#it means so much to me :’) also !! before i actually get into it — can i please say that in general - your writing is so lovely !!! it read

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[bambisnc]

        . . . we can't be friends.

° ˖ ➴ how enhypen would ( un/intentionally ) fuck up a friendship

### . STARRING ⌢ OT7 ⋆ suggestive + 1.2k // best friend!enha + hcs + swearing + kissing + being drunk + unedited ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ i kinda went AWF here... hoon's is kinda short :( + [m.list]

౨ৎ ˖ 이희승 — ❪ LEE HEESEUNG ❫  

after receiving a series of confusing texts with more than half the words misspelled, your confusion is finally quelled by a call from your best friend at around 1 am. only to hear a bunch of mumbled out words, slurred and somewhere along the lines of where are you.. i miss you :( … jungwon finally has to intervene and ask you to come pick up heeseung’s very, very drunk self from the bar they were all at.

you go there to do the same and while trying to support his weak figure and helping him walk out, you nag at him, as one does. nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual “he should be taking better care of himself” rant, before he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours.

and for a moment, you freeze. the slightly bitter sweet taste of alcohol so intoxicating that you find yourself unable to actually react. he pulls away after a short kiss, string of saliva stretching to complete the distance, which he promptly dives back in to lick away, before passing out on top of you. and from then on, you just can’t bring yourself to act normal around him. oops…

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

౨ৎ ˖ 박종성 — ❪ JAY PARK ❫  

when one of the most notorious fuckboys of your university campus asked him about you, jay was mildly annoyed to say the least. the boy pretty much yapped his ear off about you, making a very poor attempt to be nonchalant about the whole thing because he was clearly desperate to get a chance to be with you.

your best friend couldn’t help but be pissed at your insane ability to attract creeps. on a whim, majorly only because he wanted to see the reaction on earlier mentioned fuckboy’s face, he announced that the two of you were actually dating. so, if jaehyun or whatever his name was didn’t mind, could he kindly fuck off and never make the mistake of even wandering near a 5 metre radius of you? many thanks.

jay conveniently forgets to mention this event to you, though, meaning you only find out much later from one of jaehyun's friends and by then it's too late to do anything because now, the whole campus is convinced you're dating...

౨ৎ ˖ 심재윤 — ❪ JAKE SIM ❫  

ah, yes. the ol' "can you teach me how to kiss?" he would tell you all about this girl he's into, she's his soulmate, he swears. an absolute angel, the most perfect individual he's ever seen.

the only problem is .. he's scared he's not experienced enough. what if she goes to kiss him and he's super, super awkward about it? god, he'd be mortified! jake really has no other choice than to ask you for help. you get where he's coming from right? so you'll help him?

... and you do, because it couldn't hurt right? it's your moral duty to help your best friend get bitches, after all. just don't question why what was supposed to be only one kiss has long extended into a full drawn, make out session. and definitely don't question why he's pulled you into his lap, and is leaving small bites on your neck that will definitely bloom into hickies soon — all this is just for practice!

౨ৎ ˖ 박성훈 — ❪ PARK SUNGHOON ❫  

this mf will have it all planned. if he wants to have you he'll do anything within his ability to get you to fall for him just as much as he's fallen for you - friendship be damned. sunghoon would be subtle about it though, while also simultaneously being such a little shit with the whole thing... like he would definitely not be above straight up using thirst traps and sending you slightly ... risqué texts. a few pictures here and there, with his pretty muscles fully on display for you. if you happen confront him about it, he'll just use the excuse of not being so good with his new phone... you understand right? :/

౨ৎ ˖ 김선우 — ❪ KIM SUNWOO ❫  

first dates are always exciting. you especially adore the getting ready part because your best friend sunoo just happens to have really good taste in fashion. there's no way you'd embark on a single shopping trip without him and his expert opinions. it's the cherry on top that he's extremely supportive and hypes you up like he's literally being paid to.

conversations circling somewhat around "... and you're sure this looks fine, right sunoo?" "yes. trust me, you look fine as hell..." have become a norm to an almost shocking extent. which is perfectly fine, friends are meant to be supportive. this is totally normal! <3

... that is, until the same best friend has you pinned up against the mirror top where you'd been doing your make up, a finger on your chin angling your face towards his own, mumbling out a quiet "hey. don't go on that date."

౨ৎ ˖ 양정원 — ❪ YANG JUNGWON ❫  

okay no one question me on this. don’t even perceive my thoughts on this, really. but think about having a horrible break up. just the absolute worst, "dumped via a text" break up.

it’s for the best, you know that. your ex was an absolute piece of shit. more than enough people had told you how much better you could do, exchanged not so subtle whispers wondering why someone like you was with someone like... him.. the biggest advocate against your relationship was none other than jungwon. which makes sense, considering he, as your best friend, would only want the absolute best for you. nothing more, nothing less. 

armed with cheesy romcoms and comfy blankets, jungwon had done whatever he could to get your mind off of the asshole behind the cause of your sadness. but ... when nothing works, he can only sigh. desperate times call for desperate measure, right? as your friend, it's only natural he'd be willing to do ... certain favors for you.

he takes your face in both of his hands, wiping off the tears gently. “there’s other ways, you know? of distraction.” a soft brush of his lips to the corner of your mouth, “other ways to make you forget all about him…” 

౨ৎ ˖ 西村 力 — ❪ NISHIMURA RIKI ❫  

playing silly games like truth or dare always gets him way too competitive for some reason. but, being dared to play the pocky game with his own best friend was the place where niki drew a line. for once, he wouldn’t have minded letting it go, wouldn’t have minded being the bigger person and accepting defeat – he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable for any reason, after all.

but when jake and the others started teasing him about it? saying that niki was just a wuss, being oh so scared of just a tiny little kiss, wasn’t he? my guy all but lost complete reasoning. he snatched a strawberry pocky stick, placing it in his mouth with such speed that it was almost shocking that the fragile biscuit didn’t break from it. 

but it's fine, you don't mind helping him prove a point. so you're more than willing to comply. only... the way his eyes stare into yours as the distance between your lips lessens and lessens makes a strange (but definitely not unwelcome) warmth spread through your entire being. you finally end up breaking the pocky in favor of looking away, completely ignoring the questioning look in your best friend's eye.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[qqueenofhades]

Gotta say, it's heartening to see just how terrible a time these GOP chucklefucks are having. This administration and its cronies are even MORE disastrously incompetent than last time, and that's saying something. Yeah, the next several years are still gonna suck, but at least we can laugh at these shit-for-brains assholes continuing to run head-first into the brick wall of their own incompetence. And perhaps even prevent the worst outcomes.

Honestly, the biggest fear for everyone was that giving the fascists four more years to plan and actually write down all of Project 2025 would mean that they were focused, competent, stone cold driven, ready to actually work to change things for real, and otherwise buckle down and be -- well, if not something approaching competent, at least effective. Or the fear that the American public, being fickle and underinformed at the best of times, would just sit back and let them do it. Because, yknow. Half this godforsaken country did just somehow shrug and vote for the orange monster again, so.

But that said, as I pointed out earlier today, it IS fucking heartening to see that they're the same mean, stupid, chaotic shitbags as ever, they really decided to go for the shock-and-awe LOL WATCH US BLOW EVERYTHING UP!!! approach that has gotten them nothing except turbo-sued and enraged the entire country, they basically united the entire world against Russia and for Ukraine in literally ten minutes yesterday (hope you enjoyed that little clown show, Vladimir!) and furthermore, nobody is afraid of them, which is death to fascists. I often point out that fascists desperately want people to be afraid of them and think they're cool, competent, unstoppable, and suave. They also especially, incredibly, desperately hate being laughed at and mocked. They can't stand it.

As such, the fact that they're just the same as ever except worse, and are not magically more competent (in fact, much worse) and are their own worst enemies, does in fact bode well for our ultimate ability to get through this. They will break shit, they will needlessly alienate friends and allies, they will torment every vulnerable group they can just to be dicks, and all of this was just so avoidable... but. Nobody likes them for it, even the people who deluded themselves into voting for them. They're scared little chickenshits who are having a bad bad time that will only get worse, especially if they actually try to cut Social Security and Medicaid, which is basically the death knell of stupid things to do in American politics. Because they just can't help themselves, but this is really, REALLY not going to work out well for them. It just won't.

As such, when they're already running from the heat ONE MONTH into the Glorious Eternal Rule of King Donald, like the little pissbabies they are, it tells me that there is literally no way they're gonna manage four years of this. They just aren't (and Deo volente Trump will finally have an aneurysm and die facedown in a Big Mac before 2028). To say the least, the 2026 midterms are gonna be interesting, especially if the GOP keeps digging their own grave, and yes.

As I keep saying: things are bad. They will get worse. But these miserable jabronies are just as pathetic and beatable as they have ever been, they did not suddenly get magically competent at being pointlessly evil, the country is showing out with a spirited will to make them suffer immensely for every braindead numbnuts piece of Nazi performative cruelty they attempt and often fail, and in these dark times, every day that we can fight back matters a lot. It’s working and we have gotta keep doing it. Idk about you, but I feel energized by seeing it. So yeah, say it with me:

STAY! STRONG! AND! KEEP! THEM! SCARED!

The end.

[sirithesillies]

hello people i was given cocon and im so bored so take way too much info about me (more than you will ever need):

obligatory this is a hella long post below :) :

i have multiple names, and therefore multiple middle names !!! notable ones are Luci (Lucifer or Lucious, whichever idc) && Nex :)

rn? 15 bodily

July 31st :D :D

^ that makes meeee a leo >:)

i like reds, greens, n purples

2 or 7 :D

YEAH !!! i have a bearded dragon named buddy, and i also share three dogs (sasha, sheeba, and albus.)

i was born in indiana? i think? but we moved so often iderk. lived in britain for a while but don't think i was born there?

a measly 5'3 :(

uhm.. american women's 8 1/2? i think?

13, 14 if you count roller blades and 1 maybe 2 if you count the ones i actually wear

uhm i was. sleeping.. in my dream.. it was a dream about me trying to fall asleep and it was really comforting though so win-win

i was told i took to crochet really quickly? i work for all of the skills i have, much to my dismay.

i have amazing vibe detectors to the point people use me as a problematic-partner-bloodhound. this works for all people MINUS the ones that are around me✌️

my music taste is super finicky !!! i've posted about it before but lowk i dont rlly have a favorite

v for vendetta at the moment...

i have a variety of mental illnesses so someone who can match my freak frsies.. i need a lot of attention and give it in return so i just need someone whos chill parallel playing like 20/6 or wtv..

i like the idea of kids and i'm good with them in short bursts of time, but i would be a HORRIBLE parent, so probably not unless i fix that :)

im not sure lowkey, haven't thought much about it. i would rather it just be personal honestly

im a polytheistic kemetic and hellenistic pagan, which means i work with both egyptian and greek deities :) i worship Sekhmet, Ra, Bastet, Apollo, Hera, and Poseidon :) I... do a lot honestly :sob:

doctors fear me, nurses love me, and i know medical staff by name. surprisingly that's gone down a lot this last year or two but i also have chronic breathing issues so i go to the hospital fairly often

yeah :sob:

not that i remember at least

baths for special occasions ONLY, showers above all else otherwise

theyre green and white with christmas puppies on them :D

i've had a work of mine go #1 on the charts on webtoon if that counts :sob: i also ran a decently big editing account in like 2020-2021 on tiktok

i'd love to be as well-known as a celebrity, but lowkey i know i'd hate actual fame, and i'd get so overwhelmed being famous. i'd need to be someone with an avatar or mascot in front of me so i could still live a semi-normal life

discussed above in my "favorite song" question, but i like a bunch !!! metal, rock, pop, hiphop, rnb, emo/scenecore songs, etc. etc. etc.

no and i DO NOT WANT TO !!! you will never catch me naked anywhere near a lake, let alone in one.

8 of varying sizes.. im also counting very specific stuffed animals but not all of them, since i use some of them as pillows

on my side curled up...

we live in a two story house with one main story and a basement. main floor has two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room combo, while the basement has one bedroom (mine!!), one bathroom, a free space, and our laundry room n pantry :)

i dont. actually eat breakfast.. uhm i like Krave brand cereal with strawberries and i like bagels either with normal cream cheese n strawberries, or fried with ham and an egg

yes i have

yes and i SUCK at it

out of all words? тоска. it sounds like "toska" and is some immeasurable yearning from the bottom of one's heart. smth smth i like words for their meanings because reducing one to its sound is superficial or smth. fr tho for a word i think sounds nice, try "eloquence"

cunt... stickin to the classics here. fuck and shit are ALSO high up here.

a very, very, very horrible 14 and a half days. it sucks. don't do it.

yeah :sob: i have scars all over if you care to look tbh, most of them have luckily just faded

not to my knowledge?

i don't like lying, nor do i make a point to practice. i don't think i am? i tend to panic and give shitty stories when i lie. so.. nah, don't think i am

for all people minus those who matter to me. lord.. show me a picture of a person and i can clock little things about them, but if someone obviously is being horrible to me? nahhhhhh theyre such a nice person they would neverrr...

nope!! can't fake accents very well. i mean.. i can kinda do a southern one ig?

i can speak with an american accent, but i speak pretty naturally with a brit one. one of my largest flaws..

i think slavic and arabic accents are gorgeous..

uhmmm my mbti is INFP-T, and im. sorta just.. me on here... idk how to describe my personality :sob:

i HATE wearing expensive clothes. most expensive article of clothing i own? a carhart jacket that's older than i am

yeppers :)

innie..

ambidextrous :) i use my left primarily to write and my right for almost everything else

no, but i don't like them on me and am terrified of black widows.

I like banana pudding? im not picky at ALL honestly

i like so many... the basic bitch answers of i like most mexican and chinese dishes, but i also like viet and indian foods... uhm im again not picky

im a mess :sob:

"woof..." "oh gosh" or "HELP???" are frequents

idk lowkey i use a lotta words a lot. yapper core...

15-20 minutes from the time i wake up to the time i'm out the door

diagnosed narcissist goes crazy

i just.. let lollies melt on my tongue... no sucking or biting required.. no conscious effort... just leavin it there

uhm i talk outloud to think but also this is biased of multiple consciousnesses in one so it's sometimes hard for me to pin if im.. just.. monologuing purposefully for a headmate or if im just thinking to myself.

i hum, but not sing :)

i think so, but who m i to say

terrified of death, horrified of being forgotten, and i despise being alone..

god no i hate gossip

no clue honestly..

medium

all 50 states AND all european countries

ela and art

ambivert :)

no but i used to live on an island near the mariana trench and it woulda been so fuckin cool to say i scuba dived near the mariana trench..

uhm various people and touchy subjects ig? im not very easily made nervous

YES and i will NOT be taking slander for it

uhm it depends? sometimes i do, sometimes it isnt worth it to, and other times i don't

yeah

no

kinda? hard to say but uhm uhm uhm

goose lore...

.....gooose lore........

a kid named Jack that i will not be getting into for aforementioned lore reasons

rn i only have my one ear piercing, but i used to have my tongue and cheeks pierced too. i wanna get my septum done and my lips (angel fangs or snakebites) when m older

yes if i try hard enough..

anywhere from 60-100 wpm depending on what im typing and if i know what i want to say. but i also fuck up a lot, so.

not very fast..

natural blond rn but i wanna dye it lowkey

blue-green, but ideally brown :)

used to be allergic to red food coloring, but now im just allergic to tylenol... lame..

yeah !! i use digital websites to :)

my father is in the military and works a variety of handymen jobs, and my mother is a hairdresser

ehhh the people around my age that i know are hit or miss, but im not getting any younger and i sure as hell don't wanna be older so

sm stuff :sob: im hard to make mad-mad but there are a few things that make me annoyed. it takes a LOT of time and effort though so yk.

im decently happy with it- there's a slight disconnect from it but overall i think my names are nice :)

Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

i really honestly don't care... i dont think much would change with it, right??

i like to think im nice enough, and im smart enough at stuff to say it blankly. im good at my art stuff and im fine enough to take care of myself for the most part :)

im lowk impulsive and i have major trust and abandonment issues :sob:

"August" i stole from auguste toulmouche, sirius is a constellation i relate to (and a certain character that i also liked), and keres was a name that i just. came with. i started using it again recently :)

im not sure, but im directly related to alexander graham belle. like, the guy who made the telephone. family's wiped from all records due to divorces n the like, but yeah :)

im lucky enough that a lot of them are faded, but i have scars pretty much everywhere if you care enough to look for em tbh

my sheers are grey and my blankets are mismatched.. but my comforter is black and so are my two pillow-pillows

My room walls are green and my floor is a brown carpet :)

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[ssentimentals]

hellloooo can u please do idol!coups x reader for sleep deprivation on cheol’s part with reader taking care of him xx

helloooo anonie, sure i can, thank you for requesting! 💜

prompt: sleep deprivation

you try not to hover. you try not to act like mother hen in fear of being annoying. you try but it's so god damn hard when seungcheol looks like a dead man standing. your boyfriend has always been a hard worker, that's one of the qualities you admire about him, but his work ethic is also your biggest worry. seungcheol is present but just barely - you are sure that he didn't hear majority of the things you said with his mind being very, very far from here, buried in new dance routines or lyrics that had to be finished. it's amazing to see how work energizes seungcheol and gives him purpose, but it's horrible to watch him crumble under pressure. slowly you reach out for his hand, giving it a light squeeze: 'cheollie, baby. you're with me?'

seungcheol blinks at your touch and it takes him few moments to sit up straighter on the seat and send you a fake smile. 'yeah, baby, sorry, i'm here. what did you say?'

god, you can't believe this man wanted to pick you up after your work. seungcheol can't be trusted with a car now, not when he can barely focus. 'i asked if yuo're sure that we should go out tonight. you look really tired, cheol.'

he stubbornly shakes his head. 'no-no, i'm good. i'm so caught up at work that we haven't seen each other much lately.'

you kind of want to strangle and kiss him at the same time. he is so good for trying to make time for you amidst his hectic workload but he is so bad for not taking care of himself properly - you sigh loudly. 'when did you sleep last time?' you ask straight to the point. thank god for traffic at this hour, so you can fully turn to your boyfriend without paying attention to the road. 'you look like a zombie, baby.' seungcheol purses his lips and you instantly understand what's the problem. 'cheollie... you can't fall asleep?'

seungcheol sags in the passenger seat, looking embarrassed and done with himself. 'yeah,' he admits quietly. 'i- it's so fucking stupid. i don't know, i'm trying everything but it's just not working.' he sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. 'i don't think i actually slept properly in the last 4-5 days.'

this admission breaks your heart. seungcheol is running on fumes and yet despite it all, he still is here, with you, because he doesn't want you to feel neglected. without thinking you enter new address to the gps, knowing full well what can help him this time. 'instead of the restaurant, let's have a picnic,' you announce in an overly enthusiastic tone.

'at eight pm?' seungcheol asks, confused. 'i mean if that's what you want then i don't mind but-'

'that's exactly what i want.' you squeeze his hand, sending him a small smile. 'no worries, baby. we are very close.'

it doesn't happen often, but it did happen before. sleep deprivation is, unfortunately, a part of seungcheol's life as an idol and you learned hard way how to deal with it. familiar scenes of home or studio don't calm him mind down, but fresh air and water always help. you park the close as close you can to the river and roll down all windows, letting cool evening breeze in. 'alrighty,' you turn to him with a gentle smile and snatch small blanket from the backseat. 'you take this and get comfortable. i'll order us some food.'

seungcheol grabs the blanket, frowning. 'what is happening?'

'we are having a picnic in the car,' you explain, opening food delivery app. 'and you are sleeping until the food arrives, getting much needed rest.' seungcheol opens his mouth to protest and you cut him off: 'this is a date. this is our date that i want to have.'

the thing is, you don't really care about specifics of date as long as seungcheol is close. he doesn't look convinced at first, but when you start talking about your date with a quiet music on the background, he relaxes. it doesn't take him long to fall asleep - adjusted seat, warm blanket, fresh air and your hand in his do their magic. you watch quietly as his breathing slows; in sleep seungcheol doesn't look as tired. still holding his hand you adjust your own seat and lower the radio volume. seungcheol going out of his way to be with you makes you want to do the same; and if date is about you letting him finally sleep and guarding his sleep then you're not complaining, not at all.

a/n: writing this made me so soft :') pls give cheollie all the hugs and sleep he deserves!! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[teambyler]

The most hypocritical anti Byler argument:

"Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay!?"

Whenever I hear this argument or some variation of it, I think back to my two cousins, one a girl and the other a boy. (One from my dad's side of the family, the other from my mom's.) They were maybe six years old at the time, and they were innocently talking and playing and giving each other math and spelling-bee quizzes. ALL my family were giggling, saying they were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

I also think back to all the times I see young girls being judged on their physical beauty and told they're going to have a handsome boy when they grow up because they're so pretty.

From childhood, boys and girls have their sexuality assumed for them. Their SEXUALITY and romantic possibility are talked about openly in front of their face. They're made to look at themselves sexually before they even want to.

So when people yell at Byler fans saying "Why do you have to make everything gay?" I want to scream at them:

"Why do you have to make everything straight!?"

Why do you insist on sexualizing children to be heterosexual even before they're ready to start thinking of themselves in those terms?

Why do you have no problem with Mike kissing El in season 1 right after she asks him if he's like her "brother"?

Why do you idealize their relationship when they were children, while simultaneously trying to shame Byler fans for trying to "sexualize children" even though these are fictional characters and the actors who play Mike and Will are already adults?

Why do you shame any thought or possibility of homosexual romance, while imposing heterosexual norms on everyone?

It reminds me of people who say "You can be gay of course... just don't shove it in our faces (by holding forth that you're gay, kissing in public, etc.)." When no one bats an eye when straight people do the same thing. They're willing to give lip service to LGBT+ people, but actual equality they don't accept.

It's Straight Privilege in action: the norms and standards that straight people enjoy quietly do not to apply to us.

This hypocrisy even distorts how Milkvans view Mike and El. We're told that if Mike and Will get together, that would mean Mike "used El" and El would never be able to forgive him.

Not only does this disregard that people can have amicable break-ups and still be close friends: it also shows that the idea of a platonic loving relationship between a Mike and El is beyond their comprehension. To them, the only loving relationships boys and girls can have with each other are romantic ones.

(Now, before anyone objects: sure many people accept Robin and Steve, but that's because Robin is canonically gay. We all know that before she came out many of us (me included!) were shipping those two as a couple!)

If someone ships Mike and El WITHOUT her confronting him about his poor treatment of her in early s4, without there being an honest conversation about that, this definitely raises an eyebrow from me. The "love confession" didn't address this: his fear of losing her did NOT explain failing to comfort her or failing to say he loved her. Theoretically it's possible for these two to repair things. (And if Milkvan is endgame I hope that they do by addressing this!) But for some Milkvan shippers this need to address Mike's behavior doesn't even enter their minds because they're idealizing their relationship. In other words, THEY are imposing their idea of a relationship on these two, much in the same way my family was imposing their own ideas on my two cousins without regard to the people involved.

So if anyone asks "Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay?" it's purely hypocritical and dishonest. No, we just want THIS relationship between Mike and Will (which is clearly being built up as romantic) to be gay out of a sea of heterosexual relationships on TV.

No. THEY are the ones who rule out a boy and girl just being friends. THEY are the ones who insist on imposing romance on a boy and girl when they're not ready. THEY are the ones who insist on "everything" being one way.

-teambyler

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

I have spent my life studying premodern European literature.

Let's start there. You cannot study premodern Europe without grappling with the fact that you're going to end up reading things that are absolutely horrifying from a modern perspective. This goes double if you're from a marginalized group, triple if you had to learn the actual meaning of the word "intersectional" to define how you fit into the world.

There are works of art (books, films, music, visual art) that I love--and I do mean love, as in baked into my very soul and being--that were created by people who, if they met me on the street, would spit in my face at best and possibly do far worse. I have studied these books, learned them through and through, taught them to other people as things I love. But I will never be able to unsee or ignore the fact that the author would have seen me, a fellow human being, as subhuman.

This requires time and patience. It requires sitting with yourself, with what you love, and understanding that just because you love it, that doesn't make it perfect or right. Human beings are flawed, and so is our art. To deny that is to deny everything that went into that art.

Nor is it as simple as throwing up one's hands and yelling about Barthes and the death of the author. Because art (of any sort) is not produced in a vacuum, nor should is be treated as such. You cannot properly understand any artwork without understanding its context.

And, let's be clear: Terrible people can produce beautiful art. Richard Wagner was a piece of shit trashfire, but Isoldes Liebestod is hard-wired to make me cry.* Perhaps more relevantly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Joss Whedon were foundational to my understanding of media and to my own writing style. I still see fragments in my writing to this day. Does that make me a bad person for having been influenced by a bad person? I like to think not. But I'm also willing to look back on Buffy with fresh eyes and see the flaws alongside those things I still love about it.

In a sense, it really is about perspective. And maybe the problem with so many of these viral posts is that they're being blasted out before anyone has taken the time to think about them. It took me a long time--not to mention 4 years of graduate school and 10+ of teaching--to get to where I am now. We shouldn't expect everyone to immediately figure out how to read critically, and it's not fair to dogpile people for things they haven't learned yet. But this goes both ways--if you like a thing, and somebody points out a problematic aspect of the thing, maybe stop assuming they're wrong and consider you might not know as much as you think you know.

* The fact that Jessye Norman sings it so divinely would probably also make Wagner really mad.

Of course, it borders on stating the obvious to point out that all the people in the notes of that one txttletale post going "actually no, conservatives ARE incapable of making good art because good art requires empathy/compassion/kindness/understanding other people's perspectives/[insert vaguely good-sounding virtue that conservatives supposedly lack here]" are just mentally doing the whole "every media i like is secretly leftist" thing.

But digging down further and on a less obvious note, I think the reason WHY so many liberals and vibes-based leftists are constantly doing the "every media I like is secretly leftist" thing is because they don't actually fundamentally disagree that much with the basic assumptions about the world that support conservative ideologies, they just dislike when they manifest in the form of explicit bigotry.

So when those assumptions are baked into a piece of art (especially a piece of art that is *good*) in the form of undertones instead of explicit bigotry they just come off as The Way The World Is and completely fail to register as conservative to them.

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 4: Paige's POV

Pacing back and forth in their room, Paige is trying to wrap her head around how they ended up here. Azzi is taking a shower, so she texted KK, explaining the recent events. 

KK: man...are you even gonna survive this week 

P boogers: IM FREAKIN TF OUT MAN

KK: nah bro you got this just act like y’all normally do

y’all already seem like you’re dating anyway

P boogers: why did i even text you

KK: bc you a simp in love

Paige throws her phone and flops onto the bed. She must have done something wrong in a past life to deserve this punishment. Maybe it's because she argued with that ref too much last week. 

Azzi walks out in just a towel and water dripping off her skin and holy shit. It was definitely the ref coming back to torture her. 

“Hey P, what drawer did you put my PJs in?”

“Top right.” Paige sighs and covers her eyes with her arm. 

“You sure you’re okay with this, Paige? I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.” Azzi fidgets with the end of her towel. Why does everything she does need to be so cute?

“No, Az, it’s fine, really. I just don’t wanna mess nothing up. Like maybe we need a timeline? Your parents on gonna be on my ass on why we didn’t tell them.”

“Easy, you asked me out like 2 months ago, and we were just say we figured they knew,” Azzi says so nonchalantly as if she’s had this ready her whole life. 

“Woah, pause. Maybe you asked me out!”

“Who would actually believe that, Paige?” 

“Okay, first, rude. Secondly, this was your whole idea to fake date, so you shoulda been the one to ask me out.”

“Okay, fine, I asked you out. No one would believe you made the first move anyway.”

“Bro relaaaaaax. I can make a move!” Says the girl who has never tried to make a move on her best friend she’s been in love with for years. 

“Sure you can, P. Rizz em up.” 

“Whatever, dude.”

“Also, stop calling me dude. It’s weird to call your girlfriend dude or bro.”

“But I call like everyone that it’s not weird!” 

Azzi glared at Paige hard. “If I was your girlfriend and you kept calling me dude, you’d be sleeping on the couch.” 

Paige put her hands up in defense, “Damn okay. What you wanna be called then?”

“Just like the normal gooey in love stuff like baby. Keep it normal.”

“Aight, Princess, as you wish.”

“See, you’re already being such a good girlfriend! My lil simp.” Paige throws a pillow at Azzi as they laugh. They both get ready for bed before Paige finally finds the courage to ask a question she’s been dying to know. 

“So, uh, like what did you do for our first date?”

Azzi didn’t seem caught off guard, just thoughtful. “Hmm, I’d probably bring you to a drive-in theater because you’re weirdly in love with your car and talk too much during movies. Plus you love anything that isn't healthy, so endless popcorn and candy for my girl, of course.”

Paige’s heart just stopped. My girl. They haven’t even had to really pretend they’re dating yet, and her heart is already stopping. “Insults aside, that actually sounds pretty fun. We should do that when we get back.”

“You asking me on a date already, Bueckers?” Azzi smirks as she slips into bed. 

Paige follows after her, rolling her eyes. “You wish.” They sit in a comfortable silence after turning off the lights. “Uh, you know people might think it's weird if we’re weird about PDA. Like, as friends, we are pretty touchy, so I feel like some of your family might expect us to be a little more affectionate.” 

“Hmm, good point. What are you comfortable with?”

Nothing and everything. “Down for whatever, Az. Like I said, we touch all the time already.”

“Hm, okay. So you’re fine holding my hand all the time?” Azzi slips her fingers into Paige’s hands. 

“Already do.” 

“Okay,” Azzi smirks in a way Paige knows means trouble. She has to be scheming. Azzi will take any opportunity to mess with Paige. Everyone else sees a confident and put together basketball player, but Azzi sees every side of Paige. Azzi moves her hands around Paige’s waist, looking down at her. “How about all the hugging and holding each other?”

Did this room suddenly get really warm? Thankfully, the lights are off, maybe hiding Paige’s red cheeks. 

“I uh m-mean we, yeah we hug a lot.” They’re so close at this point that Azzi can probably feel Paige’s rapid heartbeat. 

“How about kissing?” Azzi says softly as she leaned in towards Paige, moving her hands to grasp the hair on the back of her neck. Paige is paralyzed, staring up at Azzi’s eyes. Paige tightens her grip on Azzi’s waist under her sleep shirt. No sounds can be heard but their soft breathing.

Azzi’s smirk grows, knowing she has all the power over Paige. “Careful, Bueckers, you might fall in love with me.” Too late. 

Paige’s eyes flicker down to Azzi’s lips, and now Azzi was the one to freeze. They’re so close, and all Paige needs to do is inch forward the slightest bit. She’s imagined kissing Azzi a million times. Imagined what it would feel like and what she would taste like. 

Azzi audibly gulps when Paige looks back into her eyes. Paige has never seen Azzi like this before, but she likes it. 

Before either of them thinks it through, they close the gap. They were already so close, it's hard to tell who made the final move. It was soft and hesitant at first. They began to relax into each other, and their lips move fluidly against each other. Azzi sighs into the kiss and moves her hand to Paige’s cheek. 

Something about the movement brought Paige back to reality, reminding her that this was her best friend. That she can’t fall deeper in love with her. That this is all fake. Paige gently removes her lips, but Azzi looks down at her with hooded eyes. It feels too real. Paige hears Kk in her mind telling her to protect herself. Paige could feel the walls building around her, needing to remove the moment's intensity. Needing to bring them back to their usual teasing. 

“Seems like you might be the one who falls in love with me, Fudd.” Paige smirks as best as she can to lighten the moment. 

Azzi still tries to catch her breath as she removes herself slightly from Paige. “Oh yeah? Sounds like yet another challenge you’ll lose to.”

Paige could finally release a full breath without Azzi on top of her. “That tends to be what you say right before you lose to me.”

“Alright, Madison, simmer the confidence now. We need to be up early tomorrow, so save some of that for tomorrow.” 

Right, tomorrow. A day filled with lingering touches, kisses, and affection. A day that Paige can totally handle. Well, maybe.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Azzi’s alarm goes off, signaling them to start their day. Azzi shoves herself into Paige, trying to hide from the intrusive noise. Paige only knows this because she hasn’t slept. How was she supposed to casually fall asleep after kissing the love of her life?

How the fuck did she get herself in this mess? Oh right, she never learned how to say no to Azzi. The girl who smiles at her, and the world slows down. The problem with this whole plan won’t be needing to fake it. The issue will be needing to fake being just friends afterward.

“Mhmm, Paigey, turn it off.” 

“Sorry, Az, but we gotta make it in time for breakfast. Mrs. Miller is kinda intense with this whole schedule.”

“You’re telling me.” Azzi smiles up at Paige and then shifts to slide off the bed and get ready for the day as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

“Is the breakfast casual?” 

“Yeah, wear a bathing suit underneath it because it looks like we are spending the morning at the pool.”

“Sweet, we can play mermaids!” And avoid thinking about Azzi in a bathing suit. 

Azzi looks pointedly at Paige and laughs, “Just get ready, you guppy.”

“Here’s some orange juice and Fruit Loops as requested,” Azzi says lightheartedly with an eye roll. 

“Fuck yeah, thanks Az.” Paige immediately attacks her cereal as if she’s never eaten before. In her defense, all the food last night was stupidly fancy, so can you blame a girl for being desperate?

“Baby, slow down. You’re going to aspirate on a Fruit Loop, and that's not a cute look.” Baby. Now, that might be what kills her.

Paige smiles up at her with a colorful mouth full of cereal. “Sorry, I’m just really hungry.”

Tim jumps in, “Bueckers, you always eat like that when sugar is involved.”

“Don’t cap! I just really like my cereal, damn...”

Azzi seems to be looking at Paige, processing something until it clicks and rubs Paige’s back affectionately. “Shit, Paige, I’m sorry I didn’t even think about the food last night not being your vibe.” 

“Nah, I’m good forreal. These Fruit Loops are bomb.” As Paige finishes her sentence, Azzi’s aunt and grandmother walk up to say good morning. Azzi never moves her hand, but she does seem to have the slightest shift in her demeanor as her shoulders stiffen. 

“Morning, Grandma! How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, just fine! Thank you for asking, sweetheart. How about you, ladies?”

Before Azzi could answer, Jon scoffed, “I’m sure no sleep was had in that room if you know what I mean.”

Paige chokes on a Fruit Loop in shock. Azzi glares at her brother and rubs Paige’s back as she coughs it out. “You okay, baby?” Jon and Jose snicker in their corner, enjoying how red they made Paige. Grandma Fudd’s face flickers in confusion at the term of endearment for a moment. 

“Can’t believe I almost died because of a Fruit Loop.” 

Azzi’s aunt smiles lovingly at them. “You two are just so cute together! I ship it.” 

Jose is the one to step in this time. “Aunt Chrissy, where did you even learn to say that?”

“Oh, to ship them? I am cool and hip, you know.”

“Well, your old grandma isn’t, so someone fill me in.” 

“When you ship two people, it means you love them as a couple.” Paige could see the wheels turning in the older woman’s head. She’s bracing herself for the awkwardness that might come next. 

“Oh dear, I think I missed something. Are you two in a relationship?”

Azzi grabs Paige’s hand and smiles, “Yeah, grandma Paige is my girlfriend.” God, she wished that she could hear that on repeat. 

Jose mumbles, “Took them long enough.”

Azzi whips her head towards her brothers, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Dude, you guys have been in love for like ever.” Azzi’s face is one of pure shock, and Paige is pretty sure even a sunburn couldn't make her this red. 

To make matters worse, Grandma Fudd steps back in, “I must say I have to agree with your brother. I thought maybe there was something there, but Katie just kept telling me you girls are just close.” 

Azzi sighs and puts her face in her hands. “Okay, can we stop analyzing our relationship and just eat breakfast, please?” 

“Yes, yes, sorry, sweetie. It just all makes so much more sense why you never dated any boys. Oh, and poor Jonathan!”

“Oh, who cares! We want to hear all about how this all finally came to fruition!” Wow, Aunt Chrissy really does ship us.

“Azzi Fudd over here asked me on a date!” Paige smiles triumphantly, enjoying the side eye from Azzi. ”She made me a Tru Fru bouquet and brought me to a drive-in movie where she asked me to be her girlfriend.” 

Azzi laughs at the mention of a Tru Fru bouquet. “Yeah, well someone had to have the balls to make the move.” Okay, ouch.

“Aight, chill, dude. I was nervous.” Azzi glares at Paige and shoves her knee when she calls her dude.

“Sorry, baby, you right.” 

“Simp,” Jose mumbled under his breath while Azzi looked way too proud at the power she held in this moment. 

“Bro, why does everyone keep callin me a simp today?” 

Katie chimed in with a shrug, “You’ve been a simp since day one, Paige. It’s just more fun to say it now that it's official.” Azzi snickers and high-fived her brothers. 

The rest of the breakfast continued easily. Paige always felt the most at home with Azzi and her family. They had been done eating for a while, and Paige put her arm around Azzi’s chair. Honestly, Paige does that all the time, so it’s nothing new. What’s new is how much Azzi leaned into Paige and her hand placement on Paige’s upper thigh. 

People keep talking, and Paige genuinely tries to listen, but she can’t focus on anything but Azzi’s hand. Paige shifts uncomfortably, trying to deal with her inappropriate thoughts, which leads Azzi to move her hand up slightly higher when she turns just enough to look up at Paige. When Paige looks down, her breath hitches at how close their faces are, and she sees Azzi’s eyes flicker down to her lips before coughing and returning to the normal conversation. How can she be so nonchalant? Since when has Azzi been a world-renowned fake girlfriend actor?

Mrs. Miller enters the breakfast room with a mimosa on her way outside. Now Paige’s brain has shifted to finding where she got that mimosa. She’ll need some liquid courage to deal with the touching for an entire day. “Good morning, Fudd family! Please take your time and join us out by the pool.”

Paige stands up rather abruptly at the invitation. If she doesn’t have some space soon, she might pass out. “Uh, sorry, I love swimming.”

Everyone laughs at Paige endearingly, and Azzi moves to stand, catching Paige’s hand like it’s second nature and making their way outside. 

Once they settle, Azzi removes her sundress, exposing her pink bikini, abs, and that damn belly button piercing. That piercing might be semi-responsible for Paige’s sexual awakening. In high school, it was easier to push feelings off and make excuses for their touchiness. But when Azzi showed her the new piercing, the way Paige’s body reacted was definitely not one for a best friend. Now, all these years later, it’s still that damn piercing catching her off guard like she got it yesterday. 

Azzi grabs sunscreen, successfully removing Paige from her daydream. “Alright Bueckers, get over here so that pretty face of yours doesn’t burn.” Azzi straddles the tanning chair in front of Paige, without a care in the world that it’s just a tiny bikini bottom covering her. “Hmm, looks like you’re already getting red, Paigey. Let’s get this on fast.” 

Well fuck.

[cookies-after-dark]

okay but Shmilk would be such a back seat driver if he let black sapphire cookie fuck reader

“Move ur hand lower”

“They like being pinched there”

kiss em like u mean it cmooon”

and whoes to say he won’t get strings involved and fix their position himself if they keep messing up :3c

okay no wait 💡 you dropped this because that is one hell of a good idea.

(additional tags because I went loopy here: explicit content, unhealthy power dynamics, possessiveness, humiliation, exhibitionism, degradation)

See, my lame ass was just thinking of Shadow Milk Cookie using this as powerplay, you know? Like a, 'my pets are playing with each other!' scenario where Shadow Milk Cookie actually lets one of his minions knock you around a bit in his stead. Let's be honest, Black Sapphire Cookie's been eyeing you up and down since the moment Shadow Milk brought you here! He's such an eager, helpful, obedient little servant! You could learn to be more like him, Shadow Milk Cookie thinks.

And Black Sapphire Cookie is more than willing to show you just where you stand, riiiiight at the bottom of the hierarchy! No one can tell me that little purple ball of lint isn't secretly a dominant control freak who needs to have everything go his........- I mean, master Shadow Milk Cookie's way. You're adorable and endearing enough, but you need to be taught a lesson or two before you go strutting around the Spire, thinking you're all that just because your the master's newest pet.

Hence, this situation. Shadow Milk Cookie sees the most perfect opportunity to humble you and get his rocks off at the same time! Well, he has many ways to do that, but plan in partocular has him hardening in his tights already. Passing you off to an underling really paints the whole picture for you - you belong to the Spire now! You belong here, this is your new home, you won't be going anywhere, and the first thing we'll do to make sure of that is to fuck you on every piece of furniture in sight! Lovely, ain't it?

Shadow Milk Cookie also loves giving you yhe illusion that you can choose - would you rather have your legs be folded over your head whilst Black Sapphire Cookie mercilessly fucks you while recording your moans and squeals through his beloved microphone, spreading rumors all over Earthbread how you're just some hungry, poorly trained slut? Ooooor~ you could play with Shadow Milk Cookie instead! Those are the only two choices by the way, so choose carefully.

So that was my lame ass. But this ask is hysterical because this also makes Shadow Milk Cookie sharing you with anyone else an absolute godawful nightmare. Black Sapphire Cookie would never talk back to his beloved master, but even he must admit it's getting difficult continuing when Shadow Milk stops him every few seconds with some kind of criticism.

"Pfft! Well, of course, only one Cookie on all of Earthbread could handle this task correctly! Even still, you could at least *attempt* to have a bit more tact than that~!"

Because the Reader, his darling little popper, isn't just some common whore. No, they're just a speeeeecial whore, deserving of only the best treatment! Shadow Milk's words (he cannot help but through a dirty little nickname for you in there).

Honestly, the fact that Shadow Milk Cookie loves you just so, so, so, so much should be obvious! So what if his love is a little rough? Sooner or later, he'll have Black Sapphire Cookie show you the pleasure you deserve, as Shadow Milk Cookie's beautiful, lovely little pet!

[oddyseye]

I'm hardly surprised your Wilson translation omits the "love" part. With all due respect (and I mean very very little due respect) I would never rely on Wilson for serious translation work. It's fine for accessibility, maybe, but it sacrifices so much nuance and, frankly, accuracy for a modern sensibility.

My copy, the one I actually trust and use, is the George Chapman translation. Chapman, bless his heart, gets it right. Let me quote the relevant bit for you:

When she Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her As to her slaughter. She, surprised with fear And love, at first, will bid thee to her bed. Nor say the Goddess nay, that welcomed Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure Her favours to thee ; and the great oath take With which the blessed Gods assurance make Of all they promise ; that no prejudice (By stripping thee of form, and faculties) She may so much as once attempt on thee. George Chapman, Book 10, lines 390-400

"It's amazing how much a translation can alter someone's interpretation of something!" No kidding! It's almost like we should be consulting multiple translations before making sweeping statements about who's in control and who's afraid of whom. It's frustrating when people read one translation and think they've got the whole picture. Chapman isn't the end all be all either, but at least it represents what the text has meant over the years. 

Although many translations do not explicitly mention love, they do mention lust.

Let instant death upon it shine, and she will cower and yield her bed— a pleasure you must not decline, so may her lust and fear bestead you and your friends, and break her spell; but make her swear by heaven and hell no witches’ tricks, or else, your harness shed, you'll be unmanned by her as well. Robert Fitzgerald, Book 10, lines fuck-if-I-know

Now, tell me, does that sound purely like "fear" driving Circe's actions? Look at the phrasing, the very diction Fitzgerald chose. "Yield her bed—/a pleasure you must not decline?" "Lust and fear bestead/you and your friends?" That's not about Circe being terrified into submission; it's about a shift in how she desires to interact with Odysseus. The text literally emphasizes her sexual desire, or lust for him ("Lust and fear bestead"). Yes, "fear" is mentioned. But context matters. The fear is a temporary reaction to Odysseus's defiance of her magic, but Fitzgerald links it directly to her "yielding her bed," to pleasure, to lust.

If it were purely fear, why the emphasis on the bed? Why the insistence on Odysseus "not declin[ing]" the pleasure?

If Circe was just afraid, she would just free the men.

The "pleasure" is a suggestion of lust. It's a transformation of power dynamics, sure, but it's also one where Circe's agency shifts from dominance through magic to something else. Something involving a "bed." My point isn't whether she's madly in love. My point is the dynamic is shifting from her having power over him to it turning to lust, and the "pleasure" of Odysseus that he must not decline.

Odysseus is a very feminine character, now that I think about it...

Alright, let’s get something straight before anyone comes at me with a “bUt tHiS iS gEnDeR eSsEnTiAlIsM” take. I’m not saying Odysseus is literally a woman or that masculinity and femininity are these rigid, unchanging constructs. I’m talking about how the ancient Greeks perceived these traits. This is about Homeric gender coding, not modern gender politics.

Ancient Greek society had clear ideas about what was “masculine” and “feminine.” Men fought, conquered, and sought kleos (glory). Women used cunning, patience, and endurance to survive. Odysseus? He embodies the latter far more than the former. That’s the point. That’s what makes him interesting. I’m not slapping modern labels on him; I’m analyzing how he would’ve been understood in his own time.

Got it? Got it. Then let me explain.

Greek heroism is all about kleos (glory), right? You charge into battle, fight, die gloriously, and get immortalized in song. Odysseus? Not his style. His whole thing is survival. Achilles, the epitome of warrior masculinity, chooses an early death in exchange for undying fame. Odysseus chooses life, no matter what it takes. He hides, deceives, and grovels when necessary...all acts that a traditionally “heroic” warrior wouldn’t be caught dead doing.

Take the Cyclops episode: a classic strongman hero would just fight Polyphemus. Odysseus? He outsmarts him with wordplay, drugs his enemy (like a sneaky witch would), and escapes by disguising himself under sheep. You’re telling me this is masculine? If anything, it aligns him with figures like Circe and Penelope. Women who survive through wit and deception rather than brute strength.

This man’s mouth is his deadliest weapon. He doesn’t win with a spear; he wins with stories, persuasion, and trickery. The word polytropos (πολύτροπος), used to describe him in the very first line of The Odyssey, literally means “many-turned” or “twisting,” evoking the way a woman might spin or weave. The metaphor of weaving is all over his character, and weaving is, of course, the domain of women in Greek thought.

Even his lies are textile-like. He spins tales, unravels them, and reweaves them as necessary. And let’s not ignore that his narrative mirrors Penelope’s: she weaves and unweaves her shroud, delaying the suitors; he spins and unspins his identity to survive. He and Penelope are two sides of the same coin, both manipulating reality to stay in control.

If we take ancient Greek gender norms seriously, dominance in sex = masculinity, and submission = femininity. And Odysseus? The man spends years being kept by women. Calypso and Circe both hold him as a sex slave, reducing him to an object of desire rather than an active agent. That’s not exactly Achilles ravaging Briseïs, is it? He’s literally lying in bed (λέχος) while these women rule over him.

Even in Ithaca, his return isn’t some macho takeover. He sneaks in, disguises himself, and watches before making his move. Unlike Agamemnon, who storms into Mycenae post-Troy and gets murked by his wife, Odysseus waits, gathering intel like a patient, calculating woman.

He also cries...like...a lot.

Masculine heroes go out into the world to conquer (Iliadic energy). Feminine figures are more often concerned with the home. Odysseus’s entire goal? To get back to Ithaca, to his oikos, to his wife. He’s not seeking new conquests or greater glory. He wants stability, family, domesticity. He longs for the space traditionally occupied by women.

Odysseus is basically the Greek epic’s answer to the trickster woman trope. He’s wily, verbal, emotionally expressive, and constantly using the strategies of metis, not brute strength, to survive. While Homeric masculinity typically means fighting, dying, and achieving kleos, Odysseus thrives through deception, patience, and endurance. Traits that the ancient Greeks more often ascribed to women.

[illuminatedquill]

I am loathe to wade into the shipping discourse because it’s not how Severance should be viewed - at least in its entirety - but also the writers, directors, and cast members definitely seem keen on the audience being forced into Mark’s dilemma: Helly or Gemma.

This conflict is woven into the show’s theme and is featured prominently in the intro, even. So it’s hard not to get involved and have thoughts. It’s a deeply uncomfortable topic to consider, which I totally get and, speaking personally, I despise love triangles in stories.

Severance gets a slight pass because they’re actually doing justice to the concept and making it interesting and complicated but I will admit that I’m still not a fan of Mark x Helly. I think they were better off as just friends, with the romance firmly staying between Mark and Gemma.

If you’re not interested in hearing any thoughts about this then feel free to keep scrolling. Otherwise, read on:

Mark x Helly only makes sense to me if it adds weight to the final choice of him staying with Gemma in the end. From my point of view, Helly’s most interesting relationship is with herself - namely, her outie Helena. In this season, that seems to have been sidelined in favor of her romance with Mark which is . . . a choice.

It’s possible that leads to the popular theory that Helly becomes pregnant by Mark, one that I’m personally not fond of, since it makes the relationships even more complicated (and I think the show has enough complicated interpersonal dynamics as it is) but I am giving grace to the Severance writers to handle such a plot line with their usual creativity and keen guidance.

Anyway, I don’t think anyone watching the show with working eyes can deny that Helly is deeply important to Mark and even Gemma, to an extent. If Gemma is the impetus for the show even existing, then Helly is the catalyst that spurs the show’s characters forward with her firebrand personality. She’s exactly what Mark needs right now, and the same could be said about Mark for her. He grounds Helly and gives her a safe space, whereas she gives him purpose and the will to move forward. Mark needs that.

Helly’s presence is what spurs Mark to start the search for Ms. Casey (even if that’s been somewhat derailed this season).

There’s a valid argument to be had that Mark x Gemma, having changed and lost so much because and for each other, would be doomed to a lifetime of misery for choosing to stay with each other. There’s so much tragedy between them, even before Lumon cruelly split them apart.

Helly could be a new start for Mark, free from that pain. Her and Mark’s relationship feels youthful in a stark contrast to Mark and Gemma’s lived-in marriage. That is purposeful; the creators of the show have said that one of the themes for this second season is adolescence. And we know that they go well together, having seen them in action on the severed floor.

But . . . it doesn’t feel true to the themes of Severance if they do go down that route, at least to me. Mark’s central character flaw is his conflict avoidance: his unwillingness to face the hard and painful experiences head-on in an honest and open manner.

Helly is important to him. He loves her. She is what he needs right now.

But it has to be Gemma. Not because he’s married to her or out of loyalty to what they had before. Because that Mark and Gemma are gone. Dead. Neither of them are going back to how things were between them.

It has to be Gemma because that’s the only way either of them are going to truly get out of Hell. Going with Helly would mean not having to face all that hardship and pain and suffering that healing would require. It would mean that Mark and Gemma suffered for nothing.

They have to face it; all the damage done from Lumon, from their own selves, and from each other. Face it together and learn to love and be happy and live together despite it all. And they have to undertake that journey together.

Severance never takes the easy route. It’s making the statement that you cannot sever away the trauma and pain of life without losing your humanity in the process.

Mark x Helly vs Mark x Gemma. It gives more weight to know that, despite having the chance for him to walk away, he still chooses Gemma. That he wants to be with her after everything: the good, the bad, the ugly. To stand by her side and go through it all with love and honesty and faith that they’ll make it through this.

It’s Gemma. Always has and always will be.

(I know there’s the question about what Gemma would want, especially after finding out that innie Mark loves Helly - and if they do go down the pregnancy route, hoo boy. But I think we forget that Gemma is intelligent - innie Mark was born out of a need to forget her. And she knows and understands from painful experience how innies work. If anything, Gemma might be more mad about the fact he chose to get severed rather than him falling in love with another woman, considering memories of him were all that was keeping her going while locked away in Lumon’s dungeon whereas Mark thought creating a version that never knew her was needed to keep functioning. But, all the same, I don’t think watching her fight tooth and nail for almost an hour leaves any doubt in my mind that she would still want to be with him. It wouldn’t be easy to reconcile with but, hey, life and love are messy. It’s the story of everyone. Trying to avoid it deprives you of the full richness of our brief lives and robs it of meaning is what Severance is saying. But if she and Mark survive getting free and clear of Lumon and are open and honest with each other, then they’ll be okay, I think. And, of course, the love is still there, in spite of it all. That’s enough to convince me. It won’t be the same, but it can be good again. I know it can be. After all, winter never lasts forever. Spring always comes again.)

These are my own thoughts, I cannot stress that enough. It’s what makes sense to me. Even though I don’t care for Mark x Helly, I do adore Helly’s character and wish her the best ending possible. But with Helena as her outie, I just don’t see that being a possibility. And, no, I don’t believe that Severance is going to attempt a redemption arc for Helena. Not that the writers couldn’t write a damn good one for her - they certainly could - it’s just that particular narrative would require a huge amount of character work that should take multiple years and seasons to develop properly. You can’t just flip a switch and she’s suddenly Helly, even if she does reintegrate. I just don’t think it’s a story that should be rushed, like how it was with the resolution to Helena co-opting Helly’s bodily autonomy to be intimate with Mark. Fringe did that storyline way better and the reason why is because they had the time and space to do so. Severance does not - not in this current era of streaming shows where everything is condensed to 10 episodes max. Doesn’t matter how good the writers are.

[elleandstufff]

A Gift for the Both of Us ｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Everyone really seemed to enjoy Sugar Daddy!Thanos so here’s more of him <3

It’s Father’s Day and you couldn’t think of anything to get your husband :( Luckily, he has the perfect gift for both of you! Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!sugar baby/trophy wife reader

Continuation of Being Thanos’s Sugar Baby/Trophy Wife… but you can also read this as a standalone if you want! 

Warnings: Sugar baby/trophy wife-sugar daddy dynamic but you actually love each other, Thanos and reader already have two kids, baby making, dom!Thanos, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink of course, begging, teasing, possessiveness, slight brat taming, filthy!! words coming out of this man’s mouth 2k words

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ

The front door of your house clicks shut as your two daughters and mother-in-law leave for the night. It’s father's day, and all of you had just spent the entire day celebrating your husband. You made a complete spread of all his favorite foods, and you helped your daughters make cutesy little crafts for him. You wanted to do everything you could to make the day special for him, since he did so much for you and your little family. 

You did everything to make the day special for him, except for getting him a gift. You thought long and hard about it for months, but you couldn’t think of anything he would want that he didn’t already have. He always makes it clear that his favorite thing to do is buy things for you or your kids. Yet, you didn’t get him a single thing. 

A pair of arms wraps around you and lifts you into the air. You giggle as your husband carries you throughout the house and finally into your bedroom. He softly tosses you onto the massive bed before plopping down beside you. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Just thinking about how I had a great time today with my family, and now I’ve got a quiet house and my pretty wife sitting in my bed.” He smiles down at you. 

“Your pretty wife who didn’t even get you a father’s day gift…” You pout. 

“Well, you’re the greatest gift I could have asked for. Then on top of that, you’re the whole reason I’m a father in the first place.” He strokes your hair. “But… I’ve been thinking and I might have an idea for a gift for the both of us. What if we…?”

He gently places a hand on your lower stomach and strokes his thumb across the exposed skin. You realize what he means and your eyes grow wide. “Another baby? I thought we said our family was already complete?”

“Our girls are just getting a little older and busier, but they wouldn’t be too much older than the new baby. I’d love to see you with a baby propped on your hip one more time. But it’s entirely up to you, of course.” He starts to pull his hand away, but you swiftly put it back and place your hand over his. 

“We have one kid in preschool, and the other is about to start in a couple months. And you have to spend so much time at the studio, and I completely understand! It’s just… I’ve been so bored and lonely lately…”

“I know, Honey, that’s why I want to give you another baby if you’ll let me.” 

You smile up at him brightly. “Yes, please.” 

His lips meet yours hungrily, and the two of you waste no time tearing each others’ clothes off. You pull a pillow from the head of the bed to place under your lower back. It’s your third time around, so you know the drill at this point. 

“Nah, Sweetheart, not yet,” he says with a devilish grin while you look confused. 

He flops himself onto the plush mattress and folds his arms underneath his head. He looks at you expectantly, and you instantly know what he means. “It is father’s day, after all.” 

Your tummy flips in a mix of excitement and anxiety. Your husband is always on top and in control, except for the few special days of the year where he has you start on top. You’re not used to being in control since it rarely happens, so you never have the stamina to get yourself off. 

You shakily straddle him while maintaining eye contact, just how he likes. He nods for you to continue, giving you the reassurance that you need. You take his huge length in your hand and position him at your entrance. You’re already dripping just at the thought of what is going to happen tonight, but you still prepare yourself for an overwhelming stretch. 

His fat head pushing past your entrance already has you moaning and whining. You sink yourself lower inch by inch until he’s fully inside you and you can feel him nudging your cervix. You sit still for a moment to get used to the feeling of him stretching your walls. No matter how many times the two of you have fucked–thousands at this point–you still can’t get over how big he is. 

“C’mon, Honey, move for me. You can do it,” he says encouragingly, but his arms don’t move from their spot underneath his head. 

You start rocking your hips forward and back as best as you can, but the feeling of him in your guts makes it difficult for you to move much. After a few minutes, you feel your release building up. But every time you approach it, the feeling dissipates. Your movements get sloppy as you try to chase the high, but no matter what you do you can’t reach it. You’re so desperate you could cry. 

“Aw, you struggling to get yourself off, Sweetie?” Your husband coos. He finally moves one of his hands to caress your face. 

You look down in shame. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you out,” he says. “But first, it still is father’s day. Remind me, how many times have you made me a father?”

“Two…” you mutter. “About to be three…” 

“So it looks like I’ll be making you cum three times tonight…” 

He gingerly pulls you down for a kiss before he swiftly flips you underneath him. He pulls a pillow from the head of the bed and places it under your hips. He leans down to whisper in your ear, “Do you need to stretch first?” 

You can’t help but let out a laugh at his question. “No, it’s pretty much muscle memory at this point.” 

“Alright…” 

You’re immediately folded in half. Your leg muscles twitch for a second at first, but then you relax. It really is muscle memory. 

He doesn’t waste time burying himself deep inside you. He was just in you seconds ago, but this new intrusion feels so much deeper. He doesn’t start off slow and sweet, no, he plows into you like a mad man on a mission. You were already close before, so it’s no time before you’re close again. 

“I can feel you squeezing me, baby. Let’s get number one of the night out of the way.” 

You obey him, though it’s not difficult to because of the fast and harsh assault on your insides. You whine as you gush around him. You feel your release dripping down you, and you’re sure it’s all over him, but he doesn’t stop. 

You’re in such a fucked out bliss that you can barely focus on the filthy words coming out of his mouth or the second orgasm creeping up on you like a bullet train. Before you know it you’re gushing around him a second time. You’re a pathetic mess beneath him, and he’s above you jackhammering into your hole at record speed without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you wonder how he’s even real. 

Sometime after your second release of the evening, your husband starts coaxing you into your third. “C’mon, let’s get this third one over with so I can make you a mommy again.” 

“I can’t…” you whine. “Too much…” 

“Oh, you will, Honey.” He peppers your face with kisses. “I give you everything. You can give me one more.” 

You try your best for him and you feel your final orgasm of the night spreading throughout your body. He grunts praises in your ear as your body shudders. He stills in you for a second and strokes your hair, giving you a minute to recover. 

“You ready for the grand finale?” 

You’re weak, but you eagerly nod. He starts again with his brutal pace, but you can tell that he’s close by the way his arms start to shake ever so slightly. 

He puts his head in the crook of your neck and he speaks to you, his voice low and raspy. “You wanna have my baby? Beg for it.” 

You smile up at him, feigning innocence. “It was your idea.” 

He smiles back at you, his smile cocky. “I could pull out if you’d like.” 

“You wouldn’t.” He has never pulled out ever. 

“Oh, but I could. I could paint that pretty face white, but you know I’d rather paint those insides.” 

You continue to look up at him, stubbornly refusing to let anything slip from your mouth. 

“When did my wife become such a brat, huh?” He nips at your neck. “I go one week without fucking you because we’re busy and you go and turn into brat? Can’t let that happen again.”

“Well, don’t stay at the studio so late then…” You say, refusing to let a moan slip out that’s beginning to be let free. 

“Let me knock you up, and I’ll take half days every day this week.” 

“No one is stopping you. You’re the one in control, right?” 

He gives you a particularly rough thrust, which earns an involuntary moan from you and causes him to smile. He looks you in the eye. “You belong to me. This pretty cunt belongs to me. This womb belongs to me. If I tell you to beg to carry my babies, you’re going to beg.” 

You instantly let out a filthy noise somewhere between a moan and a whine. His dominance has always been a turn on for you, and this time is no exception. “Please give me another baby. ‘Wanna have your baby, please.” 

You feel him twitching inside of you. With ragged breaths, he pulls you as close as possible and releases his seed directly to your womb. You cry out as you feel him spill inside you. One of his arms involuntarily gives out so he practically lies on top of you. He stays inside long after he goes soft, trying to make sure that none of his spend is wasted. You’re exhausted, but you know he must be as well. 

Eventually he pulls out and you feel empty. He slips one of his shirts over your head and kisses your forehead. “You doing okay, Mommy-to-be?” 

You weakly giggle at how much of a lovable dork your husband can be. “Yes, I’m okay. Do you really think it’ll stick from just this one time?” 

He slips into a pair of boxers and gets his foot caught, nearly falling face-first into the bed. “Oh, I know it stuck. But for good measure, we’re doing it again in the morning. And tomorrow night when the girls go to sleep. And the next day. And-” 

Suddenly, you hear barking coming from the living room. The dog your husband randomly brought home on Christmas morning must need to go to the bathroom. “I am going to take him out to go to the bathroom and then I’ll be right back. Let’s watch something when I get back. How about you pick? You can even pick something I hate!” 

You laugh. You’re definitely going to pick something he hates. “Stop in the laundry room on the way out and put on some pants! There might be paparazzi outside!” You call after him as he jogs after the dog. 

As you scroll through shows and wait for him to return, you absentmindedly rub at your tummy. You’re thankful that your husband was thoughtful enough to give you a present on his special day. 

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ

I promise that I’m still working on requests and the next part of my Let’s Play a Game series! This just came to me randomly and I’m so close to hitting 1k notes on my Sugar Daddy!Thanos headcanons!! I’m so excited that so many people seem to love the idea <3

Also my finals are due this week, and then I should have a few chill weeks! I have so many fics I want to put out and hopefully you will like them all <3

｡ ₊ Masterlist ₊ ｡

[bloodybreakupscene]

-> 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓.

joaquin torres x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [desc.] :: a short drabble between you and joaquin, from when you first met, to how it's going.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [a/n] :: HEEEYYYY it's me after... checks clock... two years?? finally got into writing again soooo expect marvel fics... who's excited for the new daredevil show... and that new spidey show is good too ALSO MARVEL RIVALS–

you slave away on your computer, dragging and dropping files, typing them up, doing whatever with them! god, you didn't think a government job would have you doing so much boring tedious work. you scroll and scroll onwards and it's a wonder your finger hasn't fallen off yet. ‘i guess i can't see president ross doing any of this stuff.’ you comment to yourself.

joaquin looks at you, well, it lingers– okay he's staring. he always does, he can't help it! ever since you started working here he can't stop. he walks by your office everyday since it's on his way to where he usually works. he's talked to you a couple times, did the thing where you nod to each other to acknowledge the other's presence. you even say good morning! that means you guys are like.. close right? at least work friends.

“so.. i went on a mission, couple days ago. pretty good, beat up a couple guys.” he blurts out, body leaning on your doorway, causing you to looking away from your own computer.

“oh really?”

“yeah.” he brags, “you should've been there, even sam was impressed.”

“i would've liked to, during work i don't look anywhere other than this damn computer,” you laugh.”

“y'know maybe, maybe we could–”

“joaquin, need you out front.” sam wilson calls from his comms, the voice of captain america sounding through the speakers.

“i think he needs you.” you smile at him, he smiles back but he's disappointed again, he wanted to ask you out! for coffee or whatever government coworkers do!

joaquin complains to sam about this later, talking about how he ruined his chances and how he needs to “hop off and let him soar” whatever the hell that meant, sam would've gotten on his case if he didn't scurry away as soon as they arrived back at base. running straight towards your working grounds.

he chills out before walking in the room. checking his hair, face, etc, etc. as he's fixing his uniform, you tap on his shoulder, eliciting a jolt from him.

“hey, whatcha’ waiting for?” you ask wondering why he was looking at his reflection in his blacked out phone screen, seemingly about to walk into your room with no one in it.

“oh, y'know, was waiting for you actually, about earlier i was gonna ask you… if you…” he nervously taps his sides with his hands, chuckling a bit; it's not like… not like he liked you! he just likes looking at you, yeah.. that seemed right. definitely.

“if i..?” you question, voice laced with confusion, but you had an idea of what he was attempting to ask.

“if like, you know, wanna go out with me, do whatever, i like going to the gym, if you couldn't tell.” he holds up his arms, muscles prominent but not bulging.

you can't help but stiffle a giggle, whether it was because of his– albeit– childish attempt at impressing you or because of his overall cuteness is up to debate.

“sure, why not, i'll be off at five…ish? later. we can go get dinner or something.”

“yeah! yeah of course, ill stop by later then, count on it.” he winks, as you walk back into your room. when you closed the door he nearly skipped his way back to his own work base.

after this moment you two became surprisingly close, he wasn't the awkward overcompensater from when you first met. he was genuinely funny, and charming too! wow, what a package deal, you think.

–

days passed and the situation with the former president is finally over. you're unsettled with it all and you're on your way to joaquin's hospital room. you're upset he got dragged in so far but you did know it was a part of his job, still it made you soured your mood.

“hey joaquin.. how you doing today?” you walk in, sitting by his bed.

“better, thanks.. for being here.” he tries sitting up, groaning in the process.

“don't, you're gonna hurt yourself more.” your hand falls onto his, almost like natural instinct.

“sorry we haven't.. been able to go out lately. didn't think i'd get shot down from the sky.” he laughs, but with only a hint of humor in his actual tone.

you stare at him for a second, looking at his eyes, examining the damage. “you.. no. don't apologize, you'll get better. i know it.”

“can't wait to get outta here, we should get ice cream. i need something sweet or i might die.”

“hmm, to be fair you did almost die.” you lay your head on your hand, leaning closer to him.

“you're right, so that means we gotta go.” he glances at you, noticing your drowsy reddish eyes.

“mhm. m’ tired. didn't sleep last night.”

“why not?” he looks at you concerned.

“worried about you, haha..” you lean off of your hand, head landing on his lap. he watches as you slowly drift to sleep, still holding his hand, fingers interlocked.

his face is slowly fades into a pink color, and he holds your hand tighter, he falls asleep in this state as well, not wanting anything to ruin this moment between the two of you.

[v4mpire45]

Oh, dear diary — K. Bakugo

currently playing ♫︎ bubblegum b*tch — MARINA

pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Female reader

synopsis: For a year, you write diary entries about a certain fiery blonde.

April 7th, 2089

First day at U.A. High. It’s hard to believe I’m finally here. The whole place is overwhelming, huge campus, crazy architecture, and don’t even get me started on the students. But I guess that’s to be expected when you’re going to the top hero school in the country.

I didn’t expect to meet someone like him so soon, though.

We were doing some sort of introduction thing, and then this guy with spiky blonde hair, Bakugo, I think he’s called started yelling at everyone like he owned the place. At first, I thought he was some kind of teacher with how intense he was.

But no, it turns out he’s a student. Great. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with such an... explosive personality.

I’m not sure how to feel about him yet. But I can tell he doesn’t take anyone lightly.

April 20th, 2089

Hey, I haven't written in here in a while. U.A. takes up a lot of time. Anyhow, things have been going well. I've made some great friends. I had a conversation with that Bakugo kid. Well, not really he told me to move 'cause I was being too slow?? But it's something, I guess. I don’t get him. He’s so intense and always so grumpy, it’s like he’s constantly mad at everyone. But I’ve noticed that when he does talk to people, it’s always like he’s trying to be superior.

Honestly, it's kind of funny. But it's also kind of annoying.

I really don’t get why he’s like that. It makes it hard to even have a proper conversation with him. He’s just… loud. I’m gonna try not to let it get to me, though. Maybe he’ll calm down eventually.

July 21st, 2089

Okay, so things are getting a little better with Bakugo. It's not like we’re friends or anything, but he doesn’t snap at me as much when we cross paths. In fact, he even said "good job" after one of our training exercises. Granted, it was barely audible, and he quickly followed it up with "but don’t get cocky," but still. It felt... different.

The summer’s been intense. U.A. is no joke, and I’ve definitely been pushed harder than I ever have been before.

But there’s something kind of inspiring about seeing Bakugo in action. He works so hard, no matter what. It’s almost like he’s always on a mission, like there’s something he’s trying to prove to everyone. He pushes himself to the limit, and I guess I can respect that.

But, there’s still that edge to him, that explosiveness. I’m not sure how to get past that or if I even want to. He’s definitely a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.

August 3rd, 2089

I didn’t expect Bakugo to be so... well, helpful? It was during our summer training camp (which was a horrible experience btw), and I was struggling with my technique. I thought I’d just tough it out and keep going, but Bakugo actually stopped what he was doing and gave me a few pointers. He was as blunt as always, saying stuff like, "You’re doing it wrong, fix it," but I don’t know. It was kind of nice. It felt like, for a second, he actually cared about how I was doing. And I have to admit, I don’t hate that feeling.

I still don’t know what to make of him. One minute he’s being a total jerk, and the next, he’s actually being decent. I can’t figure him out. But I guess that’s part of the appeal, right?

September 17th, 2089

Okay, I’m starting to think that Bakugo isn’t as bad as I originally thought. It’s not like we’re friends yet or anything, but I’ve noticed some small changes. During one of our sparring sessions, he actually took a moment to check if I was okay after I took a hit. No yelling, no insults, just… concern? It was so strange coming from him.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. I mean, I’m not saying he’s suddenly my best friend or anything, but I’ve started to understand that he’s just intense because he cares. He doesn’t show it the way most people do, but I think he just wants to make sure everyone’s pushing themselves to be the best they can be.

I don’t know… Maybe I’m starting to see him in a different light.

October 31st, 2089

It’s Halloween, and for some reason, Bakugo is actually acting... well, kind of normal? I mean, he’s still grumpy, but he didn’t yell at anyone for their costumes, which is surprising considering how much he complains about everything. I ended up in a game of spin the bottle at a party, and when the bottle landed on me and Bakugo, I swear, I saw the smallest blush on his face.

Of course, he immediately started grumbling, but I could tell he wasn’t as annoyed as usual.

He didn’t even comment on my Puss in Boots costume, which was honestly a little disappointing. But still, there was something about his reaction that made me think maybe he doesn’t mind me as much as he acts like.

December 25th, 2089

Christmas at U.A. wasn’t what I expected. Everyone was so cheerful, and there were so many gifts exchanged. But what really stood out was something small that Bakugo did. He gave me a little gift, nothing big, just a small pendant with a flame on it.

It was kind of like his quirk, but in a subtle way. He didn’t say much about it, just muttered something about not wanting to hear me complain.

But that was it, and honestly, it felt... special. I think he actually cares. Not that he’d admit it, of course, but it’s the little things.

February 14th, 2090

I think I’m starting to fall for him. I hate how cliché that sounds, but honestly, I really think I am. It’s been a few months now, and Bakugo... he’s just different.

Not in a bad way, but he’s grown on me. His brashness, his unwavering determination, the way he always pushes himself to be better, it's actually kind of inspiring.

And I can't deny it anymore, I care about him. More than I should, maybe. I find myself noticing the little things he does when he thinks no one’s paying attention. Like how he pulls his punches during sparring, making sure no one gets hurt.

Or how he keeps an eye on the rest of the class, even if he’d never admit it.

I don’t really know what to do about it. Maybe I’m just confused.

I used to write in this diary to talk about my day, to rant or say something random. But looking back at my entries, it’s all about him. I can’t even remember the last time I wrote anything that didn’t have to do with Bakugo, or Katsuki, as I call him now.

We’ve been on a first-name basis for a while now, and every time I say his name, my heart skips.

March 1st, 2090

So, it happened. I finally did it. I confronted Bakugo about it. The way I feel, I mean. It wasn’t as dramatic as I thought it would be. I just kind of pulled him aside, and before he could yell at me for something, I blurted out, “I think I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

He froze, stared at me, and then said, “Tch, you’re an idiot.”

But... he didn’t walk away. He didn’t leave me standing there, confused and embarrassed.

Instead, he stepped closer, grabbed my hand, and in the softest voice I’ve ever heard from him, he said, “You’re not the only one, dumbass.”

And just like that, he kissed me, he actually kissed me!

We’re still figuring things out, but I’m happy.

Really happy.

I never expected Bakugo to feel the same, but I guess I was wrong.

Maybe we weren't so different after all.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[anonyanonymouse]

I feel like I've been struggling to word anything more than usual lately, so bear with me, but I really hope fans can lower their expectations enough before the next update drops. We've had YEARS to build theories and ideas for how book 7 could end, and I'm just worried that everyone will go into it with a checklist of things they want to happen and be really upset when everything doesn't go like they thought it would

TWST can do a very job at throwing out what everyone expects to happen next and doing something totally different, and I'm just worried that it will actually completely ruin some people's experience if Lilia doesn't wake Silver up from a sleep curse or if we don't finally get a Silver Vanrouge line (as much as I do personally want that!!!!)

Now that we're closer to the wire and we have more context before going into the big ending for book 7, we're also getting a lot more fan theories that contradict each other and contradict old theories. The writers would never be able to fit in all these expectations at this point lol!!!

I think it will be a good ending as long as it's funny and sweet and I can take a lot of meaning and interest out of it, no matter how the writers choose to go about it. To be honest, I'm probably overthinking it lol I know it's really been a lot of fun to imagine how they're going to close out the most complicated family drama they could have ever thrown us!!!

[starrihan]

Smoking Weed w/ Nicholas

-> Pairing: smoker! Nicholas x afab! Reader

-> Genre: smut, kissing, neck kissing, oral (m receiving), reader and Nicho are basically strangers, slight spit play

-> Warnings: smoking

-> Word Count: 2,278

-> Notes: Ive seen 2 different posts about smoking with Nicholas/ Nicholas smoking and I find the idea so hot so here is how I headcannon smoking weed with nicho would be like (even tho its not in like typical hc format) also this is barely proofread

Also this was the inspo for this fic btw: Imagine going down on him because you’re so high and so horny and you’re trying to suck his dick but your mouth is dry because you have cotton mouth so he smirks and picks your jaw up with his finger, spitting in your mouth to make it wet again - i wrote this while i was high 

༄ ༄ ༄

You would meet him once at a party, not really knowing much about him besides his name since your friend introduced you two. You guys would chill for a bit with your friend and her boyfriend, Euijoo, until they went off on their own and you and Nicholas did the same.

You found yourself talking to some of your other friends but eventually, the loud music was too much for you so you stepped outside in the backyard that wasn’t as occupied and where the music could barely be heard.

You lean against the fence on the deck, not paying much mind to your surroundings as you pull out your phone.

“Couldn’t stand it in there either?”

You turn your head slightly to see the stranger talking to you, before realizing that the voice belonged to the boy you met not too long ago. You sighed, agreeing with him. You were staring at the joint in his hand, watching as he bounced it between his two fingers. He noticed your eyes staring at it.

“Wanna hit?”

You looked at him, curious. You had smoked before and the feeling was rather enjoyable. Maybe it would help you feel a little better about this boring party.

“Sure, thanks.”

You respond as he hands you the joint. He watches you as you bring it up to your lips, lightly inhaling to control the amount of intake. You pass it back to him when you’re done, holding the smoke in your mouth for a bit until you feel it reach your lungs, exhaling a decent cloud as you basked in the slight burning feeling in your chest.

You did feel a little better, the act of taking a hit alone making you feel more relaxed.

“Why are you here anyways? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re having a good time.”

He says, taking another hit. His slightly messy hair and silver chains caught your attention. You couldn’t tell before with the inadequate lighting inside the house but he was really attractive under the glow of the moonlight.

“Neither do you.”

He chuckles as he passes you back the joint, this time you take a bigger hit than before. Upon exhaling, you cough, to which he hands you the water bottle that he had kept on the banister.

“First time smoking?”

You shake your head ‘no’ as you drink the water, the cough subsiding.

“I just haven’t done it in a while. Did a little more than I could handle.”

He nods in understanding, giving you a second to recover. Once you feel better, you take another drag without coughing this time, the effect of the weed starting to hit you. You ash the joint before handing it back to him, fingers brushing his as you look away, face warming up at the contact. You can tell by the way his eyes droop and the whites of his eyes slowly become redder that he’s high.

“Wanna walk with me? I’m getting tired of just standing in this spot.”

You think for a second before agreeing, grabbing your stuff from your friend and informing her that you’d be leaving.

You both walk around aimlessly, passing the joint back and forth. Your conversation was everywhere, not being able to focus on one thing at a time. You were starting to lighten up, laughing more freely around him and his jokes. He was actually pretty funny.

You went from talking about your friends, to classes, to the stars above you and even the greater meaning of the vast universe. It didn’t take long before the joint had run its course, shrinking with every passing minute until it was nothing but a mere roach.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realize how much we’d smoked.”

He says, laughing.

“Really? I’m not even that high. Do you have another one?”

You laugh with him. To be honest, you were fairly high, but you enjoyed his company and conversation and you didn’t want this to end.

“Damn, no I don’t. But, my residence hall is right there. Would you mind waiting for me while I get it?”

“Could I come with, if you don’t mind? It’s just… it’s dark out and I don’t want to be out alone…”

“Oh my— yeah you can. I’m sorry I didn’t realize what I was saying. I know better than to leave a woman alone by herself at night, I promise.”

You laugh at his rushed sentence and he loosens up, laughing with you as you both walk to his room. You take in the posters and dark sheets that lay on his bed, waiting for him to grab another joint.

“Do you wanna go back outside?”

He asks, sitting in his desk chair, quickly grinding more weed to pack into the joint.

“Actually, could we stay inside? It’s kinda cold out there…”

You say sheepishly, but he agrees.

“Take a seat on my desk,”

He says and you hop up onto the desk, sitting in front of him. Once he has the next one ready, he lights it before handing it to you.

"Ladies first~"

He says, cheekily. You laugh, taking the joint from his hand. He watches the way your fingers move the joint up to your lips, and the way your lips wrap around the end of it, finding the act hot. He looks away from you, cheeks hot, from both the weed and the blush forming on his face.

You tap his shoulder, passing back the joint as you exhale, his eyes following the cloud of smoke disappearing into the air. He places a hand on your knee, just below your thigh before taking a hit. You feel your body start to tense up, feeling warm at the sudden contact.

He was unbelievably attractive, especially when his eyes were red and droopy, looking up at you with that lazy smile. You were lost looking into his eyes. It's like your body would move before you could process what it was doing as you find yourself holding the joint up to his mouth, waiting for him to inhale. He quirks his eyebrow at you, holding your wrist in place as he takes a hit. Your breath catches in your throat, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs slightly upon inhaling.

He flicks his eyes up from the joint to your face, holding the smoke in his mouth while reaching his hand behind your neck before pulling you down to meet his lips. Your surprised yelp has him smirking into the kiss, letting the smoke migrate from his mouth to yours. You feel dizzy, head spinning at action, thighs clenching together. He rests his hand that's not behind your neck on your thigh, rubbing soothing, little circles into it.

The way his tongue ever-so-slightly glides across yours has you leaning in for more. You put the joint down on his desk, its ashes falling astray against the faux soapstone. He doesn't care though, pushing his chair back and grabbing under your thighs to move you onto his lap. You're straddling him, hands in his hair, tugging on it as you reciprocate his earlier move, swiping your tongue against his lips. He gladly opens his mouth as he rests one hand on your ass, the other traveling up your shirt to feel the skin of your waist.

"Is this okay?"

He asks, pulling away from the kiss to catch his breath. You nod, trying to catch your own breath. You're staring into his eyes as he moves his hand along your body, groping your ass. He doesn't break the contact either, enjoying the light blush dusting your face and the way your hair is slightly disheveled. You reach behind you, picking up the joint and smoking from it before putting it back down, letting it reach your chest before you pull him back in for a kiss. The smoke dances across your tongues as you messily kiss each other. You pull away first this time, moving his head to your neck as he places both hands on your waist.

He's taking his time on your neck, sucking and nipping lightly at first, hands traveling up to your chest before pulling your bra down, playing with your nipples. You gasp, arching your back and bringing you into him more. You can feel his teeth sink into your skin, wincing at the slight sting. You shift on his lap, feeling his hard length pressing up against your thigh. You take the opportunity to grind down on him, laughing when he gasps into your neck.

"Someone's riled up, huh?"

He says, smirking up at you.

"I can say the same for you. Someone's excited"

You both laugh as you stand up, kneeling on his floor as you look up at him with pleading eyes, fingers moving towards the button on his jeans. He's already looking down at you, nodding as he lifts his hips up a little. You unbutton his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers until they're pooled at his ankles. Your mouth drops at the sight of his dick, perfectly long and hard. You trace the veins along the underside of his dick with your index finger, mesmerized. Nicholas can feel a deep blush creeping up to his cheeks.

You finally wrap your hand around the base, earring a yelp from him. You can’t find it in yourself to keep a straight face, a direct result of being high. He’s fidgeting, bouncing his leg at the anticipation of your hand around his cock.

“You look really pretty like this.”

You say. He's laughing as he looks away, not being able to control himself or his nerves. You take the chance to start pumping your hand up and down, mouth dry as his hips buck slightly into your hands. You lick the tip, playfully gliding your tongue along the slit. A guttural groan escapes his throat as he prods his dick into your mouth. You pull back, trying to gather enough saliva in your mouth, finding the task nearly impossible.

The cotton mouth you were experiencing was crazy. You looked around for a second, looking for a water bottle when Nicholas notices your frenzy. You look up at him, motioning with your hand that you need water. The smirk that creeps up on his face is almost evil when he quickly leans forward, grabbing your chin. You look at him, confused.

"Open your mouth"

You do as he says, slowly opening your mouth. He finds the saliva he needs, gathering it in his mouth before letting it spill it into yours. You're shocked, but your thighs are clenched together, heat rising to your cheeks. You hold his spit in your mouth as he gently pushes you away, looking down before letting a big string of his own spit travel down his length.

"That should be good enough"

You nod, dipping your head back down and taking half his length in your throat. His hands immediately snake their way into your hair, pushing back any loose strands that may have been in your way. You're focused on taking him in fully, bobbing your head up and down as his grunts fill the room. He's leaned back, completely relaxed in your hands as his hips start moving slowly to meet your movements. He's fully in your mouth at this point, tip hitting the back of your throat as you try so hard to suppress your gag reflex. 

You take a second, grounding yourself and catching your breath through your nose before continuing. The sound of your gagging is like music to Nicholas’s ears, his pace increasing as his breaths become shallow. His grip on your hair strengthens as he moves your head for you. Your hands that were once holding the chair slam down on his thighs in a bruising grip, determined to have him finish in your mouth. You let him take control, drooling all down his length and thighs. 

“Fuck Y/N… taking me so well…”

His praise has you shoving a hand between your legs, rubbing yourself through your jeans to get any sort of relief. You take the chance to lick around the base, a slight sting in the back of head from his tightening grip letting you know that he’s close. You can’t help it as you move your fingers faster over the rough material, the vibrations from your moans sending Nicholas even higher into the clouds. His animalistic groan fills your ears as his hips stall, pushing your head further down into him as he coats the inside of your throat with thick ropes of cum. You frantically tap his hand, signalling him to let go of your head. 

He notices your distress, quickly removing his hand and pulling your head off of him. He watches as you gulp down his liquids, tongue darting out to catch any remnants that may have escaped. His eyes trail down to your other hand, watching as you continue to touch yourself. He stands up, helping you stand before picking you up and placing you on his bed. He goes back over to his desk, grabbing what's left of the joint and taking another hit before handing it back to you. He captures your lips yet again, this time trailing his hands down your stomach and into your jeans, feeling the growing wet patch on your panties before rubbing slow circles over your clit. You whimper at his touch, leaning your head on his shoulder as another wave of your high hits you. 

“You did such a good job sucking me off like that, it's only fair that I return the favor, right?"

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Side note: One of the fics I read had him smoking a cigarette and I absolutely HATE cigarettes but the idea of seeing him with a cigarette in his mouth and between his fingers is so hot to me