splayed out before him. A soft, indulgent smile curved his handsome lips as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt, slick and swollen with need.

"Since you asked so nicely, baby," he murmured, his deep voice a low, approving rumble. "I'd be more than happy to touch you, to feel your bare, perfect pussy wrapped around my cock."

Hayden reached over to the dresser drawer, grabbing a condom with deft fingers. He tore open the wrapper with his teeth, the sound of the foil crinkling obscenely loud in the charged air between you. With practiced ease, he rolled the latex sheath down the thick, veiny length of his erection.

As he settled back between your parted thighs, Hayden's hands skimmed up the smooth expanse of your skin, caressing your calves, your knees, your hips, before coming to rest on the flare of your pelvis. His thumbs dipped teasingly into the indenters of your hips as he loomed over you, his hips nestling in the cradle of your own.

"You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this," he admitted, his voice a low, dark purr. "Feeling your tight, wet heat engulfing me, squeezing me like a velvet glove."

Hovering over you, Hayden leaned in close, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered his promise. His breath was hot and heavy, sending tingles racing down your spine.

"I'm going to take you slowly, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Working every inch of your exquisitely beautiful body with deliberate, loving touches. I want to savor every second of our joining, to sear the feeling of our bodies becoming one into our memory."

As he spoke, Hayden's hips shifted, the thick head of his sheathed cock brushing feather-light against your soft, slick folds. The contact was maddeningly delicate, a whisper of a touch that set your nerve endings ablaze with anticipation.

He took his time, letting you feel the heat of him, the hard, throbbing length of his manhood as it nudged and caressed your aching cunt. Hayden's hands gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh as he held you steady, preventing you from bucking upwards to take him inside.

"I want to make love to you like this," he breathed against your neck, his lips trailing hotly kisses along the column of your throat, "again and again, until your body learns to crave my touch, to yearn for the feeling of my cock buried deep inside your perfect, tight little cunt."

With each brush of his hips, each teasing grace of his cockhead against your folds, Hayden stoked the flames of your desire higher and hotter. Your body arched into his touch, your breasts pressing against his chest as you gasped and moaned with the exquisite torture of his teasing cares.

"Please," you begged, your voice high and breathy with desperation. Your hips rolled upwards, seeking, craving the hard, deep penetration you needed so badly.

Unable to deny you any longer, Hayden granted your plea with a low, approving groan. He emerged forward, his hips snapping against yours as he pushed into your welcoming heat. Your slick walls stretched deliciously around his thick, hard length as he hilted inside you with one powerful thrust.

At the same moment, Hayden's lips claimed your own, his mouth slanting over yours to capture your wanton moans. He drank in your cries of pleasure, his tongue delving deep to tangle with your own as he began to move within you.

Hayden set a steady, deliberate rhythm, his hips rolling against yours in a sensual dance as old as time. Each thrust pushed you closer to the headboard, the antique wood creaking softly in time with the ancient rhythm of your union.

He took his time, savoring the feeling of his tight, hot walls holding him like a warm blanket. Hayden's hands roamed your body as he made love to you, caressing every curve and hollow, worshiping the lush expanse of your skin.

Your fingers dug into his back, your nails scoring the flesh as you clung to him, urging him closer, deeper. The sounds of your passionate coupling filled the room, the slap of sweat-slicked skin against skin and your breathy, needy cries of ecstasy.

Your eyelids fluttered closed, long lashes casting shadows on your flushed cheeks as Hayden's passion consuming thrusts drove you closer to the edge. Incoherent mumbles and breathy whimpers spilled from your pink lips, a symphony of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Hayden's lips blazed a trail of searing kisses along your neck and collarbone, his murmured words of passion and adoration washing over your overheated skin like a lover's lullaby.

"You feel incredible," he rasped, his voice rough and ragged with desire. "So tight, so perfect wrapped around my cock. I can feel every inch of your beautiful body trembling beneath me."

His hips continued their relentless rhythm, each deep, powerful thrust pushing you higher, stoking the flames of your impending release. Hayden's hands mapped the curves of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs teasing your nipples into stiff peaks.

"I want to feel you come with me," he grew, nipping at your earlobe, "to watch your face as ecstasy overcomes you. Give yourself to me, baby. Let go and let me love you like this, over and over again ."

Hayden's words, combined with his skilled, passionate movements, pushed you closer to the brink. Your inner muscles began to flutter and clench around its pistoning length, your body preparing for the explosive release he promised.

As Hayden's thrusts grew more urgent, more demanding, your body responded in kind. Your hips emerged to meet his, your sex clenching and rippling around his cock, drawing him ever deeper into your hot, needy core.

With a final, powerful drive of his hips, Hayden buried himself to the hilt inside you just as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your vision exploded behind closed eyelids, a dazzling display of stars and colors painting the insides of your mind's eye. You cried out in rapture, your voice joining with Hayden's guttural groan of completion.

At that moment, Hayden's arms wrapped around you, holding you flush against his chest. He embraced you fiercely, possessively, as if he never wanted to let you go. You clung to him just as tightly, your fingers digging into his back, anchoring yourself to his solid, muscular frame.

Together, you sailed on the crest of a shared ecstasy, your bodies trembling and shaking with the force of your mutual release. Wave after wave of searing, electrifying pleasure washed over you, binding your souls together in the throes of passion.

Hayden's lips found yours, capturing your cries and moans as he kissed you deeply, ardently. His tongue danced with his own, twining and stroking, pouring all of his lust and desire into the heated embrace. "That's my good girl," he praised breathlessly, his voice rough and low. "Coming so hard on my cock, just like I knew you would."

A lazy, sated smile curved your well-kissed lips as you basked in the warm afterglow of your shared climax. You nestled into Hayden's embrace, your body molding perfectly to the hard planes and angles of his as you both struggled to catch your breath.

After long, blissful moments of simply holding you, Hayden reluctantly pulled away, his softening length slipping from your tender folds with a soft, wet sound. He dealt with the condom efficiently, disappearing into the bathroom briefly before returning, his hands and chest glistening from a quick cleanup.

Climbing back onto the bed, Hayden gathered you into his arms from behind, spooning your sated body against his own. He pressed soft, loving kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm and steady against your skin.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper. "I love you so much, baby. More than words can express."

His lips continued their tender assault on your neck and shoulder, each caress imbued with a deep, abiding affection. Hayden's hands roamed your curves, smoothing over the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

"Being with you, like this, feels so right," he confessed, his voice heavy with emotion. "I never want to let you go. I want to hold you and love you and make you feel cherished for the incredible woman you are."

Your smile bloomed soft and warm, your eyes shining with the afterglow of your lovemaking as you gazed up at Hayden. You turned your head to capture his lips in a slow, tender kiss, pouring your love and affection into the gentle press of your mouth against his.

"I love you too, Hayden," you murmured, your voice low and sated, filled with a deep, abiding tenderness. "So very, very much. Being here in your arms, like this, feels like coming home. Like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be."

Your small, delicate hands rested atop Hayden's larger, stronger ones as they splayed across the gentle swell of your belly. The simple, intimate gesture spoke volumes, a silent testament to the love and trust between you.

You nuzzled into the crook of Hayden's neck, breathing in his scent, a heady mix of sweat, sex, and something uniquely, irresistibly him. Your body fit so perfectly against his own, the curve of your back molding to the expanse of his chest.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗖𝗦𝟱𝟱 carlos sainz x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )

Sight

Carlos has always loved how your emotions play out across your face

Whether it’s the way your eyes light up with excitement

The exaggerated scrunch of your nose when you’re annoyed,

Or the dramatic flair of your eye rolls during one of his jokes—it’s all mesmerizing to him.

He teases you often just to see those expressions.

But it’s your happiness that truly holds him captive.

His favorite moments are when you’re completely at ease,

like on vacation, soaking up the sun.

On a lazy afternoon by the pool, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone. “Stay just like that,” he says, angling for the perfect shot. You give him a skeptical look but don’t move. “This one’s going on my phone background,” he announces triumphantly after snapping the picture. “Should I feel flattered or concerned?” you joke. “Both,” he replies with a wink, already setting it as his lock screen

Touch

Carlos is tactile by nature, and with you, it’s amplified

He loves how you seem to melt into his bear hugs, your arms winding around him as if you never want to let go

Those moments are his sanctuary, where words aren’t needed because the embrace says it all

When he’s feeling particularly playful, he’ll tug you onto his lap during movie nights.

“Carlos,” you protest, laughing as you try to balance the popcorn bowl. “You’re comfier than the couch,” he says with a grin, wrapping his arms securely around you. Even as the movie plays, his fingers absently trace patterns on your arm, a silent reminder of how much he loves having you close.

And then there’s his soft side—the way his hand cups your cheek while his thumb brushes against your skin

Those moments often catch you off guard

you’re mid-conversation, and he stops to look at you, his gaze tender. “What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

Smell

Carlos has a keen sense of smell, and your perfume has practically become his favorite scent

It lingers on his shirts long after you’ve hugged him

he’ll catch himself smiling when the faintest trace of it wafts by

But it’s not just your perfume—he adores the cozy, mouthwatering aroma of your cooking

To him, it smells like home

He sneaks into the kitchen while you’re focused on dinner, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his nose against your shoulder. “Smells amazing, cariño,” he says, his voice soft but sincere. You chuckle, nudging him away so you can focus. “Let me guess, you’re here for a taste test?” He grins, already reaching for a spoon.

Hearing

Your laughter is Carlos’s favorite melody. It’s the kind of sound that can turn even the dullest days around

And when you’re laughing at one of his jokes—genuine, carefree—it’s a small victory for him every time

But nothing compares to the way you cheer for him

Hearing you shout encouragement in Spanish from the stands makes him feel invincible, like he could win every race just for you

“¡Vamos, mi campeón!” you yell as he jumps out of his car in par ferme, and even in the frenzy of celebration, he spots you, blowing a kiss in your direction. Later, after he’s he's handed the trophy, he finds you in the crowd and pulls you into a hug. “You’re my lucky charm,” he whispers in your ear.

Taste

Carlos has a habit of stealing bites from your plate, claiming your food always tastes better

It’s become a running joke between you two, especially when you catch him mid-theft.

“You have your own, you know,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but this is special,” he replies, grinning as he pops the stolen bite into his mouth.

Then there are your post-dinner kisses

Particularly after you’ve had something spicy

He pretends to wince, his lips tingling.

“That’s got a kick,” he says, leaning back slightly. You smirk knowingly. “You’re welcome.” Despite his words, he leans in again, chasing the taste of you like it’s his favorite dish.

[tactical-jellyfish]

Watcher 1-1

Part Five!!!

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (no, I won't tell you who yet >:), but I will cover the symptoms as well as possible) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

Warnings for this specific chapter: (technically) main character death, written descriptions of injury, gore and blood talk

Good luck, soldiers.

The early morning sun streaming into your room is a lovely little bit of accoutrement to getting ready for another mission, even if you're trying to persuade the prettiest man you know from sticking to your back like moss.

"Kyle, I'll be back by dinner, I swear to you-"

Your plea gets nowhere, as a light nibbling at your neck drives a squeal between your lips and a chuckle from the man behind you, a tender squeeze from the thick arms wrapped about your body as you try to squirm out of the warm, tempting hold.

"But I'll miss you, Firecracker, you can't just go out without me an' Soap like this..."

The whine is muffled on your skin, spoken through lovely, soft lips, still warm and a little swollen. You puff up a bit in pride, know that's your work, but mentally force yourself back to focus.

"C'mon, Ky. Just twelve hours or so."

He huffs in response, leaves one more kiss on your skin for good luck.

"Fine, but don't expect me to save a spot for you in the shower if you take any longer 'n' that."

You grin at the tease, and gently tug Kyle in by the shoulder for another little kiss, affectionate, before pulling back.

"See? That ain't too hard, is it?"

He swats your shoulder as he walks out. You chuckle.

There isn't much time to give Johnny a goodbye, but he manages to steal a short, teasing peck in the hallway, and he playfully smacks your ass in a way that just tells you he wants you in his room tonight before walking off with his usual swagger, outwardly unbothered.

"Prick!"

You call out after him, cheeks flooded with a familiar, pleasant heat.

"Arsehole!"

Is his response.

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

During the mission, your steps feel lighter, like you're somehow floating ever so slightly above the ground beneath you. You deem it adrenaline, and push forward.

"Still got my six, Ghost?"

"Affirmative. Keep goin'."

The thick, Mancunian brogue is what motivates you now, pushing further into the compound silently, trying to locate the objective as you listen for anything, even another footstep.

The tense silence is all you have, other than the beat of your heart or the way blood rushes too-quickly in your ears. You shouldn't be this nervous, this bad feeling is silly.

You're already here, opening the door to find your objective. It's almost time to go back.

The thumb drive fits neatly into your palm, but almost exactly after you take it, you hear a gunshot.

Fuck. Why did Price take a shot in here?

Every hair on your neck stands up, and they only get taller when you hear your captain in your earpiece.

"Tangos are alerted to our presence, roll-out in two minutes.''

Your blood is icy cold as you hear footsteps flooding into the hall, and you pocket the drive as you pray they'll pass in time.

"Sir, I'm on the third floor, I have the objective but I won't have the time-"

"We roll-out in two. Minutes. If you're there or not."

A hard shudder passes through your spine as you fight for a breath, to rebut this, to tell him that you just need time, you'll get back out. Simon does it for you.

"Thir'y more seconds won't bugger anythin', sir." Simon says that word like it's an insult.

You can hear their voices arguing through your headset as you bolt through the brutalist hallways, narrowly dodging and ducking but not covering enough distance.

An alarm starts to sound, a self-destruction and a warning to get into designated safety bunkers.

But you can't move, not fast enough, you're darting through the halls and you're not going anywhere, you must be going insane.

When you see the doorway out, you wonder if you're in heaven. The chorus of angels is welcoming you, telling you that you're going to make it.

You will.

The door is locked, and it wastes thirty precious seconds to open, slamming the butt of your gun against it as you fight the steel for your life.

When it opens, you can see the helicopter, you can see Nikolai behind the control panel, you can see Price and Simon and you see your lieutenant look at you.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it's all wrong.

Your ears are ringing, and you're on the floor, surrounded by fire and you only know that because you can smell the telltale odor of burning flesh and fabric.

A voice calls to you, but two sets of feet are in front of you, imposing and dark, thick-booted.

"Easy, Firecracker, we're going to get you out."

You can't look up, but when he tries to lift you, your leg feels like it's being pulled right off, like gnarly, twisted claws are digging between muscle and peeling them away from each other, burning and too much. The hot shiver of agony is making your entire calf throb, and you could swear the noise that comes out of you isn't real.

Tears, hot fat and heavy, are rolling down your cheeks like watery marbles, and your vision starts to blacken as a sick gush of blood leaves your damaged limb, making you feel like you might be dying.

You hear a few words exchanged, and there are no hands on your shoulders anymore.

The fall is short. You're out before you hit the ground.

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(Post-fic note:) Yippee! This chapter was unexpectedly hard to write, but I'm glad it's out. As always, enjoy sillies! New chapter might also take a while because of research, I wanna make it as good as possible :D (just found out I could copy-paste tags, holy shit that's crazy)

[r3linx]

⌜char.⌟ choi jiung ⌜synhopsis⌟ you were getting ready to your fancy restaurant date nightwith jiung which you waited so much already, just like in every month. except you take awfully long to get ready which has him bored after a few minutes. asking you to help him occupy himself, ends up in him just ruining what you worked on. ⌜word count⌟ 3.1k ⌜warnings⌟ 18+ / nsfw, clit play, fem! reader, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, praising, pet names, degrading, hair pulling, messy writing (i guess), jiung is a little meanie if you squint really hard!!, reader is implied to have wavy/curly hair, sorry for repetitive writing and mistakes!

⌜a/n⌟ after i finished i wasn't sure if i'd want to post it or not but i decided to do it, i'll try to get more comfortable with writing smut in the future as i do enjoy it but without sharing i don't quite know where i have to improve. likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated, enjoy!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ you were supposed to be on your way like..half an hour ago? 45 minutes.. yeah. yet, you didn’t seem to budge from your place. picking out the fanciest dress for your date already took up most of your time, you wanted to be absolutely ravishing for jiung tonight. it was your monthly ‘fancy-restaurant-date-night’ which you always loved by you. waiting for this with excitement such as nothing in the past few days.

successfully, you managed to choose the right attire. a skimpy, burgundy one still vivid, and the material like silk to the touch. it barely reached to half of your plump thighs, the straps thin on your shoulders, and showing a real clear image of your cleavage. it didn’t leave much to the imagination, really. your usually let down hair now made up in a pretty bun, curly strands slipping out here and there, tickling your neck and soft cheeks. everything was ready, now you sat on the chair barefoot, only pantyhose covering your smooth legs from the floor’s cold touch. the fluffy white carpet in the middle of the bedroom unfortunately didn’t reach there, so you had your feet rubbing against each other to keep themselves warm. you gazed into the mirror, examining your features, already planning your look. you wanted your makeup to be flawless too of course.

so much to the point, poor jiung went unnoticeable sitting on the edge of the bed, all ready and waiting for you to finally go. except he didn’t have any idea at the moment what time will it come and how much you’d sit there.

after being a few minutes late, he patted your bare shoulder carefully, his index finger running over the strap of your dress as he bent over to speak directly into your ear, his words shushed and soft.

“can you like.. speed things up a bit, love? you’re taking quite a long time..” to which you nodded simply, even though you knew he’d have to wait even more, but didn’t want to tell him that yet. with a small sigh escaping past his lips, he straightened back up, throwing his hands into his pocket, and sat down back on the same spot he stood up from minutes ago.

getting impatient, he called out to you again after like 10 more minutes to which you had the same response. he already knew what was going on, and yet again after another few minutes, you were still getting ready.

jiung sauntered over to you once again, placing both of his hands on your shoulder to give them a gentle squeeze, his slim finger brushing over your warm skin, starting to massage your tender muscles languidly.

“i know i know- i’m hurrying..” you murmured, pressing out a long exhale you didn’t know you held, focusing at the eyes shadow palette in your hands, gently shaking down the excess colored powder back onto the tray.

“no need to, pretty. i changed my mind, i want you to look your best. take your time.. i was just getting a bit bored, y’know.. ” he reassured with a smile as he looked at your reflection in the mirror in front of you. after years of dealing with you, he figured it’d be better to not hurry you when it already didn’t matter, so he just used it to his advantage.

he leaned down behind you, his warm breath caressing the side of your face and ear, a small smirk evident in the corner of his mouth. his hands now stopped kneading your shoulders, sliding a bit forward to trace your bare collarbone with his calloused fingers. “i like it when you’re getting all dolled up for me..” his words sent a chill down your spine as they slowly rolled off his tongue, your breath hitching as you now locked eye with him through your mirror. turning your head around you arched one eyebrow at him in confusion which had his smirk widening slightly across his face, his dark eyes having a sinister glint you knew already very well. “makes me wanna.. you know..” he continued as his hand moved down on your body, now sliding it under your arm to reach you better, giving your sides a gentle caress up and down, sneaking in a few playful squeezes at your soft hips before coming to a rest on your chest and cupping your breasts through the thin fabric. he gave the squishy mounds a gentle squeeze, his thumbs writing down circles around the outlines of your nipples poking through.

his sudden action had you in goosebumps all over, making you freeze in your place. turning your head to the side, ready to question his act, one of his hand moves to take a firm hold of your chin, roughly turning it back to look at yourself in the mirror before he pressed a soft peck to your cheek while keeping eye contact.

“you don’t have to do anything, alright? you’re making me wait.. the least you can do is keeping me occupied while i’m waiting..” he was right, you did take a lot of time by now but if he would start to mess around with you while you still do your makeup, he might ruin it, not to talk about the fact that it would take even longer for you to be done.

“but if you’ll ruin it-”

“i would never, you know that..” he cooed into your ear, giving your lobe a playful nip with his teeth. now trailing warm wet pecks along your neck, arriving at the nape and simply just sinking his teeth into your glowing, smooth skin. it was sudden act, making you flinch, gripping the brush for a second between your fingers then relaxing your hold again. his nose pressed against your skin, sharply inhaling your scent as his tongue darted out with a wet, soothing lick across the red biting mark he formed just now.

not holding himself back at this point, his hands slid further down on your body, coming to a stop at the hem of your dress, he moved it up just a couple inches and he could already reach well between your legs, he was very grateful for your choice of clothes at the moment and giving him easy access.

your breathing labored, his palms glided along the inside of your thighs, his left hand pressing flat against your flesh, guiding them apart while his other hand snaked further up, till he reached your pantied center. he felt the warmth already radiating off you, catching you occasionally taking quick glimpses downwards, as if he’d stop if you’d call out for him.

the pads of his thumbs traced lazy circles over your clit, not pressing down directly on your sensitive nub yet. thanks to the textile, which was already covered in your essence, sticking to you, it gave him a clear outline of your folds. his middle finger slipped under the band or your panties pulling away and letting it snap back against your skin in place, eliciting a hiss from your lips as he drank up all your cute expressions.

suddenly his hands grabbed into your pantyhose, ripping it simply apart, his nails digging into the material. your lips parted in a gasp suddenly as you eyed the now useless piece of clothing and the hole he created.

“raise your hips a bit..” he commanded while giving the top of your thighs an encouraging pat, but still with a gentle undertone in his voice comparing to his earlier act.

“are you trying to-”

“i said lift your hips, nothing much, should be easy to follow.” cutting into your sentence he bit back. and so you did, he hooked his fingers into the fabric, sliding it down your legs till it hit the floor with a soft thump around your ankles. you felt the hot feeling pool in your lower stomach as you realized you’re not meant to go out to a dinner anymore but he didn’t mutter a word. he saw the realization dawn in your eyes but choose to remain silent, instead he gave a soft chuckle as his hands went back to usher your legs apart while you sat on the chair.

“since you worked so hard, finish your makeup.. wouldn’t want to have you work so hard for nothing..” he nodded towards your stuff scattered across the smooth wooden table where your were reaching to pack away neatly. sliding two of his fingers to part your plump lower lips with one of his hand while his other toyed with your clit. the pad of his index and middle finger just merely ghosting over your already swollen folds. his head on your shoulder turned to scatter small bites and nips across your skin, his gaze turned down between your legs, watching intently as his hands teased you.

your muscles tensed when you felt him delve in with a harsh press of his fingers, instinctively trying to close down your legs around his hand, but to no success. "relax.. relax.." he hushed quietly

“even if we missed the dinner part.. can’t have my slutty girl hanging, hm?” he asked with a grin on his face, nudging his nose against your temple and placing a soft wet kiss on the spot. his words were honeyed and his pecks are gentle compared to his hands working on you. he pinched your little nub between his fingers while giving it a small tug, twisting it gently when a small mewl escaped your lips.

“in- push in-”

“you want my fingers inside your tight, needy cunt, baby? let me hear the magic word then..” he played with you more even if he knew you’d clearly give in, being already on the verge of going crazy. after all this time he knew everything about you, what made you flinch when touched in the right place, how a gentle encouraging with his words was already enough to have you putty in his hands and do as he says.

“please..”

“that’s right, so you want them in, hm?..” jiung nodded against your shoulder with a soft hum, trailing his fingers down to circle your entrance, giving it a little pressure by pressing down, coaxing more of your fluids out onto his hand. he smeared it across your puffy clit and the juncture of your thighs, his thumb dipping in your cunt for a brief moment, then quickly slipping free from it with a soft pop.

you were ready to beg further, inhaling but your breath got caught in your throat soon enough when his middle and ring fingers easily slipped inside you from your slickness all the way to his knuckles. it had you clamping down hard around his invading digits, your chest heaving for breath as his hand stilled, eyeing at your reactions with a small smirk on his lips.

“you stopped.” he pointed out. you didn’t understand what he meant until you finally looked up to see the eyeliner in your hands, away from you and just holding it.

“but-”

“if you stop, i do it too. now continue pretty girl, except if you want to stay with my fingers in your cunt all night.” he nudged the side of your head with his, your digits gripping at the pen. to tell the truth, imagining his words, it wouldn’t have been that bad but still, right now you needed more than just filling you up without any more stimulation.

the eyeliner in your hands were liquid. which meant easy smearing on its own.. but while jiung fingered you? the thought made you smile to yourself, which quickly turned into a surprised gasp as he crooked his fingers inside you out of the blue, fingertips brushing against your walls, grinding it before coming abruptly to a stop again. you turned your gaze towards him, eyebrows knotted together in frustration but you couldn’t help yourself anymore. not when your wetness now trailed along his whole palm and wrists, dripping it down your thighs and onto the chair’s soft material and soaking it.

you brought the pen to your eyes with trembling hands, feeling jiungs sharp look on your every action, when it would touch your eyelids. he pulled his fingers out, only to shove it back in fast, curling them against your sweet spot and pistoning them in and out frantically. his other hand found its way to tangle in your carefully made hair, gripping into your locks to yank your head back harshly now having the strands all messy in his hold. a loud yelp got knocked out of your lungs, resulting in the line being crooked but at this point it didn’t really matter anymore. you arched your back as the warmness started spreading in your core with him continuously hitting the spongy spot inside you, his fingers furiously pumping, leaving you trembling and quickly approaching your climax.

when you were about to tumble over the edge he stopped, leaving you a panting mess. grabbing onto your jaw and turning towards him, taking in the beautifully curved line in the corner of your eyes, he sudden crushed his lips against yours fiercely, teeth clattering against each other. not having the chance to recover, his finger lazily moved inside you while he attacked your mouth and his tongue darting out to tangle with yours, by now it felt like your whole body was on fire, sweat dampened your skin and forehead, your body trembling with no stop. leaning back with a string of thin saliva connecting your swollen pink lips to his before it snapped, he watched your eyes glistening with tears from the intense pleasure, threatening to spill, spit tracking down your chin and cheeks flushed. after being late from the restaurant, seeing your makeup ruined by him and you do nothing against it was the greatest apology.

and this is all it took to send a jolt across his body, straight to his crotch, making his pants tighten further. his fingers left your warm, slick pussy, reaching over to brush your stuff aside on the table, cosmetics landing on the ground with a clink. jiung’s hands found their way under your thighs, hoisting you up from the chair over to the table making you squeal in the sudden move, he eased himself between your legs, pulling you to sit on the edge, closer to him.

“you look fucking pathetic, baby.” he let out a mocking chuckle with urgency in his words, now fidgeting with the zipper of his slacks, pushing down the clothing around his ankles. “pathetic but so fucking sexy.. mascara running down your face and your hair all messy.. i know you just love getting fucked silly, hm?” he pointed out your current appearance and god it made you feel even hotter in the pit of your stomach. your cheeks tainted with a deep shade of pink, your eyes trailing down his body and catching a glimpse of the wet patch already formed in front of his boxers before he quickly got rid of them too.

the black-inked butterfly tattoo adorning his lower stomach and abs, peeked under the hem of his plain white shirt which ended just above his waist. he hiked your already short dress even higher on you, then with a firm grip on his shaft, he guided himself close to your sopping hole, pearly white droplets of his precum mixing with your wetness as he dragged himself along your slit, watching in awe. he pushed in his red and throbbing tip, letting out a quiet groan as you stretched around him, taking in his shape. you shuddered at the feeling with a soft whine escaping your chest, you wrapped your legs around his waist, silently encouraging him to push in further.

“so impatient now, you decided to make me wait.. so why should i give you what you want this easily?” he bit back a laugh at your disheveled, pitiful look before bottoming out in you eventually, his hand flying to grip the sides of your legs, pushing them further apart for leverage and space.

“fuck you’re squeezing me too tight.” he growled through gritted teeth, his eyes fluttering close only for a few seconds, his nails digging into your plush skin as he started to hammer into you, your slick making it easier for him to move.

your eyes burned as the soft tears mixed with the ink from your eyelids, coloring them black as they rolled down your cheeks. the table shaking from the force he rutted into you, his pace never faltering and steady. “you.. you really look like a slut.” he snarled, gripping your chin between his fingers as he forced your eyes to lock with his. "getting fucked-.. with your clothes still on, like a cheap whore.." he taunted further, his free hand moved to frantically rub on your clit, the room echoing from your heavy moans, his low grunts and wet skin slapping on skin, reassuring him further, as he was plowing into you, your hands took a hold of his wrist but unfortunately nothing but incoherent blubbering could be heard. not having the chance to even warn him before your orgasm washed over you and having your body trembling. “look at you, so beautifully fucked out..” he muttered as he guided you through your high.

without a word he pulled free from the grip of your tight walls, your hips bucking towards him, aching about the loss of contact as he left you empty and desperate for having him back. he gave his cock a few hurried pumps with his hand, his seed finally spilled onto your already crumpled up dress in thick, white spurts as he came with a loud groan, his eyes squeezing shut. a few moments later after pulling himself together with much less success, a small grin made it’s way to his face as he admired his handiwork.

to be honest when he saw just how much time you wasted on preparing yourself, he made it to his own little mission to fuck you up. loving the fact that you let him, even begged him for it, making his work so much easier. now looking at your once pretty bun, now messed up strands sticking everywhere, fancy dress now rumpled and drenched in his white sticky seed, your makeup all smudged, he was honestly proud of himself for turning you into this such a pretty sight.

“let this serve you as a lesson, baby..” kissing you gently on your cheeks, his usual tenderness creeping back while caressing you all over soothingly.

@r3linx II do not steal, modify or translate or repost any of my works. likes and reblogs are appreciated﹗﹗

[reddevilmcnt]

Since they've met. God, Reggie's been hiding his desires all this time? And Dmitri, fuck, he's been just as guilty, drowning in his own need, denying it, but never fully letting it go. He doesn't regret putting friendship first, not really... but he knows, deep down, that he'll regret this. He'll regret giving in. Regret the way he's about to break beneath the crushing pressure of everything he's been holding back. But it doesn't matter anymore. The dam's broken. He's past the point of reason. He needs Reggie----- like oxygen, like his next heartbeat, as if being inside him tonight is the only thing capable of keeping him from snapping completely. Nevertheless, Dmitri doesn't call him out, doesn't demand words or confessions, even when a part of him aches to. They're both caught in this unspoken agreement, shackled by the same fire. All secrets laid bare. No masks. No hiding. Just unfiltered, desperate need, and the silent promise that, for tonight, neither of them will judge the other for finally breaking.

In moments like this, Dmitri realizes this is all he’s ever wanted: Reggie near enough to steal his breath, that beautiful face tinged with a shy blush, their noses brushing in a tormenting almost-kiss... and Reggie's hand on his cock, stroking him through the fabric of his boxers. It’s a fantasy made flesh, so consuming it leaves Dmitri’s brown eyes blazing with lust and awe, pleasure spreading with thickly molten heat in his groin, pooling through his tense, muscular thighs in relentless, intoxicating pulses. But that's---- fuck, that's not what nearly undoes him. Physical touch is captivating, yes, but when Reggie's voice drops, needy and pleading? Saying Dmitri was unprepared would be a laughable understatement.

This time, Dmitri leans forward, his breath catching as he presses his lips to Reggie's in a slow, burning kiss, gentle and full of aching tenderness. Showing how grateful he is for Reggie's vulnerable pleas that shoot straight down to his cock, the impressive girth feeling all heavy against Dmitri's thigh, and twitching needily under the palm doing all the cupping and stroking. (A life like this, where kisses are soft, loving, and hands roam with intention, discovering and teasing each other's sweetest spots, would be incredible to come home to, time and again. Dmitri knows it can’t happen, that it's impossible, but for now, he feels as if he's stepped into the most euphoric, otherworldly dream.)

Let me show you how well I can take it. That, plays on his mind again and again. Makes his cock so unfairly heavy and hard and----- he'd always suspected, quietly, but he'd never known his friend could be so mesmerizing, like a force of nature, too powerful to resist.

"Mm," a low rumble vibrates from Dmitri’s solid chest, his muscles shifting with the subtle movement as his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, savoring the heady pleasure of having Reggie this close, so vulnerable, so eager. ...But Dmitri wouldn’t be Dmitri if he didn’t bully him, at least a little. Not like he would with a faceless stranger who existed only to satisfy a physical need. No, Reggie deserves as much as he can bear, but Dmitri would never unleash his full force on him. The weight of their friendship holds him back, keeps him from giving in entirely to the darker urges that stir beneath the surface, the ones that could overwhelm them both. Despite everything, though, he can still indulge in a fleeting bite of his dominance, and watch Reggie respond to the subtle force of it. "I dunno, princess..." His voice emerges as a gruff growl rather than a whisper, cutting through the crackling fire before pausing as Dmitri presses another soft kiss to Reggie’s silky-smooth lips. His best friend's lips were definitely fucking addictive, and they probably shouldn't get used to kissing like this... but oh well. "I think you can beg better than that."

That devilishly handsome mouth curves into a satisfied smirk, enjoying every second of this, and then----- Dmitri's scooping those big hands beneath Reggie’s bottom, pulling him up with a strength that leaves no room for escape, urging him to hold on as Dmitri swings his legs over the edge of the couch and rises to his feet. As he stands, he cradles Reggie's clinging form effortlessly, his body a perfect blend of power and grace, the years of hard training not only shaping his physique but fortifying it with a strength that makes carrying Reggie feel like the simplest thing in the world. Every bit of that conditioning, every moment spent building his body, has thankfully led him to this, where handling Reggie is second nature. With that smirk still playing on his lips, and a warm, fond gleam in his eyes, Dmitri walks toward the stairs, feeling the pulse of Reggie’s arousal pressed against him, the heat of it burning against his torso as he carries him upward.

When they reach the bedroom, Dmitri kicks the door open with a force that sends a thrill through the air. He strides to the foot of the large bed and falls onto it with raw urgency; it's a masterpiece of opulence and power, black silk sheets stretched over the mattress like a dark embrace, their smooth surface inviting yet commanding. The furs on top are deep and rich, silvery greys and dusky browns, with matching silk pillows scattered across like darkened clouds. It's certainly a room suffused with a masculine elegance, the polished dark wood of the walls and floors gleaming with a subdued, sensual glow. On the walls, grand, framed portraits of legendary fighters and boxers stare down, and the air remains thick with the scent of wood and leather furniture. Dmitri pulls Reggie, possessive hands sinking into Reggie's supple hips, his touch hungry and firm as he keeps him seated on his lap. Strong digits stroke over the warm, smooth flesh of those hips, a heated sound of satisfaction rolling in his chest.

Their mouths meet in another frantic crash, desperate, starving----- tongues flickering and exploring again. The soft flesh of their lips have even started throbbing from the intense pressure, molding against each other in a fevered dance, pushing, pulling, and yielding, but it's just so fucking good that obviously they don't know when to stop, and it's hardly worth even trying to catch a breath. And, of course, Dmitri makes Reggie roll those fine hips, forcing him to hump down into his lap and provide his cock with that sweet friction that's only teasingly enough. After a while, Dmitri can't take it anymore, pulling away from the kiss with a sharp breath, his intense brown eyes locking onto Reggie, cutting through him with pure intimidation. Well, what would've made anyone else start to cower a bit, but probably not his best friend. "Let's get you undressed," he harshly rasps, and---- yeah, they're doing this. It's happening. And he keeps his gaze fixed on Reggie, searching for any hint of hesitation or fear, any sign that this isn’t what he wants. "Undressed... and on the bed. You got that?" His voice, low and strained, begins to take on some semblance of order as he lets Reggie slip off his lap. Then, Dmitri stands with a powerful fluidity, his form a looming presence in the dark as he prowls, lifting an expectant brow at Reggie. The silence stretches between them before he moves to light the vanilla candles on the wooden tables, the flickering flames casting shadows that seem to pulse with the mounting intensity.

reggie's so hard in his sweatpants that he's pretty sure he could shatter glass with his cock. it's instinct, the way his body rolls against dmitri's lap, seeking friction and moaning like a whore into his best friend's mouth as snatches of relief from that pressure shoot stars behind his eyelids, over and over like a meteor shower dancing in his head. he's pretty sure, if he were one to make idle guesses, that he could come basically untouched in these sweats if he keeps this up. if dmitri keeps this up.

the kiss is incredible. it's hungry and primal. the romantic in reggie is all but silenced as some kind of animal takes over in his mind, teeth and tongue and lips working together and against one another all at the same time. he isn't afraid to fight for dominance with the other man, not in this kiss, simply because he knows, somewhere deep down, that he'll relent control eventually and give himself over to dmitri's wiles and whims. he's never been an exceedingly dominant man in bed. he's fucked and he's been fucked, and he didn't mind either, but some sick primal part of him loves the feeling of being taken over, and he's been friends with the other man long enough to know that he's in for just that if he lets himself submit to it.

there's a soft hiss that slips through his teeth when he feels the sting of the bite the other man delivers, and while he had expected, at least on some level, that he wouldn't be walking away from this unmarked, he hadn't quite expected it, and jerks back from the sensation only for a moment, just in time for dmitri to shudder out an apology that he's already accepted. some part of him has gone completely soft in the center, warm lava pooling in his veins, his chest, his stomach, and leaking from his aching cock, but he's trying to tamper down some of the more powerful feelings that are trying to bubble to the surface.

it isn't the time. it may never be the time. this is a mistake he's letting himself make for one night. giving in to the pleasure that dmitri is promising him so that he can hold the memory forever, even if they never speak of it again.

he's letting himself be heartbroken so that he can have the experience.

warm golden brown eyes take a moment too long to open when the kiss is broken again, and just in time to see long stretches of taut muscle and gleaming skin, and his eyes drink it in with a newfound appreciation. oggling his best friend had never been on the table before, but in the dim glow of firelight, he feels like he has permission to drink in every curve, every muscle, every inch that he can. his mind conjures fantasies of making a trail down that built chest with his tongue, finding every divot and peak, enjoying the salt of sweat as he cleans it off for the other man.

but he doesn't have time to dwell on it as his hand is taken and pressed against that chest, feeling the pounding under his fingers. a pounding that matches time so perfectly with his own heart beating against his ribs. in sync almost perfectly, a hum in an otherwise silent moment, and his eyes close for a moment more to enjoy that syncronicity before dmitri's warm, melting voice is rolling over him and sending a shiver up his spine and another jolt straight down, making his cock twitch against his pants.

his eyes open again when his hand starts moving under the guidance of the other man, and he follows the trail with his eyes for a moment before he's looking up again. "you're the one who pointed out how hot you are earlier. you don't think i've been dreaming about letting you fuck me since we've met?" his voice is breathy, a rasp of need and desire, no longer living in his chest but somewhere in his head. eyelashes flutter like little wings, closing for only a second as his hand hits home and he feels dmitri's desire, for him.

some part of him wants to ask if it's truly for him. if it's because he wants reggie as badly as reggie wants him, but another part, a louder part, is too scared to ask, and instead his teeth close around his lip as he begins to slowly move his hand up the length under those boxers. the words falling from his best friends lips cause him to flush, cheeks pink and warm and he knows that he started this, but he wonders if he can truly finish it without imploding.

leaning forward, he lets his nose brush against dmitri's for a moment, soaking in a moment before blowing out a slow breath, hand still moving gently, teasingly against his length, and steels himself before he speaks again. "please let me have it, dee." his voice is a whisper, husky and dripping with desire, pleading at the edges. "let me choke on it, let me show you how well i can take it, let me make you feel good."

[geneviveleocardius]

i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

[iron-rose-art]

soft monty cuddles save me

save me soft monty cuddles

[sensitivegoblin]

I'd do anything to have a teasing voice in my ear

[solxamber]

Holding Them and Not Letting Go with: Housewardens + Jamil

a little something before i go all in for the milestone events <3

Other parts: Vice Housewardens + Rollo, Neige ; First Years

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle goes bright red the second you wrap your arms around him, stiffening in your hold like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He tries to splutter something coherent—maybe a reminder about PDA rules, maybe a request to know what’s going on—but his voice gets tangled up, and all that comes out is a confused murmur.

You don’t let go, though. Instead, you squeeze him a little tighter, prompting him to look down at you, his eyes widening with soft confusion. “Is… Is something wrong?” he stammers, gently pressing his hand to your shoulder, trying to read your face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer with a warm smile. “I just love you, Riddle. That’s all.”

For a moment, he’s frozen. Just love him? He feels his heart stumble, so unfamiliar with this kind of simple, generous affection. In his childhood, hugs were formal gestures, love was measured and conditional—a reward to be earned, rarely felt freely. But here, with you… you’re holding him because you want to, with nothing expected in return.

Slowly, Riddle’s hands find their way to your back, and he pulls you close with a tenderness that surprises even him. There’s a quiet ache in his chest, an overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief, like he’s filling up with something he never knew he was missing. He clings to you, unable to speak, as though afraid that words might shatter the beautiful warmth settling between you.

You both stay like this, tangled together in silence. In this simple embrace, Riddle feels more seen, more loved, than he ever has before. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever—a happiness he never thought he’d be allowed to have. For the first time, he feels completely at peace.

Leona Kingscholar

You wrap your arms around Leona, your grip firm as if you’ve decided you’re never letting go. At first, he’s as stoic as ever, arching an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Oi, herbivore…what’s this all about?” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But when you stay silent, he lets out a chuckle, amused by your stubborn clinginess. “If you’re hoping to trap me, you might wanna try harder than that.”

After a few more moments, his teasing fades. You’re still holding him, your head resting against his chest, heartbeat steady against his. He tries to check if youre upset and realizes then that you’re not sad, nor do you seem upset; you’re simply content. When he starts to pull back to look at you, you give him a warm smile and quietly say, “I just…love you.”

The words wash over him, soft and simple yet deeply affecting. His expression shifts, from nonchalance to something much more vulnerable. To Leona, who’s spent much of his life overshadowed, unwanted, and fighting for recognition, the idea of being someone’s first choice feels like an impossibility.

And yet, here you are, holding onto him like he’s the only thing that matters. He swallows hard, not saying anything, but the look in his eyes says it all.

He finally allows his arms to come around you, drawing you in with more intensity than he’d probably ever admit aloud. His tail snakes around your waist in a protective loop, pulling you even closer, as if anchoring himself to you. “Don’t go getting mushy on me,” he mutters, trying to sound unaffected, but his grip tightens just a bit more.

But despite his usual attitude, he’s never felt this…full. Full of pride, full of warmth, full of something he’s struggled to admit he even wanted. And it’s all because of you, the one person who looked past his rough edges and stubborn exterior.

He chuckles softly, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering, “Guess you got yourself a lion for life, herbivore.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is hunched over his desk, papers and ledgers strewn around him, eyebrows furrowed as he works late into the night. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you gently climb onto his lap, resting yourself against him without a word. His body goes rigid in surprise, the usual control he wields over his composure completely shattered.

“Are you... feeling alright?” he asks, voice a little breathless, struggling to keep himself calm as you press your face into the crook of his neck. “Are you sick? Is there something wrong?”

You just shake your head, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I just love you, Azul,” you whisper softly, a warmth in your gaze that sends his heart into overdrive. “And I’m so proud of you.”

With that, you wrap your arms around him again, holding him close, and suddenly, all the strength in him unravels. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this—how much he craved reassurance, wanted to know he was worth it.

All his insecurities, fears, and memories of feeling out of place resurface, but they’re softened by your presence, and with just one hug, you’re able to ease away all that self-doubt he keeps buried.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around you, his grip firm and filled with an unspoken desperation. He clings to you as though you’re his lifeline, as though you’re the single steady point in his otherwise frantic world, and for a few moments, he allows himself to just feel—to let go of the worries, to set aside the constant weight of expectations.

The mountain of paperwork on his desk feels meaningless compared to the comfort you bring, and all he wants is to stay like this, holding you as closely as he can, reveling in the feeling of being loved for who he is.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is in his element, animatedly discussing ideas for his next big celebration. His hands gesture widely, his voice bright, detailing elaborate plans for decorations, food, entertainment—he's clearly in his happy place, and you can’t help but feel utterly captivated by his joy.

Without even thinking, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly mid-sentence. Kalim laughs, hugging you back with his usual enthusiasm, though a bit of surprise colors his expression when you show no signs of letting go. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

You lean back just enough to grin up at him, eyes shining. “I’m perfectly okay. You just looked so radiant talking about the party—and I love you.”

He stares at you for a beat, completely dazzled, and then his face breaks into the brightest smile as he spins you around, laughter bubbling from both of you. When he finally sets you down, he pulls you close, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m so glad you chose me,” he murmurs softly, his forehead pressing against yours. The simple joy radiates from him, a warmth and gentleness that wraps around you both. It’s a pure, unfiltered happiness that you feel too, knowing that you chose him, and he chose you.

You stay wrapped up in each other, reveling in that perfect moment, glowing with the warmth of shared love. For now, with his laughter filling the room and his arms securely around you, nothing else matters.

Jamil Viper

Jamil walks into his room, the exhaustion from managing Scarabia weighing heavily on his shoulders. But before he can even remove his shoes, you’re already there, waiting for him. Without a word, you step into his space, your arms winding around him in a gentle but firm embrace.

His body relaxes instantly, the stress of the day melting away as you run a soothing hand down his back. The warmth of your touch settles over him like a blanket, but after a few moments, he notices you haven’t let go. The silence stretches, and his concern grows.

He pulls back just slightly, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft, careful, as though bracing for something serious.

You meet his eyes with a smile, your voice tender but full of affection. “I’m fine. I just… I love you. I’m proud of everything you do. You work so hard, and I see all of it. I just wanted to be here, with you.”

A deep warmth spreads through Jamil at your words, the weight of the day almost forgotten as he pulls you back into him. This time, his hold is even tighter, more possessive, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, this moment will vanish. His face buries itself into your neck, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of you—your presence, your comfort.

For once, he allows himself to fully sink into the embrace, no longer needing to wear his usual mask.

With you, he doesn’t have to hold back his feelings. For the first time in what feels like forever, he lets his guard drop, the emotional wall he’s spent building his whole life crumbling in the warmth of your arms.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers, the words barely audible as he holds you close. His voice is thick with emotion, a mixture of tenderness and longing. “I never want to leave your side.”

In the comfort of your touch, Jamil realizes something. He’s never felt more at peace, more cared for, than he does in this moment. He holds you tighter, savoring the feeling of being loved so deeply, so completely. No matter what happens, he knows this is where he belongs—in your arms, and with your heart.

Vil Schoenheit

It’s been a long day, and by the time you reach Vil, all you want is to collapse into his arms. But before you can even speak, he’s already analyzing you, frowning at your slumped posture, the bags under your eyes, and the way you haven’t had time to take care of yourself. "Did you eat today? Are you even sleeping? Honestly, I can't—"

And before he can finish his lecture, you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

He catches you with his usual elegance, barely flinching. His lips curl in that slight, amused way, but the concern in his eyes softens as you cling to him, not letting go.

"Darling, What's wrong?" he asks, his voice taking on a gentler tone as he instinctively pulls you closer. You can feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingers as you bury your face in his chest.

"I missed you," you murmur. "I'm just happy to see you. I love you. And I love that you worry about me."

Vil’s chest tightens at your words, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. He gently strokes your back, the movement slow, deliberate. “You’re something else,” he teases, his lips twitching, but there’s warmth in his voice. “You know you should’ve eaten something, and yet here you are, throwing yourself at me.”

His hands remain on you, though, pulling you closer, stroking your back with a tenderness he rarely shows in public. He may pretend to be exasperated, but the way his fingers gently brush the length of your spine betrays his true feelings. Deep down, he’s touched by how much you put up with him.

"You should be scolded for your own good," he starts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. There’s no real bite to his words this time. Instead, he just holds you tighter, deciding that, just for tonight, you don’t need any more lectures.

“You’ll never be rid of me now,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re welcome to lean on me, always.”

In the comfort of his embrace, you let go of the day’s stress, finding peace in the warmth of his arms. There’s no need for anything else, just this moment, just him.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s explaining the intricate details of a new strategy, his eyes wide with excitement. But then, suddenly, you set your controller down and throw yourself at him in an unexpected hug, effectively cutting off his speech. His hair flares a brilliant shade of pink as his brain momentarily glitches, clearly unsure of how to process what's happening.

And he is in full panic mode. His mind, always working a mile a minute, goes into overdrive trying to figure out what he did wrong, or if he's somehow messed things up.

“Uh—are you okay?” he stammers, voice filled with concern but entirely thrown off by the situation. You don’t answer with words, just a soft smile as you bury your face in his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, “and you’re adorable.”

He’s used to being alone, to being misunderstood, to retreating into his games and hiding from the world. But here you are, in his arms, embracing him for no reason other than that you love him.

Despite his anxious thoughts swirling, he awkwardly places his arms around you, his body stiff at first, unsure of what to do. It takes him a moment before he relaxes, and as he holds you, his mind starts to clear. All those fears—of not being enough, or of being too much—slowly fade away, replaced by something that feels warm and real.

You, who listen to him ramble about things no one else would care about. You, who understand when he’s not up for going out, who accept him as he is. He feels so undeserving of someone so kind, but at the same time, something deep inside him stirs. It’s happiness. It’s love.

His arms tighten around you as he buries his face into your hair, his heart racing with a mixture of overwhelming joy and disbelief. He’ll never understand why someone like you would choose him, but as long as you’re here, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus stands before you, holding the gargoyle he crafted with such care, the stone masterpiece shimmering in the soft light. "This is for you," he says softly, his voice full of pride. His eyes shine with the unspoken hope that you’ll appreciate the effort.

Before he can say anything else, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He freezes for a moment, unsure, before his own arms encircle you with surprising gentleness. He’s always craved touch, but the depth of affection you offer fills him with awe.

The two of you stand there, the moment stretching on in comfortable silence, until Malleus pulls back slightly, his eyes searching your face. "Are you alright?" His voice holds a hint of concern.

You smile at him softly, your words simple but filled with a warmth he rarely hears: "You mean the world to me. I love you."

Malleus's breath catches in his throat, and before he can think, his arms tighten around you. He pulls you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away. His heart races as he feels the weight of your love, the pure acceptance and tenderness you give him. The loneliness he’s lived with for so long, the misunderstandings, the isolation—none of it matters now.

He’s here with you. You see him, not as a prince or a fae of great power, but simply as Malleus. And that, more than anything, fills him with a kind of peace he’s never known.

Malleus buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tightly as if to make sure this moment doesn’t slip away. "I will never forget this," he murmurs softly. "I will cherish you... forever."

In your embrace, he finds something he thought was impossible—a sense of belonging. He smiles, feeling the warmth of your love seep into him, and he knows he is truly loved.

Masterlist

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.��

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”