#i was v short on time due to..

[cherpupz]

💐 happy valentines day ~💕

[randomfoggytiger]

What a difference in the two interviews - Duchovny's in 1997 and Anderson's in 1998.

Duchovny was super arrogant and pretentious, thinking he was the King of Cocada Preta, trying to pass himself off as an intellectual, bored with fame. Winona Ryder never came out to David because she was much more famous at the time.. Thankfully, in the years that followed, he had to tone it down. Less Duchovny, much less…

Anderson, on the other hand, looked like a working mother, working non-stop to support her daughter, zero glamor, a bit depressed, like a middle-aged woman broken by life.

And in none of the interviews did the geniuses who interviewed them talk about Mulder and Scully, who were the soul of the show.

I'm slowly working on a progress-through-Season-8-based-on-the-burnt-out-interviews post, so this was timely. :DD

To be fair, David was suffering. Both of them were. The X-Files was simply a job to DD and GA; and they coped with its insane hours and insane stresses differently. For Gillian, she internally imploded: eating disorders, panic attacks, anxiety so bad she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy. She was afraid to put a foot wrong because she'd gotten pregnant so early on and could have threatened the longevity of the show; but she kept putting a foot wrong due to a shoot-from-the-hip personality. Then she was a divorced co-parent trying to do everything herself. David, meanwhile, didn't have that stress; but instead of marrying quick to escape the unbearable loneliness (like Gillian did), he tried to escape by getting outward attention... or through porn, joking in Playboy that his favorite pornstar had gotten him through some very, very lonely days. He also outsourced constantly, making connections with other entertainers and etc. to try to establish himself in Hollywood away from the show. Part of that persona-- that he had everything together and was living the dream-- was part and parcel of selling himself to the business for, in turn, more work.

Secondly, DD WAS arrogant. It wasn't until AA that he learned gratitude, per his own words. Until that time, he'd overachieved into such heights of success that he, naturally, developed an ego. But that wasn't enough-- it never is-- and he kept devising other ways to get attention. Per his old interviews, he described being 'shocking' or 'funny' or etc. as a way to keep others' eyes (and attention) on himself. He always feared they'd lose interest in him and walk away, otherwise (still does.)

That mindset, he's stated here and there, was a result of habits he'd formed in his childhood-- the middle child caught in a turbulent divorce: father suddenly gone, mother heartbroken, and older brother and younger sister taking sides. He had to become intermediary for his siblings and shoulder-to-lean-on for his mother. He became his mother's pride and joy: a shy kid who thought he wasn't a looker when he was younger, who transferred to a better school on a scholarship, who was "captain of the basketball team and the baseball team and a straight-A student, and I was in my last year of high school, and I'd applied to four schools–Harvard, Yale, Princeton and Brown–and I got into all of them." Who was, in short, an over-achiever; and became arrogant because he achieved everything through his own efforts. But he was also a kid who fainted in senior year, breaking his front teeth, because the stress was too much.

And he was also a man who spent long hours overworked on a show he wasn't particularly passionate about. One who spent long, isolated hours alone (in the bathtub) in Vancouver when not working. And one who always had to be "on" when he was out with his friends or spotted by people on the street. Further, no one wanted (wants) to hear the rich and successful complain about the hardships of their success. So, he turned on the charm for attention, instead; and resented having to "sell himself" for people to care about his work. And his performance, on and off screen, earned him fifteen years of public backpatting and"Fox Mulder"ing everywhere he went.

He didn't deal with the stress perfectly, and created his own problems that had to be worked through later on. But Gillian did, as well (per her own words); and they've both owned up to their mistakes and have, seemingly, moved on from the past.

Lastly, there are other interviews where his truer self comes through: those are sadder, pre-marriage; or more stable and happy, post-marriage. Gillian had happy interviews, too; but her life was much more accelerated than his (marriage, pregnancy, divorce on close heels), and thus sounded more burnt out than he was.

I don't like to pit or compare faults because I'm sure they both handled global fame and nonstop work better than a lot of people would have (David was rock-bottom depressed and Gillian was afraid she'd quite literally go insane; but they made it.) And there are always interviews where he looks like a cherub and she a hag, or he an arrogant scumbag and she a hard-done-by saint. Neither were either.

About the Winona Ryder speculation:

Even in interviews from the early days, DD kept personal details close to the chest, not referring to romantic partners as "my girlfriend" unless his significant other had an established public persona (or an upcoming project.) The person he spoke the most about was Tea-- and that was after their marriage, and only during interviews to promote their next tv series or movie. Tea was a talker, and she didn't mind when he talked about her; so, she rubbed off on David for a good chunk of their relationship-- even after the rehab stint-- until their divorce. (Now, she's taken a vow of silence and enforces it strictly with Tim Daly, as stated by both.)

I'm not up-to-date on Winona, but I'm sure the relationship wasn't serious enough for either to really acknowledge it. She looked happy in their picture together; and I don't think she's the type to deny a relationship because it might not be advantageous to her "brand." But what do I know? XDD

Those are my thoughts, anyway~ :DDD

[megpricephotography]

Heading home through the woods on a sunny January afternoon. It’s so lovely that the days are slowly, slowly getting longer again - sunset is now at 4.30pm & what a difference it makes! 

[kiiozawa]

Hiiii if ur not taking any questions that’s completely okk I just wanted to ask if we can get any deets on the upcoming fics ab sukuna x server!y/n like what it’s ab maybe?? Lovinggg the Drabbles btw have a nice day/evening or night!!!

Much love ❤️

-Anon🥢

Hi!!

Yes I've been meaning to keep writing for sukuna x server! reader, but unfortunately life got me. :') I was in the middle of writing two fics when life decided to repeatedly punch me in the face haha

^literally me trying to rise back up

[mistergoddess]

SENSEIS LOVE HIM local white boy has an inexplicable charm over every martial arts instructor he's ever had

[chronicillnesscaneffoffplease]

It’s just me and my heat pack against the world

[misserabella]

sick love

spencer reid x fem! reader

pt2!!

synopsis;;

you catch your best friend spencer touching himself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns him on even more. if only you knew he had been dreaming about this moment for his entire fucking life and that he has even planned for it to happen…

cw;; (let’s act as if spencer and reader are the same age (consensual 18) in high school

really perv!spencer, dark themes, spencer uses readers body without implicit consent (i don’t know if it counts as cnc since later we find out she doesn’t mind), somnophilia (if you squint), INDECENT use of cum, stalker behavior, use of masculine sex toys, breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom spencer, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, cream pie, masturbation (m), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

@cafekitsune ‘s separators

Spencer was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really perverted way. His sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and him, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were no where to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you invited Spencer for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in D.C in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. He found himself stating for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been shared, his eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? He didn’t even remember how his dick had gotten that hard nor how it had ended on one of his hands, palm slick in precum as he thrusted in it, bottom lip in between his teeth and soft moans and groans scaping his lips. But he didn’t care. He came so hard that night that he swore he saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, he of course felt awkward and embarrassed of himself around you. Masturbating to his sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when he found himself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

He relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against his neck, your tits fully pressed to his chest and whimpers making his cock push against his jeans, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for him to stop as he beat the shit out of them.

He liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of him, he wouldn’t have it. He sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up,— and also, who would believe them if they said that the slender nerd of their class was the one that beat them up— so he always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to himself. Like it had to be. You were his, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” him shrugging even when he knew that he was, in fact, the thug. Then, he’d go back to his house and open the last drawer of his desk — which he had under key— and take the same chapstick out of his pocket to push it inside along with the other things he had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

He loved them. He almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… He loved the ones that he stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch he could push against his nose and lick as he fucked his fist. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove him crazy.

Another thing Spencer loved to do was take photos of you. He had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. He loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But he also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for him. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. He even had one of you resting asleep on his lap, lips parted and against his hard cock. He saved some of them on his wallet in case he ever had to take care of a boner when he hung out with you.

He was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to his porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to his cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of his infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case he ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if he ever felt lonely in his empty house. At first, before his infatuation appeared, he would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for him to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now he snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. He had licked his cum out of your fingers when he had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in his moans and whimpers. Other nights, he would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push his head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as his hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish his head.

He loved it when you played with his hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when he’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at him for using your good conditioner after a pool day. He was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, using them as lube to fuck his hand while he showered in your house, using then his cum to fill the tubes, evening out the difference.

He would steal food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in his mouth. You’d always whine about it, but he never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving him full access to it when you were full.

Spencer considered himself to be a man with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. He would love to fuck you to his liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call him daddy. He thought of himself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of his numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked him and fucked him, using him like you’d use a fucking toy. He had woke up with a raging orgasm as from his lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was he a pervert? Absolutely. Would he ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

He’d prefer to die with a boner than ever telling you he loved you. He was just terrified of the thought of you pushing him away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what he thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at him for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that he always bought you, he would come to his house and enter his room with a full tent in between his thighs. He would pull out of the back of his closet his fleshlight and spray one of his pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend his other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for his cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what he’d do, fuck his stupid little toy with his face fully buried on the perfumed one as he imagined you under him, ass up and chest pushed against his bedsheets. His pace was needy, harsh and deep, from his mouth, dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making him fill the toy to the brim when he couldn’t found himself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what he fucked in between whimpers.

He sometimes would leave his house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching him red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there he was, and so were you.

That day he had come with a really painful bonner in between his thighs. You’d been sitting on his lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that he had found himself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your best friends, laughing with them and jumping on his lap when the jokes were too good. Well, he was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found his hair and slowly massaged his scalp, every now and then pulling at his hair when you played with his locks, his hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from his — thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using him. The fact that he felt used by you and only you, was what had him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Spencer was a good boy, so he just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of his mouth. He felt like breathing once again when you got up from his lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when he no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against him.

“Fuck…” he whimpered when he plopped on his bed, his palm pushing hardly against his pulsing and leaking cock, precum staining his jeans and underwear. He had pulled out from his closet his fleshlight, since he felt that his hand would not be enough today. He had to fuck himself. “Please, fuck me, please…” he was a babbling mess when his tip pushed inside the lubed toy. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” he found himself whimpering at his mind scenario, in which you would ride him relentlessly, his dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over his cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” he was a babbling mess, his hips rutting upwards against his hand movements to fuck his cock deeper in his toy.

“Spence!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened his unlocked front door. Spencer always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a book he had been dying to read for months and for which he had cried after finding out that it had been sold out. After seeing just how badly he wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from him. “Spencer?” you called out again, the soft sound of his voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving him a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching his room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was he with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Spencer fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked him for years on end, since the first time that he held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But he never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, at the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that he had to be just what he was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached his slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was he fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out he was not fucking anyone but himself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as his hips fucked upwards, inside his clear flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from his lips new groans and moans fell. Spencer was fucking touching himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

He looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, glasses crooked, eyebrows pushed together as his head fell back against his pillow, hair messy all over it. His hand was slow, pushing the toy down on his cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see his long and thick dick, his thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” his voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Spencer was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because he had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Spencer’s movements stopped, his gaze moving to his opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and book in hand.

He quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under his breath when he sat up, a pillow hiding his hard and leaking cock, which was twitching at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” he didn’t even know what to say. You had caught him, caught him fucking himself with his goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught him moaning your name. He felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught him… Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at him while he pleasured himself. He had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” he cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and cock twitching under the pillow, leaking against his thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making his head snap back to you, a frown on his face, eyes widening when you let the book fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to his bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to his lap when he pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that Spencer, the Genius Spencer Reid, would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as he fucks himself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” he stuttered as he shook his head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping his chin so his eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” he moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and he whimpered, your pussy clenching when he shook his head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against his, teasing him to get out of him what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled his hair when he tried to kiss you, making him groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” he pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on his lap.

“Only good boys get a kiss, Spence.”

“I’m a good boy…” he was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, his tongue dampening his lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered his naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” he shivered when your lips latched to his neck, your tongue pressing against his skin in open mouth kisses that led to his ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” he moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as he pushed the pillow off his lap, dick twitching below a pool of precum that dripped from his tip.

In the state he was… He would do anything for you. He would even fuck himself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

He moaned when you sat down on his desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. His hands were shaking when his fingers gripped around the clear silicone or his toy, whimpering when he noticed your eyes on his twitching dick.

You had seen dicks before, but none of them was as beautiful as Spencer’s. It was big, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew he could give it to you, that he would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on his shaft with your tongue and take him so deep on your throat you’d need to swallow when he came in your mouth. “Aw, poor Spence…” you cooed at his twitching cock, red tip and tight balls. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” he nodded, tears on his eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum on that cup for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Spencer?” he moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to his reaction. He liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing his cum making him go crazy. He whined when his leaking tip brushed against the artificial hole, his lip being tortured by his teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for him to see. “Fuck…” he cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

His dick was twitching like crazy with every new and fast thrust of his hips, pleads falling of his lips. ‘I need you. Need you so bad…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when he nodded, chuckling at his behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” he whimpered when you had made your way back to his side, standing in front of him and making his head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on his hair, making his hips stutter and breathy whines rip his throat. “Hold it. I haven’t even told you where to cum yet.” he cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and he had to squeeze his dick to not come when you pushed your damped panties into his mouth, slicked crotch flat against his tongue. His muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, his eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when he could take a taste on just how sweet you were. He choked on the lace when you startled his legs. His eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for him to see thin strips of slick connect them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of his neck to suck a hard hickey on his flesh.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, his hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when his white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, his mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on his tip. You hummed as you stroked his hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across his chest. He was still fucking hard. “Good boy…” you cooed, loving just how fucked out he seemed, moaning when you sat on his cock, his length in between your wet folds and his tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” he cried out with your panties on his mouth when you rocked your hips against his. That’s all it took for him to cum for a second time, right after his first orgasm.

You moaned, feeling his dick twitch and nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy due to the amount of his cum that coated it. “You came again, baby?” he nodded, his cock quickly getting hard again to your humping. “Fuck, Spencer…” you pulled your panties away from his mouth, wanting to hear his groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.”

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from his lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled his bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when he leaned in, pupils blown and need on his hazel thin irises. He looked high. And he was, high on his favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when he had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, his hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, his hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on his hair as he played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering his lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which he quickly discarded it away on his bedroom floor. He pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on his pillow —the same he had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. He moaned, dick twitching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for him.

He didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which he took his time with, and of course he would, he had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on his hair. “Spencer…” you whined when he bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. He was so drunk on your skin… He could spend his whole life kissing it that he would never get fucking tired of it. But his teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed his mouth on it now. And he seemed to get it when you pushed him further against it, his hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above his shoulders as he sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, him due to just how much he had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which he had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with his mouth in mind. His name falling off your lips on a whimper had his hips rocking against the duvet as he ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when his fingers found their way to your entrance that he started to eat you just like you needed and he always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming his name when his fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as his tongue circled your clit. Spencer knew how to use it, really well. So well that he had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. He was like a starved man, burying his face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in his tongue. “Fuck, Spencer, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on his hair. He knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Spencer crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

He moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when his tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Spencer drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled his bedroom.

You mewled when once you’ve come down from your high, his tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on his wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called from him. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your pussy as you sat up. He looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” he begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on his mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to his twitching and leaking cock, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where he had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took him in your hand, making him gasp.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Spencer.” you said, your other hand coming to his cheek to rub the flush on his skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” his balls tightened to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped his face left him to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for him to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Spence? Where do you want to cum, baby?” he was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling of his lips as he leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” he found himself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering him the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had him reeling.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against his lips, him nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with his own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave him a sweet smile when he moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of his mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Spence.” he was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive him there, hands on his neck when he leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which he didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in his mouth, making him groan. Fuck, he could come just with that. With your tongue on his mouth, your body against him and the thought that you were only letting him fuck you to seek your own release. He moaned on your open mouth when you took his dick to align it with your entrance, which twitched at the feeling of his tip. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Spencer, please, please…” you whimpered, and he didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit. I’m gonna cum.” your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving him full access to your neck, which he kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. He was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. His stretch had you delirious, his tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of his back, making him groan. The two of you were taking your time, him getting used to the feeling of your tight and warm walls trying to milk his twitching dick and you to the feeling of his heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. He groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against him. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good boy for me and let me use your cock, alright?” he whimpered at your words, and in less than one second he had you gripping to his back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Spencer, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

He was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. His hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on his cock, just as desperate as him. He was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” he was a mess. Both of you were. His thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrust, making your nails dig up on his back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on his ear, making him fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” he begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over his dick as he fucked you dumb, his hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was his name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” his thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before his dick twitched inside of you, filling you so full you choked on air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when some of it spilled out. He was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting your insides in the purest white.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Spencer!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against his pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when he pulled you up from your ass, his newly hard cock ramming inside of your full of cum pussy. You cried out when his hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how his mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Spencer had you cumming so hard on his cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around his dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

i needed to.

[anundyingfidelity]

ESCAPADE — Logan Howlett

Summary: For a weekend, you and Logan decide to travel away from the school. Needless to say, you can't keep your hands off each other.

Pairing: Established Logan x female mutant reader. Also teacher!reader at Xavier's school. Set after DoFP ending where everyone is alive because I say so, but can be read however you want lol.

Warnings: pure smut, unprotected p in v, sex at a motel, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, all the smutty stuff.

Notes: main language is not English, but hope you enjoy this filthy drabble. I need him to rail me so bad, bye.

GEN MASTERLIST!

God, he missed this so fucking much.

Logan groans, hands grabbing tightly your hips as you fuck yourself on top of him. Your ass against his skin every time you lower down to impale on his cock, over and over.

The sight is just completely perfect, holding yourself against his abdomen, back against his chest as he rests by the head of the bed.

And shit, he loves to hear you so damn much. Hear you whimper, moan, and sigh with every thrust he gives up to meet your flesh. He even would love to see your tits bouncing in front of him...

“Fuck, yes!”

That sweet out-loud moan leaving your lips causes him to pick up the pace. Your praise never fails to make him go feral, going rough and faster than before.

“Shit, right there- fuck! Feels so good!” Your pussy walls welcoming his cock, glistening with your arousal every time he almost pulled completely outside your hole.

It was your second day in that same motel room, fucking like animals. This wasn’t the plan at all when you originally left the mansion. Both of you just needed to be away at least for a couple of days to have time for yourselves, far from everything and everyone. You wanted to have an actual trip with nice dates, good food, and see the city, but the short time you two had was enough to just have you there on the bed, round after round. He missed your sweet sounds, that dirty side of you when no one was around. How you’d let him rail you as he pleased.

This is all he wanted. It is all he needs right now. You, on top of him, spread and ready for his cock to fuck your guts all day and night.

“Shit, you’re right there already again?” he grunts, feeling himself squeezed by your cunt.

He knows you’re close. And you just came again a couple of moments ago. Neither of you is counting how many times you already came as he fucked you. You whimper again, biting your lip and scratching his skin with your nails.

“Yeah, you there again,” he chuckles with that raspy voice. Immediately, his hands take you by the back of your knees, accomodating you on his lap. You yelp and stop for a second, letting him guide you again. Logan doesn’t give you a moment to get adjusted to new angle, instead thrusting up and fucking you so good that he knows the whole place is now aware of what is happening inside your room.

“I love how you feel around me,” he bites the shell of your ear as you arch your back, head on his shoulder, feeling a sweet release hitting you. “So fucking warm and wet, always ready for me…”

His voice does things on you and finally, your legs start shaking, pussy throbbing around his still hard cock.

“Shit-shit-oh!”

You try to close your thighs together but he does such a great job on keeping you spread for him, your hands are on his wrists trying to keep him away, but as much as you are a mutant yourself, Logan is too fucking strong even for you. You feel that familiar sting on your belly, crying out loud due to the overstimulation. The sensation is everywhere, taking upon your senses.

“Fucking come around me, baby,” Logan hisses, hips stuttering before finally spilling inside you with a low grunt, filling you up to the brim. His thrusts slow down, just enough to make sure you take his hot seed inside your cunt.

And then, in the aftermath, he leans against your cheek, placing soft kisses and mumbling against your ear as you take it all.“Yeah, that’s it… Such a good girl…”

“That was so good,” you mumble, angling your face so you finally kiss him, slow and wet, until he softens inside you. The feeling of his beard burns your skin deliciously every time you kiss. “Tired already?” you tease with a smirk once your lips are apart.

But he is thrusting into you softly again. You moan but smile back at him.

“Y’know I never grow tired of you, I might have to show you again, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, teasingly.

“With pleasure.”

He grunts in response. If only you had more time...

[parfaitblogs]

as time goes by ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you funnel through photographic memories of what once was, now isn't, but might still be.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst & smut (18+ mdni) tags: what isn't there? meet cute. burnt toast theory if you squint. right person wrong time. soft dom!spencer. first time. p in v. fingering. praise. fade to black oral (f receiving). mommy issues. anxious attachment reader. past alcohol consumption. argument. + angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort. word count: 9.8k a/n: i know i said this was 8k but then i just kept writing and writing and writing and writing and writing... enjoy my angels!! this truly took a piece of my soul to write. a short playlist of what i listened to while writing this <3

"I'm always soft for you, that's the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say 'come here, it's been too long, it felt like home with you." (Azra T)

February

It was a dreary burst of continuous rain and the threat of a thunderstorm that landed you in this predicament. 

Grey storm clouds that darkened the entire city even at the early hour of seven in the morning. There was a soft glow in one of the clusters of clouds where the sun was attempting to peek through, a striking metaphor for the way your life currently felt. Rays of sunshine barely piercing the sky enough to make an impression on the otherwise miserable day. 

You were late for work. Your usually easy morning routine replaced by bus delays due to the traffic on the roads, and trains canceled due to faults in the signalling.

You were barely halfway up the stairs to your platform when it happened. 

If you were any less focussed on keeping the ends of your jeans off the damp concrete, you wouldn't have spotted the drop of the blue and green SmarTrip card dropping to the step in front of you, from a leather messenger bag that was frantically swinging on someone's shoulder. 

You pick it up without even thinking, concerned by the fact that its owner hadn't even noticed. Which meant you'd have to experience the God awful awkward interaction of handing it back to them, and the even more awful small talk conversation that followed. 

The platform stretched out in front of you, and you were rushing to tap his shoulder before he could get too far away from you. A mop of messy curls turned, and never mind the fact that he was a stranger; he was hot. 

He's confused, and you watch him begin to think the tapping was a mistake, and you were just too rude to apologise for it. 

"Hi," you burst out, holding the card out in front of you. "Sorry. Is this yours?" 

"Oh," his expression is replaced with relief. "Yes. It is. Thank you."

You force an awkward smile onto your face, and he matches it with his own. Your heart flutters at the sight of it, and you thank God he was one of those awkward attractive guys — not an asshole. 

Then again, this was a two second interaction, and you didn't know him. Delusion would be your downfall. 

The train was overly crowded that morning. The traffic of two trains packed into one, resulting in barely any seats, and even less standing room. 

Thankfully, you had gotten one at the back of one of the carriages, which meant you could watch as multiple people walk past you, thinking there'd be more further down. Only to be sorely disappointed, but too stuck to come back and get the seat beside you they had spotted. 

"Oh. Hello again."

You lift your head at the voice, metro card man standing awkwardly next to the seat next to you. 

"Hey," you reply, heart rate skyrocketing. Just your luck.

"Is it okay if I sit here? All the other seats are taken," he asks, and even if there were six other free seats away from you, you'd let him. 

He sits when you nod, and you adjust your bag on the floor in front of you as he does the same, the messenger bag hugged firmly atop his lap. 

"Thank you for catching my card," he says, and you aren't sure if he's trying to make small talk because he's interested, or because he feels too bad to not. 

Your heart decides to go with the former. 

"It's no problem," you shake your head. "If I ever lost my metro card I'd probably have a panic attack in the middle of the station. So... y'know..." Why did you say that?

His chest shakes with quiet laughter anyways, and he's nodding in agreement, but you're sure he doesn't really understand what you mean. He doesn't seem like the type of person to have a panic attack in the middle of a train station.

"Are you headed to DC?" he then asks, and delusion be damned if this isn't him interested in you. 

You nod your head. "That's where this train is going, yes."

He pauses in a reply. "Well, yes, but there's stops along the way. You could be getting off at any of those." You fall silent at his words. That was true. "But you're not. You're going to DC."

"I am," you confirm your destination of the day for the second time, and your brain wonders if telling this inherent stranger where you were planning on going was a wise choice. Probably not. He didn't seem like a serial killer, at least. Then again, your judgement wasn't always the best.

"I am too," he says, lips pulling into the same awkward smile he had earlier, when you'd given him his metro card back. 

"We have so much in common," you joke, but you aren't sure if it lands. For he's blinking awkwardly, and then he must recognise you're trying to joke, because his chest puffs in a laugh. Pity laughter was still laughter. 

"We do."

It takes an entire train ride of conversation for you to muster up any courage at all, and it's only when he's about to step out into the aisle to disappear into his own world, and you into yours, that you blurt out,

"Do you want to get coffee?"

He blinks a few times, but then he's nodding his head, lips twitching into a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

At his approval, you ask, "Could I get your number? Y'know, to... plan... this coffee date..."

Metro man, whose name you've since learned is Spencer, nods again, and he's rummaging in his bag for a piece of paper and a pen. The pen he finds, the paper he does not, and you simply tell him to write his number down on your hand. 

Delusions were fuelled quite easily when you're a hopeless romantic, and the immediate flutter of your heart when his hand holds yours in place so he could write on your skin was enough to convince you this man was your soulmate. 

You part ways from each other, feeling a little giddier, and a lot less like the storm clouds still swirling over your head. 

March

Even the quietest of sounds were catastrophically loud when you were in that middle ground between being awake, and being asleep. And the muffled sound of a tap turning on was as loud as a raging thunderstorm, in the early hours of that Saturday morning, startling you awake from the comfortable sleep you had been in. 

It took you a few more minutes to fully come to consciousness, but by that point, you had registered what tap was on and why, and your fears of an unfamiliar scent surrounding you as you awaken were diminished. 

"Oh. Morning."

Your eyes flutter open to see a slightly shocked Spencer Reid standing at the foot of his bed, collecting the bundled socks he had set on the mattress. 

"What're you doing?" you ask him, tiredly, rolling onto your back and blocking the bright sunlight with your arm. 

"Going to work," he answers. "I have paperwork I need to catch up on," he then adds, at your puzzled expression.

"Oh," you pout immediately, your heart sinking at the knowledge that he was leaving you. 

"I'll be home by three," he promises, moving around and crouching down by the edge of the bed, next to your head.

"You want me to stay here?" you ask him, rolling over to look at him.

His eyes bore into your own, and you search his face, his cologne mixing with the scent of his sheets beneath your head, making your head go a little fuzzy. 

He brushes hair out of your face. "You can if you want. There's food in the fridge, and I bought copies of your toiletries for when you do... stay over..." he stammers to a stop, brain catching up to his mouth. "Sorry. Is that weird?"

"No," your lips pull into a smile. "No. It's really sweet, actually."

"And there's clean clothes in my dryer," he continues at your reassurance. "Since you said you like my shirts. I mean, you don't have to, obviously. But I'll only be gone six hours, and then I have the rest of the day and tomorrow off, and I know you do too, so I just figured—"

You cut him off with a kiss. Perhaps not the best time to kiss him, for you're pretty sure you have a bad case of morning breath. If you do, he doesn't protest. In fact, he melts even further into your lips. 

"I'll stay," you tell him.

"Okay," his eyes light up a little, and your cheeks hurt from how wide you're smiling. You're sure you look ridiculous. "Okay. I'll see you later."

"Bye," you say, catching him for one more kiss, until he's closer to being late for work than anything, and he's tearing himself away from you. Forcefully, because he doesn't really want to. 

He comes home six and a half hours later to his home smelling distinctly of a candle he forgot he even owned, and whatever it was in his fridge you had managed to create a dish out of. 

He wonders if it's too soon to feel love for you. 

April

A night out was, arguably, the last thing you had expected to do when you woke up that morning. In fact, you had spent the entire day with plans to stay in your sanctuary of a bedroom with a shitty television series playing to detach from the past few weeks. Your life was busy, and you felt as though you had no time to yourself. Technically, you did. But your days off never consisted of an entire day in your bed without any responsibilities. 

It seemed that even on your planned day off, you couldn't get that. Granted you weren't mad, come six o'clock, because despite talking about how excited you were for your day off to him, the second Spencer Reid had mentioned restaurant and dinner in your morning phone call as he commuted to work, you were begging him to fulfil the plans he was about to cancel. 

He had stayed afterwards. Of course he had. You'd be damned if the man who had just taken you to the nicest restaurant you've ever been to in your life didn't stay over afterwards. And he was quite happy to, it seemed, which made your heart flutter a little more than it probably should've.

"Have you read Emily Dickinson?" you ask him, looking up at his face. You were now in your bed, covers draped over your entwined legs, his back up against the headboard of your bed, your own on his chest. 

"Yes," he nods his head, lips twitching at the way your face fell upon his response. "Did you think I hadn't?"

"No, I guess I assumed you had," you shook your head. "A small part of me didn't know for sure, though."

"Now you know," he says, eyes falling to the televison that had a silent cartoon playing on it (your choice, not his). "Did you have a good night?"

"Yeah," your lips curl into a smile. "Did you?"

"I always do with you," he leans down and pecks the smile off your face, watching your lips frown when he pulls back. "What?"

He laughs at the pout on your lips, and your eyes narrow in response. In a quick motion, your legs and arms wrap around him, bodies now facing each other, as you return your lips to his. 

"Was my kiss not up to your standards?" he muses against your mouth, and you poke his shoulder with a finger as a response, incessantly begging him to kiss you back.

You had done this before. Multiple times, in fact. Making out with Spencer was slowly but surely becoming your favourite past time. You weren't entirely sure what it was about it. Perhaps the way he kissed like he'd never be able to kiss again, always with so much fervour, and always so desperate. Maybe it was the way his hands felt when they grappled the entirety of your ass whenever you were on his lap, something that seemed so not Spencer Reid. Whatever it was, it was maddening, and you found a quiet, controlled mewl leave your lips when his hands squeezed your ass, pulling you closer to him (if that was possible).

"Mm-mm," he murmurs against your lips at the sound, fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass, eliciting another, less controlled sound from you. "You can do better than that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you mumble against his lips, semi-breathless, hands delving up into his curls, encasing your fingers in them.

He laughs again, the sound addicting, and melting any anxieties away as his fingers travel up your body, beneath your pyjama shirt, stopping short where your bra strap would be if you were wearing one. 

"We don't have to," you rush out when you feel his hesitance. Though you were no stranger to this part of making out – the suggestive touching – you could feel the bulge in his pants, and you realised this was not like every other time.

"You don't want to?" he asks with a gentle voice, pulling back to look at you.

"No, I–of course I do," you reassure him.

His lips tug into a small smile, and his face leans in to kiss the corner of your lips. "Okay. Good. I want to, as well."

"Good," you answer with a firm nod, and he hums. 

His hands slip beneath your shirt again. Warm – burning, even – though you weren't particularly cold. Yet, you felt like your skin was ice that was melting beneath his fingers as they dragged along your skin. All while his lips kissed down your jawline and neck, until they found your pulse point. He had found it accidentally a few weeks prior, and had used and abused it as much as he could after that. For no reason other than the fact that you let out the sweetest sounds whenever his teeth grazed over it, or his lips sucked on the skin there.

His hands reached further up, and his palms brush over both nipples at once, eliciting a gasp from you as your back arches into him. 

"Sensitive," he notes when his thumbs drag down over them, pulling the same reaction from your lips. You shoot him a sharp glare, and he laughs. His response is then to lean back in and kiss the pout away, gently biting down on your jutted lower lip with his teeth. All while he rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, earning a whimper from you into his mouth.

It was a few more moments of that, before you murmur quietly, "Tell me you're taking this further." 

He laughs in response. Then, says, "What do you want?"

"Up to you," you reply, and he shakes his head, bringing one of your hands to his lips and kissing it. 

"No. Up to us."

"Okay. Um..." you hesitate. "Surely there's a natural order of things."

"I don't know. I think it depends on the people," he replies. "Tell me what you want to do."

You hesitate. There's a thousand things you want from him, and you're sure the mere twenty-four hours in the day are not enough for them all. Though, you also know time is not running out for the two of you soon. 

Recognising your hesitance, he instead taps your hips to get you off his lap, and you comply, and he lays you down on the bed. He hovers above you, and you almost laugh at his hair that falls down and creates a curtain over your two faces. 

His fingers lift the hem of your shirt over your body, and you let him, your breath hitching at the still less-than-hot air that settles in your room amidst April. He follows suite and removes his own shirt upon seeing your close to demanding look, before he ducks his head down to kiss you again. 

Fingers dance across the skin of your waist as he hesitates in pulling your pants down, but you don't even want to complain as he kisses you. In no rush to hurry him along, you savour his lips on yours, allowing him to take the time to work you up with brushes along your thigh through the fabric of your pants. 

You were equally as present as you were lost in a daydream as he touches you, for you don't really remember when your legs had become bare and his touch had become more direct, but you remember exactly what it felt like for his breath to hitch against your ear as he ran a finger down the damp fabric of your underwear. 

He seems to have picked up on your dreamlike state, for he brushes his lips against your temple and asks, "You with me?"

"Yes," you reply, breathlessly. 

He doesn't really believe you, but you're eagerly inching your hips closer towards his retreating hand for him to need to. 

Gently, he's pulling your underwear down your legs, and you're watching the pupils in his dark eyes expand. You relish in the knowledge of you emitting such a reaction from him. 

A sharp whine comes from you when his finger brushes through your folds, stopping just short of your clit. He does it again. 

"Spencer."

"Yeah, pretty girl?" he murmurs, though his focus is solely directed to his hand on you.

"Need you."

"I can see that," he muses, and he jolts at the way your heel kicks his side. You're pretty sure it doesn't hurt, at least. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

"You should be."

His other hand pinches your thigh.

You don't have time to argue against him, for he is sinking a finger into you, and every word dies on your tongue, replaced only by a quiet moan and the breathless sound of his name. 

He lifts himself back up your body as he presses his finger further into you, capturing your second moan with his lips against yours. Again. He would probably swallow you whole if you asked him to. You think you might. 

He adds a second finger almost too soon. His fingers were longer than yours ever could be, and he curls them in a way that has your head tilting back and pressing into the pillow beneath it, and your hips rising off the mattress. He chases your lips with his as you squirm away, and his free hand pushes your body back into the mattress as he draws his fingers out, then presses them back into you. 

"Didn't know you were this sensitive," he murmurs against your mouth, and your teeth nip at his lower lip in protest. You feel him smile, and he returns the gesture, scoldingly. 

His fingers brush against your g-spot and you're pretty sure you see stars. Or perhaps that's just the ends of Spencer's hair tickling your cheeks as he continues to kiss you. 

He continues to finger you until it becomes its own language, complete with strings of high pitched moans from you, and his inability to keep you still on the bed. He pulls his fingers out all too soon, and you're verbally complaining about it as he takes his own pants off. 

"Do you ever stop talking?" he asks you, but there's no heat behind his voice for you to seek insecurity from. 

"I talk when I'm nervous," you reply. 

"Are you always nervous?"

"Around you? Yes."

He doesn't reply, but he laughs, bashfully, and you know he finds it endearing. Instead, he says, "I need to go get a condom."

At which your eyebrows shoot up. "Did you bring some?"

He pauses, sheepishly replying, "Yes?"

You decide against teasing him for it, and merely nod your head. "Okay."

He doesn't waste time, but you're left laying there on the bed to watch him, stuck within the thoughts of how did you luck out so well? 

He's quick to return your mind back to Earth, and in a quick turn of events, he's positioned back over you, condom wrapper discarded somewhere in your room — you'd need to find that later before it gets found by somebody mortifying — and his hips achingly close to your own. 

Lowering your gaze instinctively, your lips part, and you mutter a, "What the fuck?"

"Tone, please," he asks you, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"Bad. But good," you confuse him further, before you settle on, "Shock."

"Are you still okay with this?"

"Yes," you quickly confirm. "Just... scared. I guess. I haven't had sex in a while and you're..." Not small.

"I'll go slow," he promises, and your heart flutters at the sincerity in his voice. 

Slowly, he eases himself into you, swallowing your moans all over again with a kiss, hands rubbing gentle circles onto your hips as a welcome distraction. It was borderline filthy as he moans into your ear in harmony with your own.

You hear him murmuring from above you, your ears catching the whispering of numbers and statistical facts you've definitely heard him spewing to himself before. But never in bed. Usually, it would be as he situates at his desk to work. 

"What're you doing?" you murmur, and he pauses upon realising he was thinking aloud. 

"Trying not to come so soon," he answers, kissing your jawline, a shuddering breath leaving him to rest his head in that position. 

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh," he mocks. "You just feel so good around me. Can't believe I went so long without you, angel girl. Fuck."

You wish you could tell the you many moons ago that this is how the man you met at the train station would talk to you. 

He's slow as he withdraws his hips from you, before he's pushing himself back into you with yet another moan, from both him and you.

You're not sure when your causal moans break into whines and desperation overtakes you. Somewhere between him taking his time in getting to know what you liked, and discovering how easy it was to make you squirm if he just put a finger on your clit at the same time as thrusting into you. 

He is so good it's almost sickening, and you begin to entertain the idea of this man being your soulmate once again. Or perhaps he's just really good at seeing right through you, which might be a little embarrassing in retrospect. 

"Spencer," you moan, hands looping around his neck, delving into his hair and nails scratching gently at his scalp. 

"Mm?" he asks you, pressing another kiss to your head, drawing circles on your clit in tandem with his thrusts. 

"Please."

"Please what, honey?"

"Wanna—" you're cut off with a wanton whine, "—come. Please."

"You do? Really?" 

"Spencer," you repeat his name, this time frustratedly.

"That's no way to ask for what you want," he wanes his movements ever so slightly, a silent warning. 

"Please make me come."

"There you go, good girl," he mumbles, and he smiles at the way your hips jerk slightly at the praise. 

He complies with your request immediately, though you're sure it has something to do with how quickly his own hips stutter into a stop with an orgasm of his own. 

Never one to complain, though, and you let him work you through the star-seeing experience with broken moans and chants of his name that has his own heart fluttering. 

He rolls off of you soon after, disappearing from the bed only to dispose of the condom, before he's climbing back into the bed. Regardless of every bone in his body telling him to get you up to shower. 

"Why didn't we do that earlier?" you murmur.

"I don't know," he replies, lips moving against the skin of your forehead. 

"Can we do it again?"

His breath is warm as he huffs out a laugh, rolling back over top of you, thankful for his lack of asking to shower. "Yes."

June

There's a comfortable quiet that blankets the air around you and Spencer. The pages of his book turning as he flips them every few seconds, and the quiet murmur of characters Ilsa and Sam talking on the television, Casablanca playing at an awfully quiet volume. 

He was sitting on the floor in front of you, who was sitting on the couch, fingers entangled in his hair. Freshly washed, because you were adamant on fixing him a proper hair routine now that his hair was long enough to require something remotely akin to your own.

His head lifts as the piano began to play, and the familiar voice of Dooley Wilson filled the space, his reading of his book now on pause.

"Spencer!" you began to protest when he peeled away from the edge of the couch, the criss-cross pattern in his hair falling loose almost immediately. He turns to look at you, noting the page he was on for his book, before he closes it and places it on the coffee table in front of him. 

"What are you doing to my hair?" he asks you, hands going up to feel the strands, eyebrows frowning towards each other at the loose plaits he was touching. 

"I was braiding it," you grumble, watching as he brushes each strand out unconsciously. "You've ruined it."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he muses upon realising what he had done, lips twitching as his hands drop back by his side. "Do you want to redo it?"

"No," you huff, scooting further back into the couch, folding your arms across your chest. 

"Honey," Spencer says amidst a laugh, turning his body around fully. 

Instead of acknowledging him, you kept your eyes fully transfixed on the black and white television screen in front of you. You could see, out of the corner of your eye, the sight of him shifting on the floor. 

Perhaps it was cruel to be giving him the silent treatment so quickly. Though, you have a small smile painted on your face that told Spencer he wasn't in any real trouble with you for pulling your otherwise perfectly curated braids out of his hair. Unknowingly, mind you.

With your lack of response, he found his hands wandering over to your legs, fingertips trailing delicately up the sides of them. Despite the pyjama pants you had on providing a layer between his skin and your own, you still squirmed. And, much to his own satisfaction, your gaze flickered down to his face. His stupid, grinning face, that told you he knew he had succeeded oh so easily. 

"I'm mad at you," you bite, and his eyebrows rose. 

"You're mad at me," he parrots. When you glare at him, he's forced to bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. "Okay. Can I make it up to you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" 

No, you weren't. For his head was resting gently against the side of your thigh now, the slightest hint of a pout on his lips, eyes wide. To absolutely nobody's surprise, your resolve was dissolving, and you found yourself hesitating with a response to him. 

He wasn't oblivious to your hesitance, and the amusement on his face was almost frustrating. Almost, if not for the teasing drag of his fingertips along the sides of your thighs distracting you from the irritation you had towards him.

But, you held your own. "Yes, I'm sure."

His eyebrows rising told you he didn't believe you, and it took everything in you not to respond with the twitch of a sheepish grin. And under his unbelieving gaze, you let out a huffed sigh, and shook your head. 

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he answers, fingertips gently pressing into your lower back as he tugged you towards the edge of the couch. "So I can make it up to you?"

"Maybe," you murmur, biting the inside of your cheek. "What're my options, Dr. Reid?"

"I could take your clothes off," he says, punctuating his point with his fingers sliding around to your waist, hooking under your pants' waistband. "Or you can choose something else."

"I like option one," you answer, meekly. 

"I figured you would."

He was frustratingly slow as he pulls your pyjama pants down, the fabric catching on the leather of his couch you were sitting on, until you had enough conscious mind to lift your hips up for him.

He trails his fingers back up the skin, eyes almost fascinated in watching you squirm as your inner thighs — and only your inner thighs — received the upmost of attention from his hands. At a whining protest from you, Spencer's hands wandered to do the one thing he knew you were after, and you let out a breathy moan when his index finger traced up the centre of your already damp underwear.

"Oh, you do like option one," he says with a hum, and if you were any less turned on, you'd probably be glaring at him for it. Instead, you were nodding your head in compliant agreement. 

He, thankfully, wastes no time in latching his mouth onto you. He spends a good portion of your evening taking you to the stars and back, multiple times, before he's satisfied, and he's sure you are too. 

You're showered (again), and curled up on the couch, your head now in Spencer's lap as his fingers brush through your hair, the beginning of Casablanca beginning to play all over again. You had protested neither of you appreciated it enough the first time, and you want to give the film its proper treatment. 

"Why do you like this film so much?" he murmurs, staring at the black and white screen. 

"Reminds me of better times, I guess," you reply. 

"Your better times take place in Morocco in the forties?" 

"No," your lips twitch into a small smile, your head shaking, hair brushing across his thighs. "When I first watched this film I was fifteen, with my mom. It was one of the few times we really got along, so... I guess that."

He decides against commenting on it, for your voice had dropped to something a little sadder. "Rick's not a good person," he chides. 

"You don't get to form an opinion on Rick without finishing the movie first."

He laughs at that, but he falls silent soon after, an evident promise that he would wait. 

"Why did you make me watch this?" he asks, as you're greeted with a screen of black, your two reflections staring back at you. 

You turn your head, resting it flat against his thighs as you look up at him, raising an eyebrow in question. 

"It isn't a happy ending," he explains at your quizzical look. 

"Oh, so movies I show you need to have a happy ending?" you argue. "You like Star Wars, Spencer."

"No, obviously they don't. But when you explained the film to me, you said, 'a romance classic from the forties'. Forgive me for presuming it would be a happy ending."

"I think it is kind of happy," you reply, shrugging as you tear your gaze away, resting instead on the coffee table. 

"How so?" he brushes the hair that falls out of your face. 

"They weren't right for each other," you murmur. "Rick knew that. He loved her enough to let her go, I guess."

August

You are a fragment of every person you have loved, and who has loved you. Tiny pieces of their soul weaving within your own to form the person you are today. From acts as simple as the way you cook your eggs, to reactions as serious as your emotional response to an insult. Family members making up your emotional regulators, childhood friendships determining your insecurities. 

Like a solidified piece of putty holding two pipes together, you are a person moulded to be what other people need. 

Stay quiet, don't react, detach. 

Not even a conscious choice you make anymore. Too many years spent punished for being loud, too many tears cried over your supposed overreaction, too many pieces of your heart shattered each time somebody leaves. Your responses are simply automatic now. 

Spencer Reid had not heard from you in fifty six hours. 

Two thirty in the morning was never a good time to try and communicate, for a plethora of reasons. Never mind the fact that it was late. His mind had been exhausted of its use during a particularly gruelling case, and you had been too anxious the four days he'd been gone to sleep properly. 

For that reason, and possibly many others you didn't know, he was in a bad mood. Your being awake at that hour was irritating to him, your half drank coffee was an awful idea in his mind, and your touch was unwanted by him. You didn't know why. 

You hated miscommunication. You hated the unsaid words that hung in the air whenever you'd look at him. 

The first thing he had said upon coming home was not, hello, or even, I missed you. No, it was a sharp, "Why are you awake?" as he set his messenger bag down on the floor next to his door. 

"I was waiting for you," you had said, picking up the mug of coffee. "Then it hit midnight, and you still weren't home, and usually you come home to me asleep, but I wanted to see you so I drank some coffee and..." you'd trailed off upon seeing his uncharacteristically cold expression. 

"You shouldn't stay awake waiting for me," he'd muttered, taking the mug from you and heading into the kitchen to clean it, flicking the light on. "You have work tomorrow. You need to be asleep."

"I missed you," you'd protested, standing up and going towards him. 

"I missed you too, but you should've been asleep."

Your attempt at hugging him and kissing him in greeting was denied, his hands prying you off his body. He could've ripped your heart out instead and you'd think it hurt less than that.

"Go to bed. I'll be there soon."

You felt like a child being scolded at his snark, which was evidently the reason behind you not listening to him at all in the end. 

He'd offered no proper explanation for his irritation towards you. Even as you'd picked up your things and left his apartment, silently, not even a quiet I love you whispered to confirm that you weren't leaving him for good, he didn't explain a thing to you. 

Out of sight, out of mind, was not a principle you could exercise when it came to him. Every notification to your phone that didn't brand his name hurt your heart, a constant reminder that maybe he was still mad at you, and he didn't want to see you.

It was a knock at your door that pried you from the clutches of your duvet that morning, a half-assed attempt at brushing through your hair and straightening of your clothes was the best whoever dared to come see you uninvited would get. 

Opening the door and your brain computing who it was had you wanting to slam it again, as if this were some movie and he would have the will to shove a foot in the door to stop it from closing. 

Maybe he would. 

"So you are alive," he says. 

"Last I checked, yes," you reply. 

Simple words spoken between two far from simple individuals, until he was nodding his head to the open space of your apartment behind you, and you were wordlessly agreeing to let him come in. 

"Are you here to break up with me?"

His closing of the door was interrupted by your question, his entire body going rigid for a beat, before he gently clicked the door and lock in place, turning on his shoulder with frowning eyebrows. 

"No. I'm... not—why, why would you think that?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Habit."

That hurts his heart, and he's shaking his head almost incessantly. "I'm not. I promise, honey. I just want to know what's going on. Nobody's heard from you."

"I know," you murmur, feet carrying you over to your couch before your legs can give out on you. 

He watches you, awaiting another spiel of words to explain where you had disappeared to for the past two and a bit days. And yet; nothing. So, he follows you, and sits down on the couch next to you. Hands reach out to pick up your legs, shoulders relaxing a little when you let him place them in his lap, and you go slightly still out of fluster. 

"I'm sorry for making you mad, if I did," you whisper. 

"You didn't. Did you think I was mad?"

"I guess. You were kind of mean," his heart shatters at that. "But maybe I was just taking it the wrong way. I was tired."

"No," his fingertips run up and down your legs, the only conscious act he could focus on to keep himself from bombarding you with every worried thought he's had the last two days. "I shouldn't have let you leave thinking I was mad at you. I wasn't. The case just stressed me out, and I was concerned about you still being awake that late."

"I was waiting for you," you mumble. 

"I know, angel," he nods his head. "It's just I usually come home to you asleep on the couch."

"Or the bathroom."

His chest puffs out with laughter, and your heart swells a little in your chest at the sight. "Or the bathroom," he parrots, nodding. 

It was when he was coming home from a case on the border in Washington state, and you had, like usual, tried to stay awake to wait for him. Unfortunately, the UnSub tiptoeing between the two country lines meant the case was dragged out, and he had come home much later than expected. And you had mistakenly passed out on the bathroom floor, wrapped in a towel, after a shower. 

Amusement was over as his eyes found and locked with your own, and he earnestly asks, "Can you tell me why you disappeared?"

"No."

It wasn't that you didn't want to tell him. Just that you didn't know why either. Perhaps it was something you'd need to unpack with a professional, not your boyfriend at ten in the morning on your couch. 

Ever so understanding, Spencer Reid was. Even with the pause of his delicate touch on your legs in what you're sure is another jolt of frustration towards you.

"That's okay," he says, instead. "Can you promise to try and not disappear next time, then?"

Your shoulders shrug. Can you promise that? 

"You can't," he voices your thoughts for you, and you nod your head in confirmation. "Okay. Well, I really want to work this out with you. I need you to want that too."

"I do," you say quietly. 

"Then you need to work with me," he answers. "Where did your brain go that night?"

"Um," you hesitate. You could think of a thousand places your mind wandered to that night. None of them very good. A child again, being scolded for not turning the light out because you were up reading, maybe. "I don't know. I don't like being scolded like I'm a child. I guess I felt like a child."

"That wasn't my—"

"—I know," you cut him off before he can defend himself to you. "I know it wasn't your intention. But it felt that way. I'm an adult who makes her own decisions, and losing sleep before work because I want to see my boyfriend is one of those. No matter how... how stupid a decision you may think that is."

"I didn't think it was stupid," he shakes his head. "I was just concerned."

"Funny way of showing it," you mumble, lowering your gaze, before his lack of response makes you realise what you had just said to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. That was mean."

"No," hands lightly swat your legs. "No, I deserved that. I was really mean. It wasn't the right way to show my concern for you."

"Doesn't mean I should be rude back."

"I think it does," he says, his fingers going back to tracing patterns on your skin. "In fact, I encourage it."

In true Spencer fashion, his words tug a small smile onto your lips, and you feel the heaviness of what had happened between you two ease off your chest slightly. "That's a weird thing to encourage."

"Maybe," he agrees. "I don't like that you left without saying anything."

"I didn't feel very wanted," you explain. "By you. I tried to hug you, and you wouldn't let me touch you."

"I was overstimulated," he says. "It wasn't that I didn't want to hug you, honey. I did. Sometimes I don't like people touching me, yes, even you," he adds upon seeing your confused expression and tilted head. "I didn't handle that well. I should've told you that in the moment."

"I wish I had known that before," you murmur. "That's why I left. And you didn't try to stop me, so I just assumed..."

"I wasn't very present," he shakes his head to stop your self-deprecating thoughts in their tracks. "I barely registered you were leaving until I heard the door shut."

"Oh."

"I wanted to stop you when I realised. I decided to give you space."

"I just thought you didn't care."

"If nothing else, know that I'll always care," he tells you, and your heart stutters at the raw honesty in his voice. "Even if you run away and I don't reach out for a week because I think you need space. I'll still care."

"Please don't leave me alone for a week if I run away," you reply, and one of his hands squeezes your knee. 

"Noted. I won't."

You nod your head with the faintest hint of a smile, before your gaze lowers to your legs. You inhale, then say, quietly, "I'm sorry for disappearing."

"I know," he answers. "It's okay."

November

It was a horrifically awful day that led you to this moment. Curling up on the couch with a blanket covering your entire body, staring aimlessly off into the warm glow of the reading lamp Spencer had bought you many moons ago. 

Your heart was heavy, hands cold, body shivering, in the cool November air that flooded your apartment. Your thermostat was just too far. Not that you were comfortable. Not even a little bit. You could evidently feel each spring of your couch pushing into your flesh, puncturing you uncomfortably. You hadn't had a need for a new couch since getting together with Spencer, usually finding your residence at his apartment more often than not. 

Not today, it seemed. 

Keys rattled outside your apartment door, and you heard the shuffling of familiar feet, followed by the gentle calling of your name to alert you of his presence. 

"Honey, it's freezing in here," he says, settling his bag down on the kitchen countertop, you're sure (you aren't looking). You hear the beep, following by the rush of wind coming out of your air conditioning unit as he turns the device on, and you're silently grateful. 

He finds you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you from behind it, greeting you with a kiss to the side of your head, right on your temple, and a few of your worries melt away in an instant. Only a few, for there is still a bricklayer of hurt seated comfortably over your heart. 

He says your name again when you don't say anything to greet him, and it's more shuffling of feet until he's dipping into the couch next to you, despite the fact that he still had his shoes and work clothes on. Irrelevant affairs he could deal with later. 

"Hey, what's this?" he asks you, quietly, leaning forwards and nudging your arched knees, and your gaze finally tears from the lamp to his face, spots of light decorating your vision and covering some of him.

"Sorry," you mumble. "I'm thinking."

"Very hard, apparently," he says, lightly. You appreciate the attempt of lifting the mood. "About what?"

"Um," you pause. "I saw my family today."

"Yeah. You said you were. I assume it didn't go well?"

You wordlessly shake your head, and he sighs, wasting no time in bringing you into his chest. You crack, and his heart shatters at the quiet sob that wracks through your body.

"Talk to me," he murmurs, voice all too quiet for your fragile state, for it only makes you cry a little harder. "Angel."

"She—um," your voice cracks. "Everything I said she turned into a joke to everyone. I just felt stupid the entire time. Like everything I said wasn't worth being said. So I stopped talking, because I couldn't get made fun of if I didn't say anything, right?" You feel his head nod against your own, even though you couldn't see him.

"No. She brought up things I'd said to her previously, and mocked them. I mean, I was in the other room so she didn't know I could hear her, but—but—" you choke on your words, cutting your ranting short, your hands petulantly clutching at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. "I'm sick of waiting for her to love me. Isn't she supposed to? She's my fucking mother and yet I'm still begging her to even like me. Why?"

"I don't know, angel." His voice is achingly soft, and his hands thread into your hair, brushing through it a few times; a welcome comfort. "This happens every time you see her."

"Yeah."

You're feeling impossibly small in his arms as you nod, sniffling away hideous snot bubbles you're sure he cared about. If he did, he didn't say anything.

"Maybe it's time to stop seeing her."

"Yeah." 

You're reluctant in agreeing with him, though you know deep down he's right. But it's an Earth shattering revelation that you aren't quite sure you wanted to ever come to. While certainly a thought you've had, and entertained previously, agreeing to it aloud is an entirely different beast. 

"She's my mom, though," you mumble. "She raised me."

"What she did for you previously should never be enough for you to ignore what she does to you now. I've never seen you come home happy after seeing her. You're never anything short of miserable. That makes me miserable, honey," the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheek, and you hum as a quiet response. "I hate seeing you like this."

"I hate feeling like this."

"Yeah, I know," he murmurs. "Don't decide tonight. You're emotional—yes, you are. Don't look at me like that," he scolds as you jerk your head back to narrow your tear filled eyes at him. "But can you promise me you'll consider my option?"

"I promise."

"Okay. Good. I love you."

"I love you too."

January

He wasn't home. 

Three o'clock in the morning, and Spencer Reid was nowhere to be found. Not in his own apartment, like you had originally thought. Not collecting the last of your boxes from your own. Not anywhere he commonly would be. 

At three in the morning. 

You had tried calling him. Multiple times, actually. A flurry of messages followed in their wake, and you were growing increasingly impatient as you stand awkwardly outside his apartment, that had just recently become your apartment too. You didn't have a key yet — needing one to be cut for Spencer only had one thus far. 

He had promised he'd be home. When you'd asked him as you were leaving earlier that evening if you'd need to take the key, he said no, and that he'd be home all night. 

God forbid you actually believed him, apparently. 

You could've sat at that apartment door for three minutes or hours. You weren't too sure anymore. Staring off into space and making up a list of sentences to say to him when he finally showed up — if he showed up. 

It was embarrassing. Heels tucked next to you, dress bunched at your waist, head beginning to ache from the alcohol wearing off, and eyes beginning to droop from how exhausted you were. 

Shuffling of feet had you lifting your head, landing on an equally as exhausted looking Spencer Reid, who's lips were parting upon spotting you on the floor, and a sickening realisation settling on his facial features. 

"I'm sorry," he stumbled out as he helped you stand up, ignoring your protests as he picked up your heels for you. "I forgot you weren't staying at your friends. I just assumed—"

"—You forgot?"

You didn't sound angry. You didn't even sound a little irritated. It shatters his heart more to hear a painstakingly small, broken tone coat your words, instead of them being dipped in venom. 

He knew it was a pathetic excuse. He forgot. That's his whole thing. He doesn't forget. But he also isn't always called into his job at two in the morning for an in state amber alert. You didn't know that, though.

"Here, let's get you inside and out of your clothes," he places a hand on the small of your back and pushes you forwards into his apartment, your feet stumbling as you let him guide you around. 

"What do you mean you forgot?" you ask him, quietly. His stomach twists. 

"I got called into work. It was urgent. I had been so focussed on Hotch being freaked out I left without thinking. I'm so sorry, angel girl."

"Seriously?"

He freezes at your incredulous voice, his hands pausing at the top of your dress zipper. When he doesn't answer you immediately, you turn so you can look at him.

"You weren't home because you got called into work," you repeat the words over, and over, as if saying them more will make them any more sensical. He opens his mouth and begins to say your name, so you cut him off, "I was sitting there for—" you pause, checking the time on the wall clock across the room, "—two hours, Spencer. Drunk, and cold, and you weren't fucking picking up. Did you forget how to use your phone too? Did you forget how to contact your girlfriend?"

"You're tired, honey. Can you get some sleep and we talk about this tomorrow?"

"I'm fine, actually. We're having this discussion now."

"No, you're not. You're exhausted. Sleep deprivation affects your emotional regulators, and—"

"—For once, can you not fucking Reid-splain to me?" you spit. "I think I'm allowed to be a little upset with you, Spencer. You forgot about me!"

He agrees; he does deserve your anger. Though, it doesn't make this any easier to listen to, and it certainly doesn't make his biting of his tongue very easy. For he wants to argue with you. He didn't forget about you, and none of what happened tonight was due to anything other than his lack of focus on things that weren't at the forefront of his mind. Case in point; a missing child. 

A few more beats of silence pass by, and you're brushing past him into the kitchen, jerking your arm away when his hand reaches out to grab it. 

"Why is it always work?" you ask him. "All of our issues come back to your job."

"I don't know."

"Am I not worth more than your job?" 

The question itself hangs in thick air, and his hesitance is enough of an answer within itself. It isn't fair. You know that. His job is important, and you'd never actively ask him to choose you over saving somebody's life. He knew that.

"I'm not asking you to choose seeing me over saving a life," you verbalise your thoughts, when he still doesn't reply. "I'm never asking that of you. But you couldn't have called me back? Or texted me to see if I could go to a friend's? Or even come to you at work to get a key?"

"I—"

"—Forgot. I know," you mutter, almost bitterly, turning around to pick out a glass from the cabinet. 

It's another few moments of quiet. Save for the tap that runs as you get yourself water, and the shuffling of his feet as he hesitates, then takes tentative steps towards the kitchen bar. 

"I don't think I can do this anymore," you whisper, before he can get too close.

"Do what anymore?"

"Us."

The silence that follows deafens, and you have to flutter your eyes up to the ceiling to wane tears that threatened to spill. This was most certainly not how you imagined your night to go. 

"That's a big decision," he says, as if it weren't obvious.

"I know," and it's the finality in your voice that hurts him even more. 

"Can we please revisit this conversation in the morning? After you've slept?"

"My decision won't change."

"It might."

"Humour me with how we're supposed to move past this."

He freezes. "Um—we can talk. And we can even go to couple's therapy, or something," he ignores the face you pull. "I just think we—you—should make this decision when you're completely sober and rested."

You place the now empty glass on the bench again. "I won't have the courage to break up with you tomorrow."

"Is that not a sign that you shouldn't break up with me, then—"

"—Let me do this, damnit, Spencer!" you slam your hands down in front of you, eyes wide and almost desperate. 

He doesn't say anything more to argue with you. Instead, he bows his head, and you despise the crack in your heart at the way his eyes shut and shed a tear before his face is out of sight. 

You're moved out by the end of the month.

June

The universe is a wonderfully strange place. Somewhere you go to when things get too difficult, begging for respite and the freedom from yourself. Or when things are going so well you thank whoever was pulling the strings of your lifeline. 

You tried not to curse at the universe. What you give, you will receive. The love you expend will always be returned to you, whether that is in two minutes or two years. Hatred for the universe was always internalised and pushed down, for you'd rather that, than having the karmic Gods ruin your life any more. 

And yet; fuck you universe. 

You were recently asked who you love, in a group setting with people you barely knew. You'd have said your best friend's name, or your parents, but you felt awfully lonely amongst a group of people saying, "my partner", "my kids". You didn't think you were old enough yet for the most important person in your life not being the woman who raised you (though, she would never be that anyways). 

You said his name before you could even comprehend it. Before your brain had a second to stop running on autopilot to think. The two syllables flying past your lips, embarrassingly so. 

When someone asks you who you love, you think of him. 

Perhaps this was all your own fault. If you had just bided your tongue, held onto your pride and mumbled a quiet, "My mom, I guess", you wouldn't have spoken his existence back into the universe. 

It was a quiet, "Oh. Hello," that'd prompted your head to lift from your phone, attempting to tune out the busy train. And there he was, standing tall, messenger bag crossing over his body. 

"Hi," you say, breathless, air knocked from your lungs. 

"Can I... um, sit? All the other seats are taken."

And like you would if he was a stranger, you nod your head, shuffling a little closer to the side, allowing for him to sit down next to you. 

"Your hair's gotten long," Spencer Reid says, quietly.

"Yeah, I need to go get it cut. You have more—um, facial hair. Like it's more prominent. Like thicker," you stammer. 

"Yeah," you see his lips twitch into a small smile out of the corner of your eye. "I just got back from a case. I haven't had time to shave."

You manage to push down a comment about you liking it. 

And as if you were not strangers, he asks you, "How are you?"

You know he doesn't mean currently. Subconsciously asking you to tell him you're doing awfully without him, that the past six months had been horrible and you miss him dearly. 

It's true, but you can't say that.

Instead, you opt for a nonchalant, "I'm okay," and, "How are you?"

"Okay, too," he says, and you wonder how much truth his words hold. 

"How's work been?"

You don't know if you actually care. Asking aimlessly about the thing you had to blame for him becoming a solidified memory in your brain, and not a current experience. 

"Busy," he answers. "I've barely been home."

Not much has changed, it seems. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he replies. "It's kept me from wallowing."

"Can't say I've had the same fate."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

It was your own fault, really. And maybe he thought that. Maybe he's making fun of you in his mind for being sad and feeling horrible things after the breakup, because it was you who initiated it, at the end of the day. 

No, he isn't. You know that. Spencer Reid doesn't do that.

"It's okay," you finally say, words spoken on a breath. 

Silence covets the two of you, a thousand words on the tip of your tongue, but none ever spoken aloud. A silent conversation dancing in the air between your two bodies.

Do you miss me?

Yes. Do you miss me?

More than anything. 

But then the train stops, and his station is called, and he's standing awkwardly, forcing a tight smile onto his face, as he bids you goodbye. 

And for a few long half seconds, you watch him walk away, very slowly, for time has stopped for just a few beats of your heart. Then, you're calling his name, and he's stopping, as if he had expected you to reach out to him before he could get too far. 

You stare up at him for another beat longer, and you wonder if he's quite content to miss his station, just to talk to you some more. 

"Do you want to get coffee?"

"To wait an hour — is long — if love be just beyond. To wait eternity — is short — if love reward the end." (Emily Dickinson)

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[333sturns]

soft!matt x virgin!reader

“FIRST TIME?”

while the both of you are making out, matt realizes youre a bit unexperienced… so he helps you.

includes smut, inappropriate language, soft sex, kissing, p in v, no protection, if uncomfortable do not read!

the feeling of matts lips against yours was a new feeling, his lips were soft, and the way he kissed you so gently had you completely feral.

you let out a stifled groan in response, feeling his movements get more and more desperate by the second. you tried moving your lips in the same rhythm as he did. but unable to due to his quick pace.

you gently cupped his face as you moved your head to the side. he smiled against your lips before he pulled away. raising his eyebrow at you in a playful manner. you felt the blush creep onto your face in embarrassment. “what..?” you managed.

“first time?”

you quickly felt your face flush red in an instant. trying to get yourself to form some words instead you let out a sigh in defeat. “yeah.” he gave you another gentle kiss before caressing your cheek with his thumb. his eyes so reassuring and soft you could almost kiss him again. “its fine if you—“

matt cut you off with another small kiss on the lips, pushing you slowly down onto your shoulders. he tucked the hair behind your ear and caressed your shoulders softly. “dont be absurd, m’love.” he lowered himself to your neck: peppering kisses until he reached your stomach. “ill be gentle,”

he looked up at you, eyed piercing through your body as your breath quickened. the feeling of his hot breath making you wetter by the second. he unbuckled his belt in a quick pace, not taking his eyes off of you. admiring every curve and inch of your body. “you know,” he starts, “we don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready baby.”

you watched as his lower half was now exposed to you. his cock bursting through his boxers catching you off guard. i mean how big is he? you bit your lip as you shook your head. tugging at the brim of your shorts. “no, i—i want you..i really want this matt.” you plead.

matt blushed: dumbfounded at your words. he helped you remove your shorts and stared in awe. he contained himself and breathed, “my god youre so fucking beautiful.” you pressed your legs together in embarrassment. matt being quick to spread them back open.

your panties had already been ruined with your wetness. slightly sticking to your thighs. matt gently grazed his finger over your clothed pussy, earning a helpless whimper from your lips. you covered your mouth in order to keep yourself quiet, but was quickly stopped when matt moved your arms back to your sides.

“shiiit..—“

he continued to run small circles along your clit; watching how quick you crumbled underneath him. your hips bucked into matts finger subconsciously. melting into his touch as he moved a bit faster.

“oh—matt..!”

“its okay, dont worry.”

he moved your laced panties to the side, then, wasting no time to remove his boxers. he centered himself between your legs while resting his hands on both of your knees gently. he looked down at you with a soft smile that made your heart flutter. “tell me if its too much alright?” he wrapped your legs around his waist and gave your hand a kiss.

“okay.” you breathed.

matt lifted your shirt up ever so slightly, running his hand down and stopping just right above your pussy. he ran soft circles along your stomach before positioning himself right.

“relax f’me.” he softly let his tip rest above your clit. not breaking eye contact as he slowly inserted himself in. he let out a low groan to your tightness while letting his lips curl into a smile, watching how your face scrunched up in pain.

“is this okay s—sweetheart?”

you rolled your hips in response while gripping the bed sheets tightly. loving the feeling of matt being inside you. “yes—oh my, f-fuck..”

matt slowly began to move his hips in a steady rhythm, but slow enough for it to be the most comfortable. he gently placed one of his hands onto your hips to keep you steady while the other gently caressed your cheek.

your eyebrows were knitted together, your mouth was dangling open, and your cheeks were a faint pink. “mmm, how does that feel?” matts voice lowering to a whisper in result to hide his soft grunts. he shut his eyes closed and began to pick up a faster pace. trailing your smooth skin along with his finger.

“s’good s’good!,” you cried

matt captured your lips in a passionate kiss. muffling the sweet noises that slipped through your lips. he moved down to the tip of your jaw and mumbled soft praises against your skin,

“youre doing great.”

“taking it so good f’me..”

you swayed your hips and squirmed underneath matt, arching your back against him and moaning when he rubbed against your sweet spot. he quickly caught on and saw your blissful moans become louder. your lips pursed together as you reached out to grab matts shoulders.

“m—matt i—!” he moved his hands back to your hips and quickened his pace ever so slightly. you felt your mind go blank as the only thing you were focusing on now was coming. the knot in your stomach building up every second that passed.

“fuckfuckfuck m’gonna…” he gave you one last but harsh thrust before pulling out and coming, the semen now displayed all over your stomach and t-shirt. your own orgasm followed not long after. feeling the pleasurable waves rush to your core and out. with one final moan you let your hands fall to your side. desperately trying to catch your breath.

“are you alright? how was that?” matt whispered.

he let out a low moan as he pulled out. the feeling of emptiness rushing over the both of you. you squeezed your legs together and whined softly. “painful,” you let out a breathless laugh. watching matt through your half closed eyes. “but also felt so good.”

matt laughed along with you and layed beside you. pulling you onto his chest as he played with your hair. “auuw baby, its alright you did great.” you relaxed into matts arms, feeling the warmthness of your bodies. he planted a kiss on your forehead while drifting off to sleep with you.

©333sturns

[eccentricallygothic]

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time. 

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her. 

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur. 

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you. 

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request. 

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down. 

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this. 

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this. 

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself. 

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses.��

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness. 

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him. 

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…” 

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought. 

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head. 

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave? 

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it. 

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did. 

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental. 

And so you want him. 

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging. 

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact. 

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart. 

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.” 

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin. 

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg. 

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink. 

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper. 

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this. 

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling. 

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end. 

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals. 

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice. 

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth. 

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin. 

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.” 

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get. 

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.” 

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place. 

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you. 

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight. 

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other. 

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow. 

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place. 

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.  

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

[thecoochiefairy]

sucky sucky. satoru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10K words. blackpregnantfem!character, satoru gojo, pharmacists!satoru, sub!satoru, dom!satoru, nasty sex, shower/tub sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, face sitting, condomless sex, size kink, daddy kink, creampie, squirting, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this for that one anon who wanted satoru, cause i wanted him too. love you pookie. hehe.

showering w/ satoru. ride me, baby. sitting on his face.

DAWN WAS YOUR FAVORITE TIME OF THE DAY. The sun hadn’t risen just yet, the sounds of your box fan humming through your pitch black bedroom always brought you comfort, and it was almost as if the entire world was still asleep. Your feet sunk into your bunny slippers, your soft steps pad along the white marble floor of the condo you resided in with your husband—who was currently sound asleep, able to knock out in a natural disaster as you crept out of bed. 

You decided to not turn on any lights as you came down the hallway, letting the dim screen of your phone guide you as you went towards his office close to the living room. Your hand lightly planted along the swell of your belly, taking deep breaths as you tried to focus on making it to his baby blue IMAC, needing to do more research. You were desperate at this point. 

You were nine months pregnant, the full term having been a wonderful experience as you waited for your bun to come out of the oven—the only issue was, you were almost a week after your due date, and you were now miserable. Your entire body felt heavy as your baby sat directly on your bladder, causing you to have shortness of breath at times, making you waddle essentially all the time. Regardless, you had the support you needed. Even if you were an emotional wreck. 

You keep the door cracked as you push the light switch halfway up, allowing the room to be dim as you make your way over to the desktop, clicking your french tipped fingers along the mouse to ignite the screen. Your heart shaped Cartier wedding ring glimmers along your finger—it always reminds you of the price, how you cried for Satoru to return it for something cheaper, and he felt that you deserved nothing but the best. 

You didn’t mean to wake him up, but you did anyway. You sigh lightly as you can hear his heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, his tall and broad frame unable to sneak around even if he tried. 

“Baby, please come to bed.”

You turn your head, pulling back the flyaway of your curls as they’re hidden under your baby pink bonnet to protect your hair. Your edges swirl to perfection along your forehead, glasses tipping at your nose. 

You softly ask, “Did I wake you up?”

 “I woke up when you left. Your absence was too loud." 

He rubs his eye with his big fists, his body leaning up against the door frame. His voice was low and husky with sleep. His hair is white as snow, his bangs covering his eyes as he rubs at his face, shirtless as his basketball shorts fall right below his defined and veiny V-line. The minimal tattoos along his body and arms are visible with the light from the computer, but considering how small they were you’d almost miss them.

You turn yourself towards him as you apologize, “I know you have work in a couple of hours. You should go back to sleep.”

"It is four in the morning, baby. I’m good. C’mere.”

He stretches his arms out, his veins popping along each one as he motions for you to come over to him. You knew he had work tomorrow, but the way he said it made it feel like you were crazy for even staying up this early. Your eyes glance at his biceps as he stretches, his toned body and defined abs on full display.

“I’m just doing some research. Google says raspberry leaf tea can sometimes induce labor, I might need to grab some tomorrow,” you hum more to yourself, your eyes flickering up as he walks towards you, seeing the amusement within his icy eyes.

"I might just have to block that Google shit entirely, you find more things to research and it sends you into a complete spiral.“  

You sigh, turning to him as you chew on your lip, wanting to hold back your pout.

“Baby…” you sigh, almost in an exhausted manner, hearing as that makes him chuckle at your disappointment of his words.

"Don’t make that face at me. You know I’m right.”

He knows you're trying to help the process, and you're tired of sleeping on your side, being swollen and achy. He leans down as he presses a kiss onto your jaw. Your hormones are all out of whack as you even try not to get emotional at his words, knowing he meant no harm.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” you lightly defend, hating when he was dismissive. You then click off safari along the computer as you attempt to stand, pressing your hand along the desk as you groan lightly—you just wanted to stand without struggling.

"Hey, let me help you, baby.”

He stands behind you, placing his hand on your lower back to steady your stance, but hesitates as you push his hand away.

“I can do it myself, Satoru…” 

Fucking hell, there it was. The tears forming in your vision. You didn’t know why you were about to cry. You wipe your eyes as you hold your belly, taking a deep breath as you sniffle, “I’m not helpless.”

"I know you’re not, pretty girl. Let me just help you, okay? You can walk yourself back to bed.” 

You were always prideful and resilient, but right now—you were a hot mess, the pregnancy hormones making you teary eyed often these days.

He knew how to handle you. It just depended on your emotions, and he was there to respond in any way he needed to. Like now, it was best not to make you become defensive—because you were—instead giving you an ultimatum, to make you still feel in control of yourself. You lean your hand along his stomach as you use your other hand to wipe your eyes, “Baby girl’s sitting on my bladder again.”

He places a hand along your belly, his palm firm as it sits atop of your own. 

"Do you need to pee, baby? You’re always feeling like that.” 

His voice was so tender as he spoke, he knew you were sensitive right now, so he had to be gentle with you.

You shake your head, “Just wanna lay down.” 

He nods, understanding as he makes sure your legs are sturdy before he helps you walk down the hallway, taking your hand to let him guide you. His big palm practically engulfs yours, but the warmth of his hand instantly gives you some comfort as you take slow and wobbly steps towards your bedroom. 

You successfully make it towards the soft white comforter set, golden swan headboard curving under the lights of the room as you sit yourself on your side of the mattress. You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you then say, “I wasn’t crying.”

He lets a low chuckle escape from his lips as he stands in front of you. Taking your face in between his hands that makes you look up at him, his soft thumbs graze along your skin, wiping away your tears. 

"Oh, you weren’t? An intruder cutting onions in my house?”  

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin. It was your favorite fragrance, a mixture of sandalwood and musk. 

You release a soft sigh, gently pushing his hands down as you say, “You’re unserious as hell,” rolling your eyes. You then ask, “Are you sure your employees will be okay if you have to leave work tomorrow?” 

You had a doctor's appointment to determine whether or not they could just pop your water bag, or give it a couple of days to let the baby come herself. Your husband was a Pharmacists CEO—which seemed fairly easy within the name—but it was so much more into his job, keeping him at work for hours at a constant.

"They’ll be good, baby. I think you forget that I have a team working for me, I don’t hire any dumbass staff. If anything they’re excited to play on the clock while I’m not around.”

You absentmindedly lock your fingers around the pendant of your necklace, nodding as your other hand rubs along his flexing forearm. 

You then remind him, “You need to sleep, Satoru. Otherwise you’ll be the dumbass on your team, walking around like a zombie on the clock.”

"I’ve been dealing with sleepless nights for almost a year now because of someone,” He leans down, “Gimme’ your mouth. I’m missing you like hell.”

Your eyes scan across the dangerous glint of his, always a mischief somewhere in them. Your lash extensions flutter as you say, “Kay,” almost a little too girlishly, raising your mouth up to his. 

He could be a completely different person when things became a little feisty between you two, feeling his mouth wrap around your lips, hungrily sucking your tongue inside to reel you closer. It makes your cheeks warm.

It felt like years since he held your mouth to his own, the taste of you making him grunt as he took his time with it. He knew he’d have to be cautious to not get carried away, you were heavily pregnant, and the last thing he wanted to do is hurt you. 

He sucks on your bottom lip as his hand moves down to your ass, squeezing and massaging his fingers into the plush skin under his hand.

The feeling makes your breath lightly hitch through your nose, and a throb comes between your legs. You pull your mouth back, pressing your forehead against his as you softly say, “I’m tired, ’toru,” using that as an excuse as you felt yourself becoming incredibly horny, not wanting to continue further than that.

He knew your signs of exhaustion when they came, so he wasn't surprised when you pulled back from his lips, but a part of him didn't want to stop. The sight of your pouty expression makes him release a low groan. Your swollen face, your long eyelashes, your pretty lips. The pregnancy absolutely made you sexier. 

He reluctantly pulls away from your face, "C’mon, imma’ try to get some rest before I’m cussing out my employees for no reason.”

Somewhere in you feels bad. You know he’s been holding back for months, considering your libido has been incredibly low since you became pregnant. But for whatever reason with you close to giving birth, your lower body was on fire, needing him in ways you couldn’t imagine yourself acting. It was egregious. Maybe you should’ve googled something on that.

When the next day came, you were being dropped off by the chauffeur at your doctor's office. The walls inside were pink, your smile soft as you greeted silently at other pregnant women. You sat in the waiting room as your hands were along your belly, watching the smaller children play with the toys provided by the office, imagining yourself to have a playful baby of your own. It’d already been Satoru’s third time calling you today, making sure you arrived safely to your appointment while he was at work. And he said you were worrisome. 

When it was your turn to be called back, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You were so close to the due date, and still, the baby hasn’t shown an indication of coming out the oven. 

You were greeted by your OB, a middle-aged woman who was friendly enough, but you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. After getting your weight checked, you sat on the examination bed as she began looking over your swollen belly.

“How are you feeling?” she questions, cream colored skin being complimented by her red lipstick, onyx hair clipped perfectly into a bob.

“I’m okay,” you say softly, giving a smile to her, “I’m just feeling a little heavy. It’s been a bit of a struggle to walk at times, she won’t get off of my bladder,” you give a light laugh, “I just wanted to see if I was okay to get induced today? I’m just—I feel ready, doctor.”

The doctor nods as she looks over your information sheet on her clipboard, listening to you as you spoke with her. After a short pause, she answers, “Well, you’re full term, your water could break at any moment. However, I suggest waiting a few more days before we try the induction process, your body will go naturally when it’s ready.”   

She moves the stethoscope along your belly, listening to your baby’s heart rate. But not what you wanted to hear. It makes you sigh, “May I ask why there would be a difference between induction, and if the baby came on her own tonight?”

“The induction process can be a little more painful for you, honey. The contractions are more intense as we try to force your body to go into labor,” she moves away as she takes off her stethoscope, placing it back onto her neck as she pauses, “I would try some natural techniques that can induce labor, but, there’s no guarantee.“

“That makes sense,” you nod more to yourself, “I was up doing some research last night. Didn’t find much considering my husband ordered me back to bed. Are there any at home suggestions you’d give me as far as going into labor?”

The doctor gives a chuckle as she writes something on her clipboard, “I see. Your husband is a smart man, he knows what’s best for you right now. How about you try walking more? It helps bring the baby lower into the birth canal, maybe that will help your body’s natural contractions begin?” She looks back at you, “Sex is also a very healthy way of triggering a natural induction. A lot of my momma’s have some quite interesting stories,” she pats your leg lightly, same sweet smile against her face.

You’re a grown woman, but an older woman suggesting sex with your husband is something that makes your throat go dry. It even makes you blush a bit. You blink, pulling down the baby tee you wear that desperately wants to release your breast from the confinement of the material, your nipples extremely sensitive.

“Uh…sex can trigger my labor?” You repeat.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. It can help release oxytocin and prostaglandins, which can stimulate your body’s natural contractions. I’m sure your husband will be very happy to hear that,” she gives you a little smirk before adding, “It's a very effective way to start labor, a nice release for both momma and poppa.”

“Is it safe, even with my baby girl being so close to my cervix?” You have a thousand questions—definitely should've been a little quieter as you snuck into the office last night. Maybe you would’ve known this by now.

The doctor laughs, seemingly surprised by your question, but answers it anyway, “It’s absolutely okay. Baby girl won’t be harmed. A lot of my patients have sex throughout their pregnancies, it’s completely normal,” she moves back and takes her seat on her office chair, “Just be careful, but don’t be too careful. It might just do the job for you.”

At that moment, your head turns as a knock comes to the door. When it opens, it reveals Satoru—who’s not dressed within his lab coat and button up. He wears a black long sleeve, matching sweatpants accompanied with his blue New Balance 9060 sneakers, shades on his eyes as his vision strained from the sun at times. His top is practically suffocating his large frame, it’s like he has to crouch down to make everyone else comfortable. You see he holds your pale pink Nike duffle, your birth bag slung over his shoulder in preparation for anything. It almost makes you giggle. 

“You’re here,” you say, a warm smile coming to your face, not expecting him to be since you didn’t call him to come.

He loved this. He loved how you were absolutely radiating right now, all round and pretty, carrying his baby. He moves closer, bending over as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before greeting, “Hey, my pretty baby. I had a free hour in a half so I thought I’d come check up on my girl. She’ good?” he questions the doctor.

The doctor nods, placing her clipboard back into its holder, “Everything looks great. Your wife is full term and healthy, and your baby girl is ready to meet you both,” she gives a kind smile before giving a quick wave, “I’m going to have the nurse bring some pamphlets, it’s got some more information in there, just to help out. Do you have any other questions?”

You shake your head, “You’ve been amazing this entire journey, doctor. I just wanna say thank you—you’ll be one of the first people I come visit with my little muffin.”

You don’t know why you’re about to cry, but it’s a radiance of happiness you feel as you rub your eyes, so glad to have a good physician in this situation. You ignore Satoru’s, “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” rubbing your back immediately as he sees your vision glossing over.

The doctor gives a light laugh, clearly used to this type of behavior from her patients. “No problem, honey,” patting your knee once again, “How about you let papa take you out for a nice big lunch, hm? I have another patient coming in, I’ll see you soon. Congratulations.”

She leaves you both within the room, your fingers padding your eyes lightly, giggling at yourself as you greet him, “Hi, how’s work been so far?”

He’s still rubbing soothing circles along your back, finding it cute the way you were being overly emotional right now. 

His lips press to your temple, “Busy as hell. You’ hungry?”

You nod your head, taking his hand as you step off of the table as you hold your belly, a light gasp coming to your mouth as you begin waddling towards the door, thankfully not seeing the way Satoru holds back his laugh as you ramble on, “Baby! I saw this cute little restaurant not too far away when the chauffeur dropped me off, it had chicken tenders, Mexican food, burgers, all kinda stuff!…”

It’s not like your legs just stopped working, but he knows the added weight was probably hard to get used to. He chuckles as you speak, following after you as he opens the door for you both, letting you walk out first as he says, “That’s perfect, baby.”

It was in fact cuter on the inside. Small circular tables, thinly designed chairs, brown architecture and green plants hanging all around the ceiling as calming music played throughout the building. The bustle of people walking past brought a sense of comfort to you, your eyes trailing to the roses that sat decoratively along the table.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” You blink, giving a polite smile to the waiter that places tall glasses of lemon water along the table, giving you time to glance over the menu.

He could honestly care less about a restaurant’s interior. If they had the best burgers in the world, he was there, but the way you were glazed over at the interior, made the whole situation a little sweeter. 

He reaches across to hold your hand, giving a light squeeze to your fingers as he answers, “It’s pretty as fuck, baby, just like you.”

“Don’t be tryna distract me, boy. Why’d you leave work? I never called you,” you remind him, “Pregnancy doesn’t make me all ditzy and shit.”

He knew that question was coming, even if you were happy that he showed up. 

He shrugs, his thumb stroking your skin, “I was worried. You’ seen my big ass carrying that labor bag, I wanted to be there in case they induced you. Is that a crime?” he questions, “Plus, I needed a break from my annoying ass employees.”

“Oh, now they’re your annoying ass employees. You spoke so highly of them last night, what’d they do today to piss you off, Mr. Pharmacist?” You tease, accepting the fries they placed down in front of you that you ordered, taking one in your mouth, your stomach grumbling at the salty potatoes entering your system.

He reaches over to steal a fry—ignoring the way your hand smacks his—“One of them spilled a whole bottle of medication that’s hard as fuck to get again. Another one put some wrong information on a medical document. My third worker was late, and had no explanation why. So yeah, call me pissy. Don’t care.”

“Stuff happens, Satoru. Now imagine if your workers were irrational about you just ducking off the clock because you wanna have lunch with me? That isn’t fair to them,” you point out.

He pauses, listening to you as he gives a nod, chewing through the fry he had in his mouth. Satoru knew you had a point, and he respected the way you always made him realize those points. So he simply replies with, “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, baby.”

“I know I am,” you agree. You give an excited clap as they place down your nachos, craving Mexican food like no other. They also give Satoru his gourmet burger and fries, the man refusing to eat anything else at times. He was the pickiest person on the planet. 

You shake your head, “You and your beef. You’d be perfect as a pregnant woman, with excessive amounts of protein.”

“Shitt, to be able to take off work, wear whatever I want and crash out on somebody if they comment on my eating habits? Somebody call the government and start making pills to get men pregnant. Quickly.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’d enjoy the luxury of having the doctor tell you they don’t want to force your induction, and you have to wait several more days to see if you’ll naturally go into labor.”

He leans back into his seat, placing his arms over his chest as he stares at you, “Damn, maybe you’re right. Being a woman is stressful—no offense.” He pauses, his own eyes glancing at the way you looked a little disappointed from the doctor’s words, not getting what you wanted. He leans forward, his hand reaching over the table to take one of yours, “Hey. She knows what she’s talking about. Baby girl will come when she’s ready. You’ll be a great momma, y’know that right?”

“Maybe she’s hiding in there cause she thinks imma’ be a bad momma,” you sigh, kneeling yourself on your elbow against the table, “You’ think babies can feel anxiety?”

He listens to you express your concerns, his jaw clenching. He knew you were nervous. You were carrying the product of you and him for months, you wanted everything to go perfectly. Satoru wanted that for you. But he also wanted you to stop being so hard on yourself, so he says, “Nah, baby, I don’t think she can feel your anxiety. She’s probably too busy listening to how amazing her momma’s heartbeat is, probably a lullaby to her.”

You exhale lightly, feeling a bit better at his words. On the other hand, you find yourself…gazing at your husband. His dark shades along his strident face, alabaster hair and muscular frame wanting to explode through his top. He made the table almost look small, and your mind flashes to memories of you…creating your bundle of joy, an entirely different Satoru in those times. You pull your fingers away as you put another nacho into your mouth, giving a weak smile, feeling the blush on your cheeks as you say, “You’re so sweet.”

He catches the way you stare at him. Your feline eyes blink slowly, your dark curls filling the roundness of your flushed cheeks.

He leans a little closer, his tone lowering as he says, “I’m sweet, huh?”

You didn’t have to wonder whether or not Satoru looked at you in the way you were currently staring, because it was a constant gaze in those arctic pupils. There was a time he’d fuck you anywhere. You could always feel his eyes on you, especially today as you wore an all white baby tee and yoga pants set, brown sandals complimenting your pedicure, the gold along the strap of your sandals matching the dermals on your lower back. The set clung itself to your frame, never ashamed of your body even within the pregnancy. Your child bearing hips, full ass, nipples protruding through your top. You were stunning.

You always feigned an innocence, giggly like a schoolgirl when he flirted as if he weren’t your husband. Your eyes glance up to him, “You’ wanna know what the doctor said?”

His eyes were practically glued to every part of you. He took notice of the pedicure with the little white flowers against your feet, the way your shirt hugged your frame perfectly, and how he could see your pretty brown skin through the white fabric. His grin meets your face, ignoring the way you tilt his chin up to keep his eyes on yours, “Tell me.”

“She suggested that sex might be a way of inducing my labor,” you rub your fingers along his ear, a habit of yours when you talked to him in close radius.

The way that those words slipped from your mouth, the tone of your voice, it had his mind in overdrive. 

He feels your fingers against his earlobe, and he almost loses himself at the touch, his jaw clenching, “How you’ feel about that?”

“Like I need to go home and confirm that on some physicians website. I mean, that sounds terrifying! What if you bump my baby girl's head? Is that too impossible to think about?” You scrunch up your nose.

He holds back his laugh as you seem so concerned about hurting the baby that way. He knows it’s an irrational fear, but it’s adorable nonetheless, his hand coming up to rub your cheek as he says, “Baby, you do realize she’s protected in your womb, right?”

You sigh lightly, “Mhm. I just wish she’d sit up more, she makes me feel like I have to pee every millisecond. Like now. And you need to get back to work,” you remind him.

He glances at his Chopard watch, knowing he had to leave. He loved spending time with you, but he did need to get back to work. He felt awful, but that’s what it was like owning a massive corporation— you didn’t always have a life outside work.

“I’ll probably be back a little late. You’ gonna miss me?”

You roll your eyes, accepting the pecks he presses along your mouth as you say in between them, “I always miss you, Daddy,” giggling as he raises an eyebrow at the nickname. 

He could feel himself losing restraint. You stand as you wrap your arms along his neck, Satoru lowering himself so you don't have to stand on your toes. He grunts as he smacks your ass, pressing a kiss to your jaw, not wanting to pull away. But he had to. So instead he gives a sigh, watching the chauffeur pull up to drop you off at home as he waved, “Later, baby.”

The rest of the day was mostly you laying in bed, rewatching American Horror Story and also pushing yourself to read another chapter of a book you’d been interested in. You also pushed yourself to do your usual routines of being a housewife, feeding your large black husky that didn’t do much besides holler and follow you around, or even tend to your garden outside. 

You thought about the doctor's words, and although you were a bit fearful of them, maybe a relaxing night between you and your husband wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe it wasn’t about your concerns for the baby, maybe you were just nervous of having intimate time with him, considering it’d been a month without it. So, you had a plan. 

You waited until you heard your husky barking loudly at the door as it unlocked, meaning Satoru was home. You could hear his deep voice chastising the dog for her noises, dropping his keys along the counter like he always did. You lightly pad your feet along the cold floor, clutching the fluffy pink towel wrapped around your bare body as you peek around the corner at him.

He had dealt with so much work bullshit, and all he wanted was to take a hot shower and lay with you in bed. But the sight of you, dark curls pulled out of your face, natural freckles sprucing against your nose and cheeks, the pink contrasting with your brown skin, he was glaring at you.

“Was work that bad?” You poke fun, holding the towel at the top to keep it from falling.

He shakes his head, his eyes still glued to you. You looked so sexy, and he hadn’t touched you in weeks. He wanted you. He craved you. His eyes trail down your frame, taking notice of the curves along your legs, and he gives a grunt.

With a few quick strides, he’s standing in front of you, his large hands taking hold of your face as he answers, “Work was hellish, baby.”

“Mmm, I’m sorry,” you say, pressing a kiss against his palm, “Wanna come shower with me? I’ll scrub your back like you love.”

He exhales, almost sounding like a sigh of relief. A shower after his stressful ass day, and his wife? He didn’t argue the offer. The way you stood in front of him, your hands clutching the fluffy material against the curves of your body, it made his fingers itch. He needed you. He needed to touch you. 

“Yeah? You’ being all nice to me and shit, but I’m not complaining.”

You take his hand as you pull him down the hall, making your way towards the double doors of the bathroom. Satoru notices a pop of red along the floor, focusing his eyes in as he then realizes it’s a rose petal. When the door fully opens, candles sit all around the mesmerizing black clawfoot tub with golden feet, already filled with water that looks surprisingly warm. Not just red rose petals—but pink ones, lilies, sunflowers, colorful flowers overall floating atop of the water, swimming prettily.

You turn towards him, beginning to remove his watch as your warm face comes down, “I just thought maybe a relaxing night between us would be nice. You’ um…You’ like it? I used a lot of flowers from my garden so…I hope you do,” you nervously smile, pulling your hair behind your ear.

His eyes scanned the room. He could smell the sweet aroma of flowers, and the way the room was dimmed had his shoulders relaxing almost immediately. His eyes trailed the petals on the floor, realizing just how much effort you put into this.

“Baby, you shouldn’t have gone to this trouble. I should be doing shit like this for you.”

“It’s okay, I know you would have if you weren’t at work,” you place your palm against his cheek, “It wasn’t so bad, Storm helped me carry most of the stuff I needed anyways,” you refer to the dog, “She slobbered on the stems, but I cut them anyway.”

He chuckles at the way you talk, knowing your dog was like your first child . He reaches over and pinches your cheek, “You and that husky of ours have a whole ass bond. But I appreciate this, baby, really. Is the water still warm? Need me to refill it for you?”

You shake your head, “Just need you to follow me in.” 

You raise on your toes, giving him a soft, tender kiss. As you come back down, you turn away, removing the towel from around you as you stride over to the tub, arching your bare body as you make your way in. 

You sink beneath the water as you ask, “You’ coming?”

He was practically mesmerized as you made your way to the tub. The way the candles illuminated along your skin, the water moving as you slid in, he was almost at a loss of words. But he couldn’t just stand there like an idiot. 

He smacks his lips, “You think I’m not?” making you giggle at the way he yanks his tie off, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes watch as his clothes drop to the floor, scanning the curve of his abs, how perfectly sculpted he was. Veins ran through his arms and fingers, flexing up and all the way down to his v-line that harshly dipped into the monster that sat between his legs. It made your eyes pull away a bit, seeing as he was already coming into the tub with you.

He knew he had your attention. The way you stared as he undressed, the way he caught your eyes taking notice of his body, he was confident. A little cocky, per usual. Especially when you looked away, almost as if you couldn’t look at him. He slips into the water across from you, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips as he pulls you onto his lap.

“Is it warm enough?” You question, wrapping your arms along his neck, adjusting yourself on top of him.

As you straddle him, his hands move along your thighs, holding onto you tightly. He’s already nodding as he answers, “Feels good, baby.”  

He brings you closer, burying his face in between your neck and collarbone, inhaling your scent deeply. He loved how you smelled. He loved everything about you. You take the pink sponge you had within the water, your other fingers gripping the nape of his hair along the back of his neck as you tilt his head, dipping the sponge deeper before squeezing it above him. You watch as his light hair darkens, pulling back out of his face to reveal him fully. 

“It’s getting close to that time of renewing our vows,” you remind softly.

Your touch felt good. He enjoyed it. The way you took care of him, the way your fingers worked through his white locks. He closes his eyes at the feeling, leaning a bit more into your touch. When you mention renewing your vows, his eyes flutter open, gazing directly into yours. 

He gives a grin, “Baby, I’d marry you thousands of times over and over again. I don’t give a fuck where we do it, you’re just indecisive.”

You sigh, “I know. I just want it to be as perfect as the first time…” you think to yourself, eyes lighting up as you suggest, “What about Singapore? Maybe only our parents and friends, make it small, explore the country, yeah?”

He lets you speak, knowing just how perfect you wanted everything to be. But honestly? Satoru didn’t care. The first wedding was nice, but you were the only thing that he truly cared about. He just enjoyed listening to you.

When you suggest Singapore for the renewal, he chuckles a little, “You know my parents will argue with that. They’ll want to host it somewhere fancy like Rome or something.”

“And Singapore isn’t?” You blink, “God, you really were raised bougie as fuck. My parents thought the Statue Of Liberty was the nicest thing they’d ever seen.”

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh a little at how you put it, knowing you weren’t entirely wrong. But he shakes his head, “Singapore is extravagant, but it’ll be like talking to a damn brick wall, trying to persuade them to even consider Singapore. They’ll probably suggest some damn castle in Europe.”

“It’s unfortunate for them that it’s our wedding, hm?” You tilt your head, “Your controlling ass parents gon’ have to suck it up. Cause I can be a bridezilla,” you roll your eyes, ignoring his chuckle against your lips as he kisses them.

“You’re their princess. They’ll put up with your crazy ass and plan the wedding where you want it. Me on the other hand? I don’t give a fuck if it’s in the middle of some street, as long as you walk down the aisle and say you still love me.”

You giggle as he tickles your neck with his lips, pulling yourself back and you’re inches away from his face. You sigh, “I love you.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, “You’ having a stroke or something?”

You roll your eyes, “I mean it.”

He grins at your eye roll, knowing you were playful. But when you tell him you mean it, his blue eyes shift into a softer, more serious expression.

 He brings his hands up, holding your face gently as you continue, “I just…appreciate you for being so patient with me. You love me, even if I cry because the sky’s blue.”

Your sincerity makes him want to melt. He didn’t care how many bags of potato chips he had to buy you, how many stuffed animals you wanted, or how many times you changed the sheets because your pregnancy hormones had you paranoid that the bed smelled weird. He could deal with it. He would deal with it. You were having his baby, carrying the most precious thing he’s ever had. He’d deal with you forever.

Satoru leans upwards, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. He pulls back, gazing at you as he says, “I’d go to the fuckin’ ends of the world for you.”

When he clutches you back against his mouth, it makes your heartbeat in your ears. You feel his nails dig into the skin of your hips, almost as if he’s trying to be soft with you. Key word—trying. You lightly pull your mouth back, breath hitching as he quickly wraps his fingers along the back of your neck, holding you close, your lips centimeters apart. 

“Satoru…”

The way you breathe his name, it almost made him lose his mind right there. The way your body pressed against his, the way you sat in his lap, it made it damn near impossible to hold back. He wanted you so bad. He’d wanted you the moment he walked through the door. He needed to make you his again.

“I’m hungry,” he grunts along your mouth, your eyes fluttering as you blink, his light ones deep within your vision. 

“Oh, um—“ you inhale, “Do you wanna stop? Want me to make you something?”

“Yeah. Open your fuckin’ legs.”

Your light gasp is swallowed by his mouth, his head twisting to the side, mouth overlapping as his tongue envelopes yours. Your shoulders fall, trying to get a grip along him as your body sinks lower within the warm water—the heat of the tub, the heat within your kiss, you feel fuzzy.

He pulls your mouth from his, clutching the side of your face as he questions, “Good, baby?” to which you nod your head, running your tongue over your bruised lips. He nods with a grunt at the confirmation, and it’s quick—you nearly lose your breath as he pulls you up by your hips, your small frame being bent along the rim of the tub, Satoru scooting your thighs above his face as he puts himself beneath you. 

“Hold the edge of the tub. Arch your back,” he orders, and you grip your hands against the black marble, lifting your hips high, his large palms cuffing you by the skin of your ass. You hesitate as you try to look beneath yourself, nearly wanting to roll your eyes as your belly is in the way of seeing his face.

You stand on your toes beneath the water, legs lightly shuddering as you say, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby…”

You grip the edge, biting your lip as you feel him spank your ass, rubbing the skin to soothe the sting it gives. 

“Pussy is fuckin’ pretty, baby. Can I taste you?”

You let one of your hands gently reach down, pushing your weight onto his palms as you clutch a lock of his hair. You nod your head as you exhale shakily, “…Yes, please.”

He grunts, his tongue flattening as he drags it up the entirety of you, the rush of pleasure unexpected as you immediately tense. You can feel the vibration of his chuckle at your reaction, holding you tighter as his warm breath fans against your slick folds. He spreads you farther, his tongue darting out, licking another slow stripe up your slit before circling your clit with the tip. 

It’s his moan that makes your lashes flutter, it’s like a candy he’d been rewarded with. You whimper as he spanks you again, “Fuck, baby. You taste like heaven,” he’s already stuffing his face in between your legs, pulling you down as he’s lapping at your clit like an animal, making the flesh even more wet from the arousal that’s collecting on your pussy.

“O—oh shit,” you gasp lightly, clutching his hair tighter, your legs shuddering more than before. His tongue swirls around your sensitive nub, soft and throbbing as it rubs against his lips, being tugged at each time he sucks in between his mouth. His jaw nudges at the opening of your walls, your legs beginning to tighten on each side of his face.

“Baby, you're dripping,” he groans in between licks, his voice muffled against your pussy, “Oh my god, shit is so fuckin’ sexy. Give me more.”

“Baby—w—wait,” you pull at his hair harder, your arousal beginning to spread in all parts of your mind, knowing he was desperately trying to pull that side of you that didn’t normally appear. 

He raises one of his hands as he orders, “Come hold it. Not gonna let you run from my mouth, so imma’ ask nicely for now.” 

You nearly pout, taking one of your hands as you reach back and intertwine your fingers together, Satoru placing it back against the skin of your ass, fully holding you in place, eating you out just how he wanted to. 

Your moans fill the air as he continues to devour your pussy, sucking and licking with reckless abandon. He buries his face deeper, inhaling your scent deeply as he laps at your juices, drinking in every drop he can get.

"Mmmmph...need you to ride my face baby," he moans, that pleading voice beginning to get to you. He always knew how to knock your walls down. His hands grip your hips tightly as he begins motioning them in a thrusting motion, pulling you harder against his mouth to make you grind on him, whimpering to you,  “C’mon, baby. C'mon, cmon. please.”

With each beg, his tongue begins to reach for your squelching opening, probing at your inner walls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your head kneels back as you arch, moaning as you pull yourself towards him, whimpering with him as you quietly ask, “Put your tongue in me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you like that?” 

“Y—yeah, ‘toru,” you whine softly, digging your nails within your own skin, the same hand that’s trapped under his.

He parts his mouth wider, giving your clit a good suck before he slides his face down, exhaling heavily as he sticks his tongue out, sliding you down on it, feeling as it curls within your walls to touch against your most sensitive spot. The both of you moan out, your eyes turning to the mirror of the bathroom as you see yourself—arched against his mouth, hair sprawled over your face as you angle yourself perfectly to grind on his tongue.

You’re becoming hornier by the second, taking your hand from under his that was trapped as you go back to holding his hair. Your giggle is sultry as you move your hips forward, circling them down onto his mouth as you whimper, “Want me to fuck down on your mouth baby? Tell me.”

“Yeah, baby. Need you to drench my fuckin’ mouth,” he groans deeply, shaking his head side to side, spanking you at your words. This is just what he wanted from you. 

He continues to feast on your pussy, his tongue delving deeper inside you, exploring every inch. Your moans echo through the bathroom, spurring him on as he laps at your juices, savoring your unique flavor.

"Fuck,”  he gasps, “You’ taste so. Fuckin’. Good…” he’s thrusting his tongue in and out of you with each word, mimicking the act of penetration. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, causing your legs to tremble and your grip on his hair to tighten.

"You like that, baby?" he pants, his breath hot against your core, “Like when I tongue-fuck this pretty little pussy?"

Your response is a desperate whine, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his tongue. Your velvety walls clench around the invader, creaming as he savors your taste. He's relentless, spearing in and out, stretching you open more and more. 

"Take what you need from me, baby. This is your fuckin’ mouth, make it yours.” 

His nose presses into your clit, rubbing it with each powerful thrust of his tongue. He starts moving it in and out slowly, but your hips are grinding chaotically, also savoring your tightness and relishing the feel of your inner muscles clenching around him. His hands are back to gripping your ass firmly, keeping you in position as he eats you out aggressively. 

“Gonna make you cum so hard on my tongue, baby. Milk it for me..."

Your juices coat his chin and neck as he devours you, slurping and sucking greedily. He can't get enough of your taste, your scent even filling his senses. Your hair is flying all over your face and down your back, your head falling back as you’re moaning pathetically, dipping your hips down, almost like you’re dancing atop of him. 

He’s going, “Mhmmm, mhmmm, yeah. Like that. Yes. Moan louder. Shit, baby..." he murmurs against your slick folds, "Love seeing you lose control like this."

He doubles his efforts, tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive bud before wrapping his lips around it and suckling hard. The vibrations from his moans send shivers down your spine as he works to push you closer to the edge. His strong hands grip your ass even tighter, spreading your cheeks wide to access your dripping entrance better.

You can only see the side of his face from the mirror, your craving for him is beginning to heighten, and now, you’re hungry. You pull yourself back from his mouth, looking at him through the mirror as you sultrily talk, “You want me to cum all in your mouth, baby? Beg.”

He looks up at you with lust-filled eyes, the brightest irises you’d ever seen somehow darkening. 

“P—please, baby,” he begs, his voice low and needy, "I want to taste you when you're flooded. Keep going, give it to me. Fill my mouth with your cum, let me drink you down."

You begin grinding slowly against his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he moans. You tell him with a shake to your head, “You can do better than that, Daddy. C’mon…wanna hear you mean it, ‘toru. Wanna cum all over your face baby,” you whimper, toying with him, “C’mon baby, beg me, please…” you reach down, beginning to rub your clit, “Don’t wanna cum all alone…” 

His eyes snap open, blazing with a hunger so intense it makes your breath hitch. He pulls back slightly, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with raw desperation.

"F—Fuck, baby, please," he rasps, his voice thick with desire, "Let me make you cum. Let me cover my face in you. I need it, need to feel you coming apart on my tongue, in my mouth. Please, baby, let go for me..."

“So greedy, baby boy…” you nod your head, placing your clit back on his mouth, breathless as you pull his jaw down, “Put your tongue back in me, make me cum so I can sink down on your dick after.”

He lets out a guttural moan against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shivers through you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, fucking you with it as he suckles your clit.

The both of you moan together, back to grinding on his mouth, your whines long and high-pitched as you feel your lower body jolting, orgasm coming in harsh waves as you cum within his mouth. Your moan gasps into a giggle as he spanks you in repetitions, tugging you back down to be on his lap. Some of the water had begun to drain, and you could see the hard strain of his tip, a bright pink, painful between his legs as it dripped pre-cum.

You pull him into a kiss, sloppily running your tongue against his mouth, lips parted wide as you ask between making out with him, “Want me to sink on it, baby?”

He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks up at you with wild, desperate eyes. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, "Yes, fuck yes... put that shit in, it’s so fuckin’ hard for you…”

He places a gentle palm along your swollen belly, to which you pull away and place on the back of your neck as you quietly assure him, “I’m okay.” 

He grunts as he kisses your forehead—he was always concerned. You reach down as you run your hand along his tip, slapping it in between your clit and opening as you stick your tongue out, “Kiss me, baby,” whimpering, begging,  “Gimme’ your mouth.”

He leans in, capturing your lips, returning the nasty kiss you’d given him earlier, dominating your mouth that has your neck fall back a bit. He clutches your neck closer, keeping your lips together as his tip spreads your pussy open, sinking your hips lower, dropping down onto his rigid length. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you completely, stretching you in a delicious pain around his fat girth. 

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving as he looks down at where you’re joined, watching intently as he gives you a slow thrust upwards as he gasps, "Shit, baby... so tight... fuck."

You wrap your arms around him, hiding your face within his neck as you dig your fingers in his hair, voice tiny, high-pitched as you cry softly against him, pouting into his ear, “Ughn, Satoru….”

He holds you close, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other grips your hip tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he listens to your whimpers. 

“That’s it baby—agh,” he whimpers himself, bouncing you down onto his dick, always close to splitting you in half, “Just relax baby—mmph,” he’s moaning pitifully with you, listening to the sounds of your skin clap together, tears brimming your eyes as you clutch him tighter. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure through both of you. He groans, low and guttural, as he buries his face in your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "Fuck, baby... you feel so good... so fuckin’ perfect..." he growls, his breath hot against your ear.

He continues to pound into you relentlessly, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last. Your cries and whimpers fill the air, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. He can feel your walls clenching around him, trying to milk his dick for all it's worth.

"Ah, fuck yeah... that's it, baby," he pants, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency, the water from the tub splashing high each time. "Take it all, every inch... hnngh."

As he picks up speed, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your moans and his grunts.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he rasps, his voice strained with lust. "Gonna make a fuckin’ mess?”

You dig your face farther into his neck, your cheeks warm, tears dripping from your eyes as you groan lowly, “Agh—gh—fuck,” you sniffle, “Deeper, go d—deeper…”

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers sinking into your flesh as he responds to your plea. He takes both palms back to your ass, spreading the skin to open you up more, pulling you up until you’re barely along his tip, dropping you back down, skin burning as it sticks together from the creaming you’re spouting out. It makes you gasp, clawing at him as you place your fingers within your mouth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. But it also makes you extremely wet.

You bring your face up, placing your hands along his hard stomach as you begin picking up your own hips, slamming them down against him. You see as that makes his head tilt back against the edge, holding you tighter as he helps you fuck him, his moan dragging out, pausing through each drop of your hips. His adam’s apple bobs severely, hair pulled out from his face, dark pink lips bruised as he grits his teeth.

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles flexing beneath your palms as he meets each of your downward thrusts with an upward grind of his hips. The angle changes, allowing him to hit that sweet spot inside you with unerring precision, stretching you wide and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Fuuuck, baby..." he growls, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "Ride me just like that... Take what you need..."

His hands slide down to grasp your thighs, thumbs digging into the sensitive skin as he guides your movements, encouraging you to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so completely filled and owned by him. The water churns around you, a frothy mix of sweat and soap, as you both surrender to the intensity of your passion.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You question, your small and cute voice making his tip jump inside of you. You look him directly in his eyes, placing your hands on your breasts as you rub your sensitive nipples, bouncing up and down against him.

“They’re so sensitive…” you whimper, “Wanna touch them? Might make me cum…”

“Let me suck on them, pretty. Know that’ll make you cum.”

He comes forward, but you push him back, wrapping your fingers along his throat, squeezing as you begin swirling your hips on top of him, “I missed when you begged me, where’s my needy boy? I miss him,” you whine, palming your nipples harder, feeling as his abdomen tightens.

He lets out a choked gasp as you tighten your grip on his throat, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Right h—here baby," he rasps, his voice muffled slightly by your fingers. 

"Need you so bad... Want to feel you cum on my dick…” His hips buck up sharply, driving himself deeper inside you as he strains against your hold, desperate for more friction, more pressure. "Don't stop, don't ever stop…” he begs, his body trembling with the force of his impending climax.

“Don’t want me to stop, baby?” You’re lifting your hips slowly, dropping them down harshly, the loud sound echoing in the bathroom, your giggle evil, moaning messily as you feel yourself beginning to cum on his tip.

“N—no, baby—Don't stop—“ his deep voice cracks with desperation as he feels your walls clenching around him. 

“Ooooh, yes, baby,” your own voice is failing the control you want to give, your walls tight as they suck him in deeply. The sensation of your orgasm soaking his dick is too much to bear, and with a grunt, he buries his face between your breasts, his teeth grazing the tender flesh as he surrenders to his own release.

He listens to you first, holding you close as you let out a breath, not expecting it to turn into a sob, squirting heavily, the gush of it all drenched in between his continuous thrusts as you gasp, “I’m cumming, I’m cummingg.“

You can’t help but want to see his vulnerable side one last time as you talk to him, “Cum in me, pretty boy. Cum in me, Daddy. Please.” 

He groans, his hips jerking erratically as he plunges deeper, chasing his climax. Your words, the desperate plea in your voice—it all shatters what little restraint he has left. He softly cries out, slamming into you one final time, his dick pulsing as he warms your insides with his cum.

As the aftershocks subside, he collapses onto you, his weight a comforting press against your skin. His breath hitches as he tries to regain composure, but the tremors running through him betray his vulnerability.

 "Baby..." he whispers, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "That was... fuck, I needed that."

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your hip, a soothing caress meant to comfort both of you.

You don’t want to ruin the moment, lifting your face up as you give him a soft peck, leaning your head on his neck as you say, “Love you, ‘toru.” 

He holds you close, just enjoying the peaceful moment together. He whispers against the skin of your neck, “I love you too, baby. So much.” 

He doesn’t bother moving, even though the water has started to turn lukewarm. He wants to stay right here with you, holding you close. But eventually, he lifts his head, looking down at you as he asks, “You ready to get out before we prune up?”

Your face is warm again, nodding along his skin as you say, “Gotta pee,” as usual.

The moment the words leave your lips, he can’t help but laugh a little. He gives a chuckle, “Of course you fuckin’  do.”

You slept more often than usual in these last few months, but this had to have been the heaviest you’d slept of all. You were trapped under Satoru’s heavy arm, who snored unfortunately close in your ear. But it was somehow soothing. The love you shared for this man was like no other. 

But when you wake up within the middle of the night, you feel yourself beginning to cramp, and it’s more irritating than anything. You’re too tired to get up and take your medicine, trying to force yourself back into sleep. But the cramps become more intense, and it makes you whimper lightly from the pain, holding your belly with your palm. You decide it was time to get up, lifting Satoru’s arm as you slowly slip out of bed.

“You’ alright, baby?” His deep voice calls, still half asleep.

“Just gonna go pee,” you tell him, pressing your feet into your slippers, ignoring your dog that lightly whines, nudging your body in support as you fully stand.

Even as he was half-asleep, he was still paying attention. When you told him you had to go pee, he grumbled a little, rolling onto his back. He felt cold without you in his arms, and he wanted you back immediately.

You take a deep breath as the cramps run through your entire body, worsening with each step. You frown as you clutch the material of your oversized shirt, just wanting to make it to the bathroom. But as you take another step, you feel a heavy pressure in between your legs, and you look down to see as fluid rushes down your legs, dripping onto the floor. Your heart could’ve stopped. 

You’d been to several classes, read pamphlets, researched—even Google couldn’t stop you from your reaction when you weren’t supposed to panic. 

Your body trembles as you scream, “Gojo!” 

He grunts, “Jesus, baby. I know you’re fond of screaming my name but—“

He turns, seeing the fear within your eyes, looking down to see the fluid sliding down your legs. He thought he was a man that wasn’t afraid of anything, but this was more than what nightmares were made of. 

“Oh shit.”

[necroromantics]

🪓 — Canon Facts About Ticci Toby

all of these are directly stated by kastoway himself in deviantart posts/comments, instagram stories, or tobys canon story

I. Toby has a split eyebrow from the car crash

II. He only attended grade school for a short time when we was 12 before being homeschooled due to bullying

III. Kastoway describes Toby's eye colour as "dark brown/black"

IV. Kastoway created Toby as a fan character when he was 12 just for fun. He never expected him to get the attention that he did

V. Toby was stated to be 19 in 2013, which means Toby was born on April 28th, 1994. Today he'll be turning 30 years old

VI. In Toby's age chart, he is shown to be in a straitjacket at 30 years old, and described to "not have much time left on his plate", "any bit of sanity in him is probably gone", and "lives out the rest of his days in a mental asylum and/or gets put down"

VII. He has little to no memory of his life before becoming a proxy

VIII. When he was a toddler, he'd carry around a cow stuffie and put bandaids all over it

IX. Toby was killed by Clockwork, who was possessed by Zalgo, sometime between ages 19-25 (presumably 20-22). Kastoway had vague plans for Toby to "miraculously survive" and live up until around 30 years old, with no contact to the others

X. Toby chews his hands to the point of eating his own flesh, which is why he wears gloves

XI. He is born and raised in Denver, Colorado, USA. He has German ancestry

XII. His theme song is noted to be "I'm Not Alright" by Shinedown

XIII. His personality is described to be, "volatile, friendly at times, sarcastic at times, natural born trouble-maker, mostly up-beat"

XIV. In an older, outdated reference sheet, his friends are listed as "Jeff The Killer, BEN, BOB, Smile Dog, Slenderman, Splendorman, Mr. Widemouth, Ragface, Eyeless Jack", and his rivals are listed as "The Rake, Masky, Enderman, Zalgo"

XV. His mask is a mouth guard, like the one Hannibal Lecter wears

XVI. He is canonically shipped with Clockwork

XVII. Toby has "big ass eyebrows" (Kastoways words himself)

XVIII. Toby doesn't hate Masky, he just acts like an annoying little brother around him because he's jealous that Slender favours him. He's chill around Hoodie, but they don't talk much

XIX. Kastoway was inspired by Marble Hornets to create Ticci Toby

XX. Toby's tics are described as to "uncontrollably crack his neck, twitch around, bend over backwards"

XXI. In his updated appearance (the sketch made by Kastoway in 2014 with the cheek gash), he's described to be in his early 20s. He also said he was thinking of having the cheek gash be caused by the fire, but said that Toby eating through his own cheek was "a really good idea"

XXII. Toby was originally going to be a cannibal before Kastoway put the idea on the back burner, though he says "he'll eat some of the things he kills kind of like Eyeless Jack"

XXIII. He had CIPA, Tourettes, Schizophrenia and PTSD after the car crash

XXIV. His older sisters name is Lyra, his mothers name is Connie, and his father is canonically unnamed (though he's typically called Frank by the fandom, this is not stated by Kastoway)

XXV. He was originally going to be 5'4....... But ended up being made 5'6 (lucky bastard)

Thats all I can think of right now... Happy Birthday Toby

[spidey-webz]

the sweetest sin – bucky barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky goes undercover at a charity event to get closer to you. You’re his mission. But that dress you’re wearing is a little too tempting…

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, r deals with weapons, r and bucky have a shared history, mentions of bucky’s trauma, r wears a dress, r is also shorter than bucky, somewhat public sex (in a restroom, door closed), slight dom bucky, they’re both really horny, very little plot, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, mirror sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, use of petnames (doll, darling), fingering with the metal hand, hair pulling

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This idea came to me after seeing the Thunderbolts trailer and I really hope you'll like this one!!

Masterlist

The ballroom was filled with chatter and music. Multiple waiters were balancing champagne glasses on their trays, walking from group to group and handing them out with a smile. There were men discussing business deals, old friends exchanging memories and some women holding onto their husbands’ arms as they laughed. 

None of them paid any particular mind to the man in the corner of the room. 

Bucky Barnes was leaning against a stone pillar, his eyes roaming through the room as he attempted to find you in the crowd somewhere. He had declined every glass of champagne, so he could stay alert if you passed by him. 

He had not seen you in a while. To be honest, he had never kept up with your life. His own had been quite the mess after the Blip, but seeing your name in the mission file served as enough of a reminder of what you two had shared. Bucky had been a man without a path ahead of him, only fleeing from everyone that might recognise him, and there you had been – in Romania. You had only spent a few weekends together, but he had enjoyed them all the same. For that short while, he had felt like a normal man. 

When had things gone wrong in your life? Or had you always been involved with this kind of trade? 

The files on you did not mention any criminal activity when he had first met you in 2016. Had it been the Blip that forced you to join illegal weapon trading? Had it been something else in your life?

Bucky could never say he knew you. There had been many secrets between the two of you, starting with his very own identity. You had made him feel safe and yet he hadn’t been able to share his name with you, too afraid that it might slip you at the market or at the gas station. 

Back then, he barely even knew himself. His memories had been a disorganised mess, a whirl of moments and feelings he could not exactly put together. Even being with you, feeling your warm body around him and having your lips wander like feathers over his skin – it had felt almost foreign to his troubled mind. 

Those memories were cherished by him and once he had settled back into a somewhat normal life, Bucky had found himself reminiscing about them on lonely nights. 

Now he was after you. 

There were so many women with the same hair colour as you, but he felt certain that he would still recognise you between all of them. Sam did not know why he had been so determined on receiving this mission, but he would explain it to him in due time. Bucky had promised to reduce the number of secrets he had, but he had never felt comfortable sharing you with anyone. Until now, he had kept you hidden away in a part of his heart that only he could access – in the middle of the night, in quiet moments, in the comfortable space of his bed. 

A flash of white passed by him. Another man might have missed it, but he had been trained to notice any movement in the corner of his eye for years. He turned his head to the side, trying to find the same white dress in the crowd again and there you were. 

Your dress was low-cut, no sleeves and a slit on the side for your thigh and knee to peak through with every step. He flexed his jaw, taking a deep breath as he watched you talk with a man he did not recognise. A glass of champagne rested easily in your hand, your eyes fixed on the person in front of you. He was not blessed with enough enhanced hearing to make out any part of the conversation, yet he found himself entranced with the movements of your lips. 

Bucky had feared that this might happen. He had not seen you in so long and there were so many questions floating around in his head, so many unspoken things on his tongue. But you were his mission all the same and he had hoped to make this entire ordeal a little bit easier on you if it was him that came looking for you. 

The dress you were wearing almost demanded all of his attention. His cheeks started to feel warm once he allowed the memories to flood in. He had you spread out on your bed, his tongue expertly moving between your folds, strong arms holding you in place just for him. You had squeezed his cock so beautiful during every night you two shared and this dress, the flashes of your skin, all of it reminded him of those moments. 

In an attempt to gather himself, he pulled on the ends of his jacket, straightening it in the process.  

People always moved out of his way. Even with his metal hand covered up, they often didn’t want to cross him. It was a strange sensation, no doubt. Bucky would not call himself particularly frightening. 

He did not mean to interrupt your conversation, but he did linger a little closer to you than before. If he caught you alone for a moment, he could speak to you. 

You had seen him when you had turned around to place down your glass of champagne. Bucky Barnes had been a momentary part of your life in Romania, but he had lingered in the back of your mind for years. You had changed and so had the world around you. It didn’t change the way his touch had seemed to stay with you. In lonely moments, it had become a source of comfort, a source of wonder. Of course, you had eventually realised who he was. It had been all over the news. 

The Winter Soldier. 

How could you not know him after every newspaper in town had his face plastered on their front page? And yet he had been a stranger to you until the last second. 

Whatever choices he had made, they had led him here and they had led him to follow you. If you could trust any of the newspaper articles you had read about him recently, he was now one of the good guys and that meant he was out to get you. 

Not that you had committed a horrible crime, but you had given other people the supplies to commit theirs. Enough of an offence to have the former Winter Soldier on your tail. 

You knew he would not interrupt your conversation. He was waiting for the right moment to speak to you and that moment would have to be one between just you and him. You decided to give him the chance to since his eyes seemed to burn holes into your back. With an apologetic smile, you excused yourself to the toilet. 

Moving through the couples standing in your way, you briefly glanced back over your shoulder. He was following you, a stern expression on his face. You had only smile him a few times and those never seemed to reach his eyes in the slightest. There had been a deep sadness about the man you had met in Romania and you wondered if it was still there. 

You closed the door to the restroom behind you, but it opened again just a moment later. 

There was a tzzzz sound and you knew Bucky had used some sort of device to lock the door behind himself. After engaging in weapon trade for a few years, you had become familiar with different methods to remain undisturbed for important conversations. As you stood in front of the mirror, you did not look at him at first. 

His presence alone sent a shiver down your spine. 

Had he thought of you these past years? Had he remembered you in a positive way? 

Bucky had stayed with you even days after his departure from Romania. The memory of his touch had been with you during a shower, during the boring commute to your job and most importantly, during nights facing the moon in an attempt to feel the same way you did for those short weekends. 

His eyes continued to linger on you. He was almost frozen in place even though you did not even give him a glance again. Bucky wanted to tilt your head to the side, run his lips over the familiar skin of your neck and make you shiver in his arms as he had done before. You were right there, a temptation he should avoid. 

He was on a mission. He was not here to reconcile with an old acquaintance and he was definitely not here to indulge any of his own desires. No matter how tight his throat started to feel and how his body seemed to protest his every thought. After all, Bucky had felt alive with you. After so many years of living on auto-pilot, those nights with you had brought him back to this world a little. 

Bucky flexed his left hand. How was he supposed to initiate this conversation? 

I am here to arrest you. I need to know more about the people you’re supplying to…

Why are you wearing this dress? I can’t stop looking at you. 

Neither of these options would work. 

His steps echoed through the empty bathroom once he approached. His reflection appeared in the mirror, close to yours and you searched for his gaze until your eyes met. Maybe you had just imagined it, but Bucky’s expression seemed to soften for just a moment. 

His posture gave him away though. He was tense, metal hand curled into a fist by his side. A smirk appeared on your own lips. His eyes drifted down your neck, to your collarbones and eventually to your cleavage. Of course, he was looking at you. The dress was a nice one, showing just enough to tempt any man. 

Bucky had never been able to forget any detail about you. Having you right in front of him brought all the desire he previously felt right back. 

“It’s good to see you, Bucky.” 

He had never heard you say his name before. Back then, it had always been a different one, but it now sent a shiver down his spine. 

“It’s good to see you too.” 

You were not oblivious to the looks he was giving you. It seemed like your body was tempting him just as it had done years ago. Would it get you out of this situation? 

His suit looked good on him too. You had never seen him in formal clothing before, but it brought out the best in him. His eyes were still the same piercing blue as you remembered. Even though your weekends together had not been of the strictly romantic kind, you had spend hours upon hours gazing into his eyes and trying to make sense of the man in front of you. 

Bucky had always remained a mystery to you until your ways had eventually parted. 

“Have all these years taken your ability to talk to me?” You asked with a wicked smile, turning around to him fully as you leaned against the sink behind you. You could watch his gaze briefly turn towards your exposed knee, then flicker back to your face. 

“Not at all. I am here to talk to you about your job.” So you had been right. Bucky was here to talk to you about your trade, but if you were quite honest, you were not in the mood to talk about it at all. 

“Do we really have to talk about that? You haven’t seen me in years.” You stepped closer to him, taking a moment to appreciate the beard on his face and the curve of his lips. He looked healthier than the last time you saw him – stronger, even. Would his lips still feel good on yours? Would his hands know exactly where to touch you? 

Could he make you come undone like he had done so many times before? 

“No, we do not.” His voice had grown rougher, his gaze darkened just a little. 

Bucky could smell your perfume. It seemed to envelop him entirely, dulling all his thoughts until there was only you. 

You and your pretty dress. You and your tempting lips and a body he wanted to lose himself in. 

His mission was on the line. Could he allow himself to fail it? Return home with empty hands? Just because his hands wanted to be all over you. Bucky wanted to run his fingers over your exposed knee, let his hand wander up and up until he’d reach the wet folds between your legs. Would you still taste the very same there? 

“I did not expect to meet you again like-”

Bucky’s finger found your lips and stopped your words altogether. You blinked up at him, once, twice, through long lashes and he knew he was a doomed man this evening. 

“Quiet,” he whispered. While his right index finger rested on your lips, his left hand slid up your arm. The metal was cool against your skin, a familiar sensation you had dreamed about many times in the past years. 

“Just be quiet.” He leaned down to your ear, his lips grazing your skin ever so slightly. “You look lovely in this dress.” A soft kiss planted at the spot between your ear and your jaw. Enough to send a shiver down your spine. You pulled your arm away to grab his hand, planting it on your waist instead. 

Bucky took his finger away from your lips and looked at you, desire burning in his eyes. His pants were getting tighter the more he thought about your naked body and the promise of maybe exploring it once more. Even if this would be a short-lived moment, he wanted to cherish it. When would he ever get the chance to touch you again? 

You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to give your body to him, even if it was just for one evening. 

Pulling him just a little closer, you pressed your lips against his. Bucky’s hands firmly grabbed your waist, pressing you up against him. You could feel his arousal hard against your leg and it brought a smirk to your lips. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. 

It was easy for him to lift you up onto the sink and part your thighs enough to stand between them. Bucky’s hands roamed your body, starting at your hips and running his big hands up your back. Your own began to wander to his shirt, opening it button for button, just to see his trained chest peak through. 

His tongue parted your lips, the kiss growing more hungry by the second. He felt like a man starved and you were the only one able to quench his thirst. 

“Need to fuck you in this dress.” His words were a low mumble against your lips, but still enough to make your panties almost feel soaked. Your pussy clenched around nothing, another sign that you needed him just as much. 

“Please do,” you whispered, already feeling out of breath when you briefly parted from each other. Bucky’s hands moved underneath your dress, squeezing the bare skin of your thighs, hands inching further to the inside. 

He wanted to savour this moment. Once you two left the restroom again, life would continue. For now, it could stay exactly like this. 

“Lift your hips for me, doll.” 

There it was. Doll. A familiar endearment from his lips and you were quite happy to oblige. Pushing yourself off the counter for a moment, Bucky hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs. He pushed them into the back pockets of his pants, before kneeling down on the ground in front in you. 

His lips were laced with a wicked smirk after he wet his lips with his tongue. “Spread your legs for me.” 

Once your thighs had parted for him, you leaned back against the mirror behind you, the cool glass against the back of your head. Bucky’s warm breath on your most sensitive spot caused goosebumps to spread over your entire body. 

“Already so wet for me. Did you lure me here on purpose?” Even though you couldn’t see his smile, you could hear it in his voice. 

Whatever words you wanted to reply got stuck in your throat once Bucky’s lips wrapped around your clit. He sucked on it softly, his metal hand travelling closer to where you needed him the most. As his middle finger slid between your wet folds, you pushed your hips against his hand, eager for more. 

“Oh shit,” you cursed under your breath. The cold sensation of his metal digit inside you left you gasping with every new curl of his finger. Bucky continued to alternate between sucking on your sensitive nub and flicking his tongue against it. 

He knew how to work your body and he wanted to see you explode in front of him. Your taste on his tongue was enough to keep him satisfied for days. Once he added another finger, filling your pussy so tightly, you pressed your left hand down on your mouth to prevent your moans to slip past your lips. 

Your right hand found its way into Bucky’s hair, pressing him just a little closer to your middle. The tension in your abdomen became more and more, your walls quivering around his fingers. With every stroke of his fingers inside you, with every expertly placed flick of his tongue, he brought you closer to a climax and he could tell. 

Bucky felt your walls clench around his hand, your thighs shaking around his head. A deep groan escaped him. It was enough to sent vibrations through your core, your squeal only being muted by your own hand around your mouth. 

“Come for me, darling.” You wanted to obey his wishes and with one more roll of your hips and a flick of Bucky’s tongue against your clit, your orgasm rolled over you. Your hand pulled harder on his hair as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. Bucky loved the feeling of your thighs closing around his head, almost threatening to smother him in-between. 

When he stood back up once your climax had worn off, he licked over his lips slowly. You barely had time to catch your breath when he pulled you right back into his arms, erection pressing against your thigh as you could taste yourself on his tongue. Bucky’s kiss was eager and hungry, his metal hand sneaking up the back of your neck. 

“Can you taste yourself on my tongue?” His words were a mumble against your mouth, almost being drowned out by another kiss. Bucky’s eyes were wide with lust, his hand manoeuvring your neck to the side, so he could run his tongue up your neck. Another moan slipped past your lips, your body eagerly pressing into his. You wanted to savour each of his touches and stop time. 

You nodded in reply, feeling the rough brush of his beard against your jawline. It was enough to make you shiver, enough to want even more of him. 

“Talk to me,” he urged you, his mouth right next to your ear. 

“Yes, I can.”

Your voice was trembling, your hands fumbling to get a hold of his cheeks. When you cupped his cheeks, you turned his face towards you. Bucky’s cheeks had turned a soft red colour and his hips were slightly rolling against your leg. He needed the relief as much as you had. 

“I need you.” 

Bucky didn’t need to hear more than that. You helped him open his pants and slide them down, his boxers soon following. In an attempt to relieve some of the need between your legs, you squeezed them together, but Bucky quickly pulled them apart once more. 

“Need to be inside you,” he mumbled against your neck. Your hands moved to his back, legs wrapping around his hips and Bucky grabbed the underside of your thighs to position you properly. His tip brushed past your folds, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Bucky had always filled you out so nicely and you couldn’t wait to feel it again. 

When he pushed inside, you leaned your head back against the mirror behind you. Bucky let out a soft groan, closing his eyes to savour the feeling. Your walls were still so very tight around him, fitting perfectly around his cock. His first thrust was slow, but it filled you out all the same. 

Your fingers attempted to get a hold of his shirt as he leaned down and softly sucked on the soft skin at your throat. “Fuck,” you groaned, pushing your hips up to feel him even deeper. Every thrust sent another wave of pleasure through you, your body rocking in sync with his even when his thrusts grew more rapid. 

Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin around your hips, holding you in place as started to chase his own high. The knot in your abdomen got tighter and tighter. 

He groaned into your shoulder, face pressed against your skin, his hot breath leaving goosebumps spread over your entire body. “Shit,” you cursed again, feeling yourself getting so close to that sweet high – once again. 

Before you could reach your sweet relief, Bucky pulled out again, leaving your cunt empty and leaking. A puzzled expression appeared in your face, but you soon knew what his plan was. In one swift movement, Bucky had you off the counter and turned around, seeing your own flushed face in the mirror. 

Bucky entered you once more, this time with one hard thrust. It was already enough to send you over the edge, but his thrusts kept going. Your pussy was spasming around him, legs trembling as your orgasm just kept going. Bucky’s metal hand pressed down on your mouth to silence your moans as he kept the ruthless pace up, hitting your sensitive spot over and over again. 

The pleasure was too much, your thighs trying to squeeze together and your hands holding tightly onto the counter. His grunts of pleasure filled your ear and his eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Once your gazes met, his teeth scraped against your earlobe, his thrusts growing almost erratic. Bucky was so close too, so close to spending himself inside you. 

“Going to fill you up, doll,” he groaned and as you pushed your hips back again, walls squeezing his cock so deliciously, it finally tipped him over the edge. His low moan sounded in your ear and his face was distorted with lust. The sight alone gave you one final push to reach your next high, one hand desperately holding onto Bucky’s strong forearm. 

He held you in place as ropes of cum painted your insides white, his cock still pulsing inside you. Bucky wanted to hold you like this forever, as close as humanly possible, and never let go again. 

Soft kisses were planted on your shoulder, his beard scraping along your soft skin, leaving a slight redness behind. His lips wandered over to your pulse point, making you whimper as you pressed yourself back into his chest. 

“I’ve missed you.”

His words were unexpected, but you cherished them all the same. You had missed him too – more than you often liked to admit. 

“I missed you too.” 

There were still so many things to discuss between you, but Bucky was pretty sure that those could wait for another moment longer. That dress had already distracted him more than enough, but he wished to remember every little detail of you wearing it. That would take time. 

It definitely looked like time had stopped for the both of you, even if it was just for tonight. 

[rafesfuckdoll]

Come Over Please

summary: would you cheat on your boyfriend for your best friend? we'll see..

warnings: p in v, fingering, oral sex (reader receving), cheating, daddy calling. that's it i think....

word count: 1.2k

Rafe has been calling you continuously, but you have been rejecting his calls due to being busy. "Pick up the phone y/n" he mumbles to himself. After his third attempt, you finally answer and hear heavy breathing on the other end of the line. You were currently hanging out with your boyfriend Tristan "What's up Drew? I'm with Tristan" You said into your phone.

The sound of heavy breathing intensifies as Rafe hears your voice and realises you're with someone else. His heart drops, but his desire for you only grows stronger. "Fuck sorry.. I thought you were alone." He replies almost mumbling, making you get worried. No matter the circumstances, your best friend Rafe was always the most important person to you, even if you had a boyfriend. "Why? What's going on?" You ask curiously, noticing his heavy breathing. He struggles to compose himself. trying to push his desires to the side as he lies to you. "I've had quite the day and I thought we could have a little catch-up," Rafe stated, taking a deep breath to quiet his racing heart and hormones. "I'll be right there." You say before ending the call abruptly. You were going home anyway, so why not make a short visit to Rafe's house along the way? As time goes on, you say your goodbyes to your boyfriend.

After some time, you eventually reached Rafe's house, located right beside yours. You have lived next to each other since childhood. You approach his front door, aware that he was by himself at home because his dad was away on a business trip.

Rafe had barely put down the phone before he heard your knock on his door. He quickly rushes to open it, revealing himself in nothing but sweatpants that do little to hide his arousal "Hey... uh, come on in." You looked at him and rolled eyes, obviously knowing what he just did. "Were you in the middle of something?" You inquire as he closes the door, aware that his arousal did not go unnoticed. With a smirk playing on his lips, he bites down lightly, eyeing you with a combination of desire and lust. "Nah, just been getting some exercise." He deceives, walking into the room after you. "Mhm," you murmur as you head to his bedroom, the usual spot where you both hang out. Rafe observes you moving towards his bedroom, feeling his erection pulsating in his sweatpants. He tries compose himself, but he knows he wants you. He enters his room after you, perching on his bed and flashing a cocky grin in your direction. "What's with the cocky look?" You laughed, sitting down beside him and getting comfortable. He chuckles before saying, "Well, you know... I just can't help but want to fuck you right now." He said with a slight smirk formed on his lips, his eyes focused on your face. Instantly widening your eyes, you clear your throat. "Dude I have a literal boyfriend." He raised an eyebrow, his smirk never leaving his face. "I know, but that doesn't change the fact that I still want to fuck you, does it?" He grabs your thigh and squeezes it gently, looking at you with a mix of lust and desire. Glancing at your thigh before turning your eyes back to him. "I mean, okay... but I would never cheat, bro." You're not telling the truth. You would never cheat, that's a given, but Rafe was your soft spot, and you acknowledged it. You'd do anything for him.

Rafe smirks as he glides his hand up and down your thigh, his fingers lightly brushing against your private area beneath your sweatpants. "Who said anything about cheating? We can just have a little fun.. no strings attached." He moves his hand inside your pants, his fingers tracing around your panties pushing them to the side, ready to slip his fingers inside if you give him the go-ahead. The unexpected touch caused a moan to escape your lips as you swiftly grasped his hand and pushed it away from inside your pants. "What fun? how would it not be cheating.." He places his hand back on your thigh. "Well we wouldn't fuck.. i can just eat you out until you cum.." You listen to his words, taking it all in. You wanted it bad, he made you weak and you were completely horny at this point. However, the burden of guilt concerning Tristan persisted. "Hmm..." Rafe moves in closer, his warm breath brushing against your face. "Come on.. it'll be fun. I promise I won't tell anyone. You can just think of it as a.. one time thing.."

"Okay," you murmur quietly, your lower lip trapped between your teeth as you lock eyes with him. After laying down on his bed and making yourself comfortable, you switched on his TV and nestled under the blanket, spreading your legs underneath. "Get under the blanket now," you ordered firmly. With a grin on his face, Rafe swiftly slides under the blanket and settles between your legs. He pulls your panties aside, revealing your wet folds. "Fuck.. you're soaked baby." His tongue darts out, flicking over your clit. He starts to lick and suck on your folds, his hand moving up to grab your hip and hold you in place. As he moaned louder, mirroring your own sounds, his finger slipped inside you, moving in and out while he sucked on your clit. Your moans were getting increasingly louder, your eyes fixed on the TV screen, yet not really paying attention to what was playing. Quickly moving his tongue and curling his fingers inside you, he skillfully targets your g-spot. He can tell you're close to reaching climax. "Let's go, sweetheart." You pull on Rafe's hair beneath the blanket, guiding his face closer to your core as you begin to squirt. "Please stop," you plead desperately. He groans against your pussy while you squirt, his fingers continuing to move in and out of you a few more times, making sure to lick up every last drop. He removes his finger from you, yet his tongue persists in teasing your now sensitive clit. His cock still hard as a rock, one hand of his reaching down to massage himself from outside his pants.

"Fuck me." You whisper and trust Rafe doesn't waste any time pulling his pants down and move up to hover over you, his cock in his hand. He lifts your legs slightly, wrapping them around his hips before entering you with a single deep thrust. "Oh fuck y/n." He groans as his eyes meet yours. Starting to thrust in and out of you. With his mouth slightly open, he breathes heavily as his hips move forcefully against yours. He starts to pick up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of your wetness. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss while hes genuinely fucking you with everything he has, his thrusts becoming erratic as he gets closer to cumming, "Shit... im gonna-" "Cum for me daddy." You interrupt him, almost begging for it.

His member pulsates within you as you speak, his movements growing more erratic. Gasping, he kisses you deeply, bringing you closer as he ejaculates within you, his member remaining rigid as he eases into a slow rhythm. "Fuck, I needed that.." He whispers.

"Me too.." You pant out after he laid down next to you, both looking up to the ceiling. The guilt building up that you just cheated on Tristan..

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Hold them down

Summary: After years of missing your husband, your suitor decides to take matters into his hands.

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Noncon, unprotected sex (p in v) forced infidelity?, plotting of rape, historical inaccuracies, manipulation, rough rough sex, loss of virginity (and related blood), breeding kink, size kink, corruption kink, bondage, planned murder, dark dark and dark,

Inspired by the Epic Musical and the original Odyssey!

After the Twin Emperors had fallen, the Gladiator Hanno rose to power, being recognized by Lucilla as his long lost son, Lucius Verus. Succeeding his rise to power, his first order was to have Macrinus, a wealthy businessman and slave owner, executed for his treason against the Democracy of Rome and clear General Acacius' name.

Having decided not to love another woman after the death of his wife, he opted for a political marriage to benefit the city. Cherry picked by senators as the finest of eligible bachelors, you were a perfect match for the new Emperor.

Arriving to Rome from your certainly smaller yet blooming city, Lucius had clarified that he didn't intend in taking you as a lover, rather than as a companion and ally for his ruling; and when the day of giving the kingdom a heir came, the affair would be short and, well he didn't exactly said that word but, meaningless.

You weren't discontented in his boundaries, you weren't there to find a lover but to enlarge the possibilities of your kingdom. As years went by, Lucius had become tender with you, unlike the city that suddenly demanded a Prince. However, as Rome transitioned into a prosperous city, the people seemed to be appeased by being fed and war-less.

As a way to erase Geta and Caracalla's history, Lucius decided to free the colonies in Africa himself, so two years after your marriage he had embarked.

"Take care of Rome for me." He smiled in your bittersweet goodbye, holding your hands in his.

"And who will take care of me then?" You joked, feeling the rough finger pads of his work torn hands; his eyes fell behind your frame, with a confident smile.

"I actually have that covered;" You followed his eye line to see the broad, dark figure behind you. General Marcus Acacius himself, for some a Valiant Hero of Rome, for others, another victim of the deceased emperors' terror. "Acacius will be your personal Guard, in case anyone attempts anything against the Empress of Rome."

Despite the eerie way the General's big brown eyes seemed to narrow over you, you learnt to feel safe with his presence, despite being behind you at all time. It kept you calm as people begun questioning the Emperor's absence, a you begun to question it too.

A year passed, and rumors spread about wars breaking out in the colonies due to their new found freedom. Exploited colonies at war trying to survive from spoils of war, predictable really, but Lucius had wrote to you, soothing you that he was aiding the reconstruction of those societies. That was the last time he had wrote.

Another year went by, and the flourishing nature of Rome kept people from questioning the Emperor's absence, but not you. Your nights became sleepless, as you pondered around your room, perhaps hoping for sudden news, confirmation of something, anything. It was a cold night when your insomnia made you think about the man standing outside your bedroom door. General Acacius.

Silently, in case you regretted it, you tiptoed towards the big ornate door from your shared chambers, and cracked it open. There he stood, clad in his armor as the dim lights of the hallway torches illuminated his face; his right cheekbone held a scar, visible in the warm lighting as he slowly came to look at you. In his two years as your shadow, you had never taken your time to look at him.

"My Queen," He whispered sternly, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you still awake at this hours?"

You licked your lips guiltily, and his gaze fell onto the thin, almost see through sleepwear you had on under the blanket draped over your shoulders. He could trace the outline of your navel...

"May you come in?" You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your shoulder as you realized how inappropriate this was, but you didn't care; perhaps his war experience could help you calm down. "I cannot conceal sleep, and someone to talk to could be nice."

He obeyed silently, sneaking through the crack on the door. The Emperor's chambers held an extravagant amount of luxuries, left behind by the old Emperor Geta; Lucius had wanted to get rid of them, but as producing an heir, he never got the time to do it.

Acacius' gaze fell over the bed, only your side disrupted as if Lucius was coming back anytime soon. You had sat down in a velvet chair beside the fireplace, hands clutched over a golden cup of raspberry wine. He walked over to you in slow steps, as if expecting you to tell him the issue and leave when commanded. If you hadn't gazed expectantly at the chair beside you, he probably wouldn't have sat down.

"I am unease by Lucius' absence," You confessed, despite the obviousness. "I heard rumors he was fine, back in Numidia, building houses, but he hasn't written to me in over a year."

Acacius hummed, showing he was listening, however your wild eyes indicated that you wanted an answer. "Your concern is reasonable, my Empress, the city shares your discomfort."

You furrowed your brows at his words, surprised the matter was relevant enough to discuss. "I had only heard some questions, but I believe the people knew his circumstances."

"It isn't that they dislike you;" He clarified, sending relief down your stomach. "In fact, they adore you."

You felt your lips twist into a small smile in his words.

"They adore you so much they trust you to rule if, of course let's pray not, Lucius doesn't return."

Your stomach sank once again at the possibility, but Acacius gave you a warm smirk, as if it was a compliment.

"The issue is..." He hesitated, and you saw the reflection of the flames in the brown of his eyes as he looked at you, seriously. "the succession."

You hummed, intrigued to what he was meaning. Your eyes asked him to explain more, and he let out a breathe when the blanket slipped off your shoulders, allowing him to see the outline of sometihing far more tempting than your navel.

"If Lucius hasn't been home for almost two years by now, and you haven't been with child yet, the senate fears the throne may spiral once again to a tyrant after your passing."

You shook your head in confusion, a new worry appearing and attaching itself to your chest. "Why haven't I been informed of this fear?"

Acacius chuckled lightly, as if you were too naive to understand; it made you feel small, stupid.

"They do not wish to offend you, my majesty." He explained, and you scowled. "Now, you are in your prime age for...carrying an heir...but if Lucius is to be gone for longer, let's say four more years, you'd be pass that age, and thus..."

"Anyone could take the throne." You completed, understatement dooming in your features. "But I couldn't...Lucius could be back tomorrow for all I know."

"There still is time," He reassured, taking the cup of wine from the table. "but the lack of knowledge of his stance is, as you say, uneasy for most of the Senate, and of course the people of Rome."

As you sipped more wine, you leaned over the armrest of your chair, as if wishing to keep the conversation as private as possible, but all he could see was the way your breast, unconsciously, became visible from your neckline. His breathe hitched.

"As a knowledgeable and prestigious General," You asked, eyes wide and frantic. "what should I do?"

He pretended to think for a while then sighed. "In confidence, I believe you should wait for him, perhaps a year or two, and if he isn't here by then and you haven't received any notice, you should remarry, just for the sake of your wellness and the city's."

You almost gasped from his words, the alcohol inhibiting your senses. "My sake?" You manage to question him, words starting to slur. Of course they did, you had been drinking for hours trying to catch sleep.

"The people may believe that you are intertwined in the fall of the city," he whispered, eyes wild as if he was personally offended by what the people may do. "They can believe you have arranged it all to set someone in the throne, they might riot, and we know from our old Emperors that rioting never goes well; imagine what they could do to a women such as yourself."

Acacius' words stained your mind for the next year, as Lucius failed to prove his existence once again. You had proposed the idea to the Senate, who seemed surprised by your initiative; Acacius had later told you that they didn't expect a woman as devoted as you to determine that if Lucius didn't appear or made himself known in the next year, you would seek another man to remarry to provide the heir, but that it was what all of them believed to be correct. You had grown fond of him in the last year, inviting him for wine in those restless nights and him informing you from what the Senate was too scared to tell you. As Lucius had grown to be a close friend, so did Acacius.

Which is why, after two years had passed and you had to teary-eyed greet the suitors that had came wishing to become the Emperor of Rome, you were taken a back when General Acacius presented himself before any of them, asking for your hand. His thick frame, clad in his white honorary attire along with ten of his best trained soldiers trailing behind him, had profusely scared all the other suitors that stumbled and staggered on their words after him.

Which is what made you jump on him like a rabid dog once they had gone to their rooms and Acacius was the only one i the throne room with you. Standing up from your golden throne, identical to the empty one beside you, your feet stomped near him. He was awfully tranquil, almost smirking at you.

"May I know why you have proposed as a suitor?" You bellowed at him, praying this was a sick, twisted joke, like you had joked that your "Guard dog" of a General would scare them off.

"Because, my Empress, the senate and I believe that a true Emperor needs to be one who knows how to handle the rise of Rome into democracy." He explained, and you felt a pang of betrayal, jealousy even, as the Senate had allegedly preferred to discuss such matters with him rather than the actual Empress. "One that has aided in it's rise and is skilled at controlling the city; one that could guide you through ruling."

"You said they trusted me." You protested, looking up at him; despite being furious, you could see by the way he craned his neck to look down at you that he didn't feel threatened, at all.

"They do, I assure you that; but the uneducated and starved people of Rome won't take a women as an Emperor, much less if she has some foreigner as a husband." The way he sneered at you told you he had this planned. "But you and I know that you are smart enough to know I am your best opportunity; I am a war Hero and a symbol of democracy, my Empress, the people would riot if you chose any other man."

You glared, never expecting this from him. He enjoyed the way you stormed out of his view, silky dress swishing as he laughed so hard, he almost dropped the carefully stacked letters that told him Lucius would be home in six months.

Almost as if you knew, you had delayed your choice for four months by then, posing impossible challenge after challenge, simply to get on Acacius nerves. But he did not even falter; even if it was bringing dozens of water buckets across the city, taming wild horses or swimming with crocodiles to retreat minuscules gold pieces from the bottom of the murky river, Acacius managed to have win after win. For most people, it was becoming clearly ridiculous how adamant you were against Acacius.

If he had proposed the idea to you things would have been different, but he had planted seeds of doubts in the Senate about your capabilities, evidenced by your revengeful behavior in presenting tasks. The more you fought with Acacius, the more the Senate seemed to become wary of you and the more the people of Rome called you frivolous. You acknowledged the last part, as you were now dedicating more time in plotting unachievable tasks than governing the city.

As grief for mourning Lucius meddled with the new issues of the city, Acacius looked at you victoriously; naked war torn torso and a shining emerald in his hand as he retrieved from the river, almost waving goodbye to the last bunch of suitors you have scared away.

Almost 5 months had passed since you had greeted the suitors, and the only one still standing was Acacius. As you walked into the Senate's room, you caught wind of something that drove you wild.

"If the wedding is going to be next week, then we would need to at least levy taxes until the end of the season to compensate for the rise-"

"What wedding?" You bellowed, and the Senator who was speaking quickly silenced himself as the whole room turned their heads towards you. Marcus stood, dressed in his best, before rising his goblet to you; it took you a while to see from where he was rising from, Lucius' throne.

"There aren't anymore suitors," He informed, and his name rolled out of his tongue mockingly. "Next year you'll turn 28, and we cannot risk it anymore."

"And has this council decided this over me, their Empress?" Your gaze fell on the senators around you, men who rolled their eyes as if you were taking up their time; as if calling your self the Empress was a mockery. "Has the council forget Lucius had chose me to rule by his side and not just to produce an heir?"

"This Council had chosen you," Acacius corrected, and you felt the tips of your ears burn up in embarrassment. "and if Lucius had given the city an heir this wouldn't be an issue, but he didn't and thus, I am the most suitable option."

You dug your nails into your palms, seething at him.

"And this Council believes it is correct to plan a wedding without consulting the bride?" You hissed at them. “What do the people think?”

"There had been riots in the south due to the succession," A senator informed you. "You would have known if you had attended the last meeting."

You felt fury pile up in your throat, as if itching to scream, because no one that even told you about the last meeting. You felt caged by these men, and Acacius grinning peacefully at you, that conniving snake of a man had turned the Council against you.

You sighed, tears kissing the brim of your eyes in frustration before clapping your hands together. “If the people of Rome wish me to marry, I will, however please give me a week to mourn, properly, the loss of our Emperor. I will marry Marcus Acacius in two weeks time, without complaint.”

Acacius’ smiled fell, and you believed your surrender had annoyed him.

“Haven’t you got two years already to do so?” He bit at you, and the Senate looked around bewildered by Acacius sudden lack of manners.

“Oh I know it is a selfish desire, but it would facilitate the process for me.” You pouted to the people of the Senate, who became more understanding after you agreed to marry him. “If that is all, I am to leave.”

You walked through the door calmly, running the second the Council could no longer see you. He had trapped you, backed you up against a wall and showed your scared self to the whole Senate of Rome. As you unlocked the door, precaution you took everyday since Acacius had proposed, you felt a shadow lurk around the corner. You almost jump when you saw him, striding towards you. If you were to open the door, he could have pushed inside, and if you stayed there, god knows what he could do. So you stayed frozen.

He called your name, rather than my Empress; it was a way of stabilizing dominance. You glared at him, hand on the door knob.

“I hope that you can come to see our marriage as more than a political ploy.” He grinned, as if he was one of those brand new suitors that attempted to gain your trust while flirting. “I certainly can’t wait to give the city an heir.”

The way he looked at you urged you to run and hide.

“I have nothing to discuss with you, Acacius.” You responded, pushing the door slightly open to slip inside. “You have betrayed my trust.”

As you were about close the gap from were to entered, the General placed his big hands on the door, speaking to you from the ajar door.

“What is it, my Empress?” He pressed, the door becoming thousand times heavier under his strength. “Are you scared about the consummation, because you and Lucius had never really…?”

With a burst of strength you managed to push the door closed, resting your sweaty eyebrow to the cool ornate door as tears begun pouring from your eyes. Since Acacius had proposed you stopped inviting him at night, and locked the door. Some nights, as wind rustles trees and all you heard was his feet creaking the floorboards outside your room, you could also hear a faint rustle, and attempt to open your locked door, as if you could have forgotten to lock it some day.

That was another thing that was slowly driving you mad.

The next week went by organizing wedding affairs, and you begun to question what your plan was after begging to get married in two weeks. It had been stupid, you guessed, something that had strikes over your head as you looked over at a statue of Athena. You prayed for her strength.

Acacius loomed over your figure as he had done years before your friendship had bloomed, although the ghost of a creeping grin appeared in his face more than usually. You attempted really, to see the good side, but the fact that he had manipulated you into proposing the idea and then used it to his advantage deeply sickened you.

It was about two days from the wedding day when Acacius had disappeared almost all day, and you felt at peace by his absence. As the tailor arranged your wedding dress, clearly just a reconstruction of the old one, you heard him gallop through the entrance of the Palace, holding something on his hand.

“The Emperor is dead.” He told the Senate, holding up a letter he had received from the colonies. “Let the news not startle us from guiding Rome towards glory.”

You furrowed your brows, Lucilla next to you breaking into a deep sob.

“What does the letter say?” You asked him, and he looked at you as if you were testing him.

“Would be cruel to discuss the details of the dead infront of his mother, my future wife.”

You almost felt bile rising up to your throat from the words he said.

That night you became even more restless, so much it physically hurt. The night had been one of the coldest the was and a thundering storm had grown from the coast of Rome up until the palace. It felt like a message from the Gods, with all the thundering you couldn’t hear the door knob nor the hushed whispers behind it.

Your eyes were closed but just a thin layer of drowsiness was on top of you, not enough for you to peacefully sleep without the hammering at your temple. That is when you felt the bed dip beside you, and his scent brought you jumping up.

“Lucius?” You questioned through the darkness of the night, his perfume thick in the air.

“I am so sorry to inform you that Lucius is gone.”

Acacius. Your blood froze as your eyes fluttered open. In the darkness, the door hadn’t been opened because you could have seen the torch lights from the crack. There had been another way he had gotten in.

“However, he will return tomorrow night, to find his wife has remarried.”

You looked over his figure, lit by the moonlight entering from the balcony.

Broad shoulders and the willowy of his Roman nose.

“But he might as well return tomorrow morning, and that is why I must secure my claim.”

He spoke with such tranquility it send shivers down your spine. The fireplace had gone off, leaving burning embers. You looked at the door once again, still locked, by the time you could have gotten there he would have caught you. He was stronger, faster and more agile.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked him, voice quivering. He begun untying his armor, letting it clank slowly into the ground, accompanying the sound of lightning outside.

“Because I had been tempted with you from the day you arrived, little girl.” The nickname felt warm, but it spat out of his tongue like poison. “I was the one who had saved the city, but Prince Lucius got the crown, the power, and he got you.”

“Wh-What is it about me that you want?” You choked out, breathing startling as his robes pooled at his feet.

“If Lucius is set to return and you have already consummated your marriage to me, my heir would be on the throne.” He explained, and you got a deja vu of that night when you had invited him in; the same tone. “You’ll probably still be married to him, due to the coincidence, but you will be carrying my child. It will be our secret to history; an Emperor, son of a General.”

You slowly pulled the blankets from your body, thinking that if you were to arrive to the balcony, perhaps you could scream for help.

“Wasn’t it me that you wanted?” You persisted, entertaining him to distract him as you feet softly touched the cool marble floor, he had hunched over to undo his sandals.

“Well, of course, but the Emperor is gone a lot, he is too busy to notice-“

The sound of your feet padding against the floor made him turn, seeing you race until the balcony. He jumped over the bed, eyes rabid as a predator chasing a prey. The cold air of the balcony struck you, along with droplets of rain that all over you. Gripping onto the bannister, you screamed, but no sound came out, his hand clapped tightly over your mouth as his other clung to your torso, securing you to him.

“Stupid girl.” He bellowed, dragging you inside. You could feet the heat of his naked body, chest pressed against you, as you felt his stiffening cock against your lower back. It all felt too real, suddenly. He tossed you to the bed, climbing on top quickly and caging you. Just his immense back was enough to restrict your movements. You cried and punched his chest, attempting to push him to no avail.

As one hand splashed across your chest to keep you still, the other moved down, slipping between your silk gown. It dragged punishing between your tights, forcing them apart with his thick waist. It found the patch of pubic hair, hiding something sweet for him in its center. You could almost hear him smirk.

“Are you wet?” He asked, teasingly as his index finger ran across your slit. He then took his hand back out, presenting two fingers to you. “Suck, and make them wet or I’ll fuck you as dry as you are right now. Don’t you dare bite.”

You opened your mouth slightly, and he introduced two thick digits into your mouth; your tongue swirled around them, tasting the strong taste of perfume. He had taken the time to put on Lucius’ scent, perhaps to taunt you.

Once pleased, he pulled them out of your mouth and directed them to where they were before, bunching your dress at your hips. His fingers now grazed more softly, wet, and he rubbed them into your slit, finding a beaded nerve at the top.

You had touched yourself before; sometimes Lucius would come back drunk after dealing with claims and work all day; you excused him such actions, he had a lot to deal with. And he wouldn’t touch you, but he would hug you and hold you close, and that minimum amount of contact would drive you wild. You knew what was coming when he began circling around your flesh, the wetness that spread and threatened to burst at the tip of your lips.

“Feel how wet are you getting for me? has your husband ever get you like this?” He pressed, slipping one thick digit inside; your walls swallowed it, hugging it tightly; he almost moaned at the heat, the tightness of your core. “Are the rumors true? that you have never consummated your marriage?”

His voice was stern once again, as if he was one of the court ladies asking you about it; you thought to tell him the typical lie, that you had consummated but the stress of running the rising Rome had taken a toll on you, and that you will wait. However, you thought for a second that if you were honest perhaps he would stop.

“Yes,” you spat, eyes shut tightly as you felt your body betraying you, hips almost buckling. “we never…never had the chance.”

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “Then I’ll have another thing he doesn’t.”

His jealousy was almost childlike; he wished you because you weren’t his.

His fingers worked inside you, preparing you. Your mind, fogged with pleasure, attempted to see any way you could fight back; perhaps he’d be weaker once he entered you. Perchance you’d loose that part of you but escape his seed.

Seeing you still, the hand holding you down came up to rip the top of your night gown as a thunder cracked the sky. Your peaks hardened under the unforgiving cold night, and your body started to yearn for the heat of his body. His gaze roamed your tits, recalling the first night you had invited him in, perfect in form and size for him despite you not being keen on them.

“Such a fucking good pair,” He murmured, hand skimming over them, groping them barbarically as his other hand sped up, adding another finger, eliciting a gasp from you. “once you are my wife you aren’t going to parade around court with those skimpy dresses you love, or invite any guards inside at such hours of the night.”

Through your gasp you had realized that his words were becoming sloppier, he was forgetting his plans. You had to wait. He pinched your nipple as he begun curling his fingers, sending a jolt of energy and pressure to your core, places you had never reached.

You felt sudden emptiness when he pulled out his fingers, and you met out a shuddered sight of relief. Tears ran into your scalp, tears you hadn’t notice you were crying. His hand dipped between his naked body as the other finished ripping your nightgown, and as he let out a grunt you knew he was grabbing his cock. It bumped against your leg, and its own weight made you cry harder; you knew he was big.

“Still,” he commanded, seeing you shake. “Or I’ll shove it all in.”

You did your best, clenching your eyes as you attempted to wake up from this nightmare. Praying that it was once, that is.

He pressed the tip in, almost as big as your fist. The big head slowly broke through your walls, and he was shaking now too, lips parted and eyes clenched, that was all you could see as lightning striked the sky once again. “Feels so good,” he muttered under his breath, gripping your shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry-I can’t-“

He pushed in, all eight inches of himself and you let out a sharp cry he shushed pressing his lips towards him. Full and tasting of wine, a breathe than had fanned over your cheek but you had chosen to ignore. The scruff of his beard scratched against your face, but the pain of his cock was worse.

Thick and long, it had broken through the thin barrier of skin; your hymen or constricting walls, you didn’t know. He planted his weight in his knees and forearms, caging you as your legs dangled at the side of his imposing hips.

“I am not sorry for what I am doing.” He clarified, voice airy from delight. “But I am sorry for this, my queen, I cannot control it.”

Before you could confuse yourself about what he meant, he begun thrusting into you, curling his hips as some animal in heat. Your moans were in pain and his were in pleasure as he melted onto you; he was fucking you so hard you felt as if he was trying to imprint the shape of his cock into you; it felt like hours, and it probably was too, his lips momentarily trying to catch your unresponsive ones, silencing moans and cries.

You knew then that there was no escape, no way you could push this man off you. You felt something wet growing, but now you were sure it wasn’t arousal.

“So good of a pussy,” He grunted into your ear, now gripping your thigh as if he was attempting to spread you even more open. “gonna fuck a son into you, make you finally mine.”

His words only created more tears, as if that was their only aim.

“Such a sweet Empress, s-so eager to please everyone, such a fucking. Good. Girl.”

He synced his thrusts with the last words, each more punishing than the previous.

“So loyal too,” he cooed, mockingly, teeth kneeding at your neck. “loyal to her absent husband.”

He was leaving marks, you knew that. His arm suddenly wrapped around you waist, muscle flexing as he hoists into the air and you fell down deeper into his cock. Your arms braced itself in his shoulder for support, sheets almost sticking to your back due to the sweat that had pooled. One hand in your lower back and and the other groping your ass tightly as he fucked into the air, making you feel every ridge and vein in his member.

“Gonna cum,” he confessed, unashamed. “right into this cunt.”

“No no please-” you mustered all your strength to say, but he was far too gone, plopping you once again on the bed but then bringing your thighs together and slinging your legs over his shoulder, clutching them together as his cock came in and out almost fully. His final thrusts felt as if he was trying to reach your guts, cock tensing and twitching inside you, before shooting hot ropes of cum right into you as his full body weight fell onto you, stretching you to the point your knees almost touched your face. He caught himself in his hands a few moments later, pulling out.

You hadn’t noticed, but the sun begun to peak from the balcony, signaling morning. The tears had dried from your face. As your legs fell back onto the bed, you saw the blood. Around your thighs, into the bed and around his cock and pubic hair. Staining the scene as a gruesome crime scene.

You felt your cunt start to throb, painfully. Your hand stopped by your pelvis, also in pain alike your legs.

“Took it so good,” he praised, and now you could see him better. Body scarred, some fresh scars from your scratching, wild brown curly hair, his take tell scar on his left cheekbone and blown out dark eyes. He was terrifying as he observed your core, blood and cum and arousal just peeking through the swollen folds. “but I forgot something.”

No, you thought, too tired to protest as his fingers found your sensitive pussy once more. You shook your head as your hand attempted to grip his, but he looked at you as a warning.

“Need to make you cum.” He demanded, fingers slipping in way easily than before. “Quickly.”

It sounded like a promise, but it was his aim. Two fingers lodged inside you, a thumb in your clit and his other hand gripping your fighting wrists. Curling his fingers and rubbing you, was all it take. You felt the pleasure build up, and shame spread through your face as the faucet turned on and you sobbed once again.

If he was to rape you, that was one thing, but if he was to make you cum on his fingers, make you feel pleasure in all of this, that was twisted. That was a blow in your honor.

He wouldn’t stop, a bit more forceful that you would have desired, but he was a man on a mission. You suddenly felt as if you needed to pee, shame flickering over your body as you tried to shut your legs, but his hand was stern and no amount of pressure would make him retreat.

He managed to bring you to your climax, pleased smirk plastered on his face as your pussy begun shooting arousal. You cried harder, choking through moans from the pleasure he was forcing upon you, seeing how you soaked his softening cock and hand. He took his hand out, wet and crimson stained, and brought it to his lips. He hummed at the taste of you.

“Gotta taste this pussy some day, perhaps tomorrow in our wedding night.”

You were too gone to actually listen to his words as he used the scraps of your night gown to clean the blood on his body, and slipped into his armor once again.

He then walked over to you, picking once again the scraps and tearing them into long pieces. He grabbed your wrists and you allowed him, too tired to fight him.

He used the straps to tie you to the bedhead; then pulling another piece to go around your mouth. It was futile to attempt anything.

“A Numidian ship is embarking today, carrying your precious husband, let’s see if I can get to him first.”

And he left you, bound and naked.