#it will Not hold on to the knot on my thread

[batboysanonymous]

Always, My Darling

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, love means letting someone else carry the weight—if only for a moment.

───────────────────────────────

The City of Starlight shimmered below, its beauty lost on you as you sat hunched over your desk in the House of Wind. The towering windows framed a sky painted in hues of amethyst and gold, stars beginning to prick the canvas of twilight. But your attention was tethered to the parchment scattered across the polished mahogany, each document a reminder of the endless responsibilities piling atop your already strained mind.

Correspondence from Illyrian war camps, trade reports delayed by early snows, diplomatic letters from Day Court—all demanding answers only you could give. Your fingers trembled slightly as you scribbled notes, the quill dragging ink across the page with more force than necessary. The tension in your shoulders felt like iron chains, each knot a testament to sleepless nights and days filled with obligations you couldn’t escape.

Because you were the High Lady of the Night Court.

And High Ladies didn’t fall apart.

You told yourself that as you ignored the ache behind your eyes, the burning tightness in your chest, the way your heart raced even when sitting still. You told yourself that as you replayed the faces of your family in your mind—Azriel, his shadows darker than usual, haunted by demons he wouldn’t name. Cassian, hiding the stiffness in his movements after an injury, his bravado thinner than usual. Mor, her radiant smile not quite reaching her eyes lately.

You worried for them all. Poured yourself into fixing their burdens. You could handle it. You had to handle it.

But somewhere in the hollow ache of your heart, you wondered how long you could keep pretending you weren’t drowning.

You didn’t hear Rhysand enter.

But the bond between you whispered of his presence before his footsteps echoed across the room. It was a subtle shift, like the air itself recognized him before your senses caught up—a warmth that curled around your frayed edges, threading through the cracks you tried so hard to conceal.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood in the doorway, his violet eyes drinking you in, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. You didn’t have to look up to feel his gaze—sharp, perceptive, the kind of stare that saw too much.

The furrow between your brows. The restless tapping of your foot. The way your fingers twisted your wedding ring—a nervous habit he’d noticed long ago.

And then he moved.

Swift, graceful, predatory in the way only he could be.

You barely had time to react before strong arms swept you from your chair, your body lifted effortlessly against the solid warmth of his chest.

"Rhys!" you squeaked, clutching at his shoulders as papers fluttered to the floor like snowflakes. "What are you—put me down!"

His response was a soft hum, his lips finding your temple in a kiss so gentle it unraveled something tight in your chest.

"I’ve seen enough," he murmured against your skin, his voice a velvet caress.

You squirmed in his hold, your protests weak and half-hearted. "I have work to do. The Solstice is next week, and the logistics—"

"Hush, darling." He tightened his grip, one arm cradling your thighs, the other wrapped securely around your back, fingers brushing dangerously close to the curve of your breast. His wings flared slightly behind him, a silent warning that he wasn’t about to let you go.

Despite your wriggling, your body betrayed you—melting into the warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear. By the time he carried you into the bathroom, your protests had faded into soft sighs, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

He set you down on the cool marble counter, his hands lingering at your waist before sliding up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, tilting your head so your gaze met his.

And gods, those eyes.

Violet, flecked with starlight and shadows, filled with so much love it made your heart ache.

"Rhys," you whispered, trying to summon your earlier indignation. "What are we doing? We don’t have time for this."

His smile was soft, knowing.

"Darling, I don’t mean to hush you, but… hush."

Your mouth fell open slightly, indignant words caught on the tip of your tongue. But he was already leaning in, peppering soft kisses across your face—your temple, the slope of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one a silent plea, a prayer, a promise.

"You, my mesmerizing mate, are too stressed out for your own good," he murmured between kisses. "I don’t want you to worry about a single thing tonight. I’ll take care of it."

The words unraveled you more than you cared to admit.

"But I can handle it," you blurted, your voice trembling. "I’m the High Lady. This is my duty. I know what I’m doing."

Rhys didn’t argue.

He just listened.

As you spilled excuses, listing responsibilities like armor, he rubbed slow, soothing circles into your tense shoulders, his lips brushing against your skin in feather-light touches.

"S’alright, baby," he whispered eventually, his voice rough with emotion. "I know. I know you can handle it. I know you’re brilliant and capable and strong."

His hands framed your face again, his thumbs catching the tear you hadn’t realized had escaped.

"But if I’m being honest… sometimes I get overwhelmed too."

The admission hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"And when that happens," he continued softly, "do you know what I need?"

You shook your head, your throat tight.

"I need you." His voice was raw, a fragile truth laid bare. "I just need you close to me."

Tears welled in your eyes, the dam breaking under the weight of his love.

"So will you please take this bath with me, doll?" he asked, his grin softening the ache in your chest. "I’ll even feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and give you a massage with that lavender oil you love so much."

You didn’t bother pretending anymore.

The smallest quirk of your lips was all the permission he needed.

With a snap of his fingers, both your clothes vanished, and before you could protest, he was lowering you into a warm bath infused with lavender and bergamot. The heat enveloped you, pulling a sigh from your lips.

Rhys slid in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His hands moved with reverence, massaging your scalp, fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. He let the conditioner sit while his thumbs worked the knots from your shoulders, coaxing soft, content sounds from you.

The tension bled from your muscles, replaced by warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your back.

After rinsing you off, he wrapped you in a plush towel, carrying you to your bed—the one designed for his large Illyrian wings. He tucked you under the soft blankets, his body molding around yours, wings cocooning you both in warmth and safety.

"You always take care of everyone else," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "Let me take care of you."

And for the first time in too long, you let him.

You let yourself be held. Loved. Cherished.

Sleep claimed you, soft and irresistible, as Rhysand’s voice was the last thing you heard:

"I’ve got you, my darling. Always."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

Taglist: @willowpains

[letterstoalonewolf]

Always, My Darling

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, love means letting someone else carry the weight—if only for a moment.

───────────────────────────────

The City of Starlight shimmered below, its beauty lost on you as you sat hunched over your desk in the House of Wind. The towering windows framed a sky painted in hues of amethyst and gold, stars beginning to prick the canvas of twilight. But your attention was tethered to the parchment scattered across the polished mahogany, each document a reminder of the endless responsibilities piling atop your already strained mind.

Correspondence from Illyrian war camps, trade reports delayed by early snows, diplomatic letters from Day Court—all demanding answers only you could give. Your fingers trembled slightly as you scribbled notes, the quill dragging ink across the page with more force than necessary. The tension in your shoulders felt like iron chains, each knot a testament to sleepless nights and days filled with obligations you couldn’t escape.

Because you were the High Lady of the Night Court.

And High Ladies didn’t fall apart.

You told yourself that as you ignored the ache behind your eyes, the burning tightness in your chest, the way your heart raced even when sitting still. You told yourself that as you replayed the faces of your family in your mind—Azriel, his shadows darker than usual, haunted by demons he wouldn’t name. Cassian, hiding the stiffness in his movements after an injury, his bravado thinner than usual. Mor, her radiant smile not quite reaching her eyes lately.

You worried for them all. Poured yourself into fixing their burdens. You could handle it. You had to handle it.

But somewhere in the hollow ache of your heart, you wondered how long you could keep pretending you weren’t drowning.

You didn’t hear Rhysand enter.

But the bond between you whispered of his presence before his footsteps echoed across the room. It was a subtle shift, like the air itself recognized him before your senses caught up—a warmth that curled around your frayed edges, threading through the cracks you tried so hard to conceal.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood in the doorway, his violet eyes drinking you in, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. You didn’t have to look up to feel his gaze—sharp, perceptive, the kind of stare that saw too much.

The furrow between your brows. The restless tapping of your foot. The way your fingers twisted your wedding ring—a nervous habit he’d noticed long ago.

And then he moved.

Swift, graceful, predatory in the way only he could be.

You barely had time to react before strong arms swept you from your chair, your body lifted effortlessly against the solid warmth of his chest.

"Rhys!" you squeaked, clutching at his shoulders as papers fluttered to the floor like snowflakes. "What are you—put me down!"

His response was a soft hum, his lips finding your temple in a kiss so gentle it unraveled something tight in your chest.

"I’ve seen enough," he murmured against your skin, his voice a velvet caress.

You squirmed in his hold, your protests weak and half-hearted. "I have work to do. The Solstice is next week, and the logistics—"

"Hush, darling." He tightened his grip, one arm cradling your thighs, the other wrapped securely around your back, fingers brushing dangerously close to the curve of your breast. His wings flared slightly behind him, a silent warning that he wasn’t about to let you go.

Despite your wriggling, your body betrayed you—melting into the warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear. By the time he carried you into the bathroom, your protests had faded into soft sighs, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

He set you down on the cool marble counter, his hands lingering at your waist before sliding up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, tilting your head so your gaze met his.

And gods, those eyes.

Violet, flecked with starlight and shadows, filled with so much love it made your heart ache.

"Rhys," you whispered, trying to summon your earlier indignation. "What are we doing? We don’t have time for this."

His smile was soft, knowing.

"Darling, I don’t mean to hush you, but… hush."

Your mouth fell open slightly, indignant words caught on the tip of your tongue. But he was already leaning in, peppering soft kisses across your face—your temple, the slope of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one a silent plea, a prayer, a promise.

"You, my mesmerizing mate, are too stressed out for your own good," he murmured between kisses. "I don’t want you to worry about a single thing tonight. I’ll take care of it."

The words unraveled you more than you cared to admit.

"But I can handle it," you blurted, your voice trembling. "I’m the High Lady. This is my duty. I know what I’m doing."

Rhys didn’t argue.

He just listened.

As you spilled excuses, listing responsibilities like armor, he rubbed slow, soothing circles into your tense shoulders, his lips brushing against your skin in feather-light touches.

"S’alright, baby," he whispered eventually, his voice rough with emotion. "I know. I know you can handle it. I know you’re brilliant and capable and strong."

His hands framed your face again, his thumbs catching the tear you hadn’t realized had escaped.

"But if I’m being honest… sometimes I get overwhelmed too."

The admission hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"And when that happens," he continued softly, "do you know what I need?"

You shook your head, your throat tight.

"I need you." His voice was raw, a fragile truth laid bare. "I just need you close to me."

Tears welled in your eyes, the dam breaking under the weight of his love.

"So will you please take this bath with me, doll?" he asked, his grin softening the ache in your chest. "I’ll even feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and give you a massage with that lavender oil you love so much."

You didn’t bother pretending anymore.

The smallest quirk of your lips was all the permission he needed.

With a snap of his fingers, both your clothes vanished, and before you could protest, he was lowering you into a warm bath infused with lavender and bergamot. The heat enveloped you, pulling a sigh from your lips.

Rhys slid in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His hands moved with reverence, massaging your scalp, fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. He let the conditioner sit while his thumbs worked the knots from your shoulders, coaxing soft, content sounds from you.

The tension bled from your muscles, replaced by warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your back.

After rinsing you off, he wrapped you in a plush towel, carrying you to your bed—the one designed for his large Illyrian wings. He tucked you under the soft blankets, his body molding around yours, wings cocooning you both in warmth and safety.

"You always take care of everyone else," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "Let me take care of you."

And for the first time in too long, you let him.

You let yourself be held. Loved. Cherished.

Sleep claimed you, soft and irresistible, as Rhysand’s voice was the last thing you heard:

"I’ve got you, my darling. Always."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

[lorebird]

I made Belinda!!!

I’ve never sewn before (except for joining crochet, if that even counts) and don’t have a machine, so she’s really rough around the edges…….. but I love her <3

From Creative Soft Toys to Sew (2005)

She’s perfect, she’s adorable, and I hope one of you can bring her to life :)

[joestarfucker420]

god if my parents really decide to more i’m so royally fucked

[peachesofteal]

you bake when you’re upset or stressed - ghoap/f!reader

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the quiver in your voice doesn't do much to dispel Simon's suspicion, and you toss the bowl full of brownie batter onto the counter. "I'm fine."

"You're baking at three in the morning, sweetheart. Did something happen?"

"I had a bad day, is all. It's nothing." The lie hisses through your teeth, jaw set tight as an attempt to keep everything bottled up where it belongs.

"What's going on?" Johnny's leaning against the counter in plaid pajama pants, gold ring on the chain around his neck glinting in the dimmed light of the kitchen. They both wear them, the rings, the ones complementing yours, a delicate twist of three threads, woven together to make one tight knit strand, looped together in a knot at the top of your finger where a diamond would normally go.

"Baked goods in the middle of the night." Simon sticks his finger in the batter, and gives you a knowing look. "You know I'll keep you here until you let it out." You shake your head.

"Let's go back tae bed then." Johnny's trying to coax you, gently, as always. It's his way. Soft, slow, sweet. Even keeled and sensitive.

Still, you won't budge.

It's not them. It's something else, something unsettled in your stomach you can't explain. It's you. Always you. Distraught. Disorganized. Disappointing.

"I need to finish these." Simon's focus is one of a predator's, and you're always prey. Analyzing, anticipating, nose to the ground on a scent. He’s already got you pegged, turned inside out. He knows.

When Johnny carefully wraps his fingers around your wrist and Simon hops onto the counter with his knees spread wide, you know you're done for.

You let them arrange you. Let Johnny push you between Si's thighs and cup your face, stroke your cheek. You go willingly, lacking a fight that was so prevalent only an hour before.

It takes two minutes of physical touch before you're crumbling.

"I had a terrible day," you sob, "I got a parking ticket and spilled my tea and missed an important email and then I bailed out of my work out halfway because I was miserable and then I didn't do anything at home, I wasn't productive, I didn't get any of the laundry done like I wanted and I left so many dirty dishes in the sink last night, I-"

"Okay, hey." Johnny rubs your arm, "hey, ye're alright dove. Ye're okay." He knocks his forehead against yours. "Jus' breathe f'me. Just breathe." You suck a long gasp in through your lungs, Simon tightening his hold enough to ground you.

"Who cares about the laundry? It's not even your week, and the dishes are our fault. You worked all day, we laid around. Should have done them."

"I know!" You cry, "I mean... you should have. But I left them and I feel like I'm always so disorganized, I'm always making a fucking mess."

"I'd clean up your mess everyday. I love you, your dishes and whatever else… none of it matters." Simon kisses your temple, "we both would. And there's nothing wrong with calling it during a workout if you're not feeling well. That's the right thing to do." You nod miserably, lingering in their hold, their arms, your heart rate slowly sinking back into a normal rhythm, your air coming easily.

"Now, do ye really want these brownies? Or do ye want to put the batter in the fridge?"

"Batter in the fridge." You press your face into Simon's shoulder, blocking out the light. You're suddenly so tired, energy drained from the emotional purge, and Johnny rubs your back.

"I'll put it away, ye two go get in bed. Put on a movie, an' I'll be in."

The bed is the coziest place in the house. The safest. The warmest. It's so easy to succumb to sleep and sweet dreams here, so it's no wonder by the time Johnny makes it back, you're barely awake. He tugs you away from Simon's snores and into his arms. "Ah love ye, dove. Messes an' all." You smile.

"I love you too."

[nanaslutt]

let me hold you

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (f!r), dirty talk, pussydrunk gojo, jerking off, cream pie, cock warming, soft gojo, fluffy after sex stuff ^.^

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo groaned as he pulled your ass apart with one of his large hands, shaking his head against your cunt as he ate you out like a man starved. "Ffffuck-" You groaned, your toes curled and your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of Satoru burring his tongue inside your hole. His hot breath tickled your cunt when he huffed out a short laugh at your reaction, always amused by how easy it was to make you feel good. 

Your body writhed and twitched on top of his desk as you reached behind you with one hand and pressed his head harder against your cunt, your fingers threading through his soft, fluffy hair. Satoru groaned, the squelching noises getting louder from behind you as Satoru increased the pace he was jerking himself off, his hand sloppily stroking his wet length with no rhythm. "Pussy's clenching around my tongue so hard-" Satoru giggled drunkenly, his voice muffled as he spoke so close to your cunt.

"Don't h-hah, don't talk while you-" Your words were cut off when Gojo wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his soft lips immediately wrapping around the hard bud as his tongue bat at it rapidly, making you see stars behind your eyelids as they rolled back in your head. "Oh, my fucking g-godd-" You groaned, your voice getting louder than you meant it to when he started rolling his tongue around it, making the knot in your stomach tighten with the need for release. 

"Satoru- baby right there- k-keep doing that-" You whined, your face scrunching in blissful pleasure as Satoru ate you out like a man starved. He was eating it so messily, drool and your juices dripped down his chin and fell onto his hand that was stroking himself off, only making the slick sounds even wetter. "Mhmm-mmmm." Satoru moaned against your cunt, his eyebrows furrowed and slightly open, looking unfocused and blurry from his own arousal.

"Oh fuck- fuck that feels so good Satoru- you're d-doing so good," You whined, your inner thighs shaking as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge by Gojo's tongue. Gojo's face burned at the praise, you could feel him smile happily against your cunt as he opened his mouth for a second along the length of your cunt to drink up your juices before he went back to sucking on your clit. 

Gojo felt his balls ache as he stroked himself off, feeling his high grow closer and closer the longer he tasted you on his tongue. Satoru was jerking himself off so fast, not worried about cumming before you or trying to hold himself back, he felt so good, and he bounced back quick. Your fingers curled against his scalp harder as you jaw opened in a small O when you felt your orgasm start to creep up on you.

Gojo groaned at the harsh treatment of his hair, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling. "I-I'm gonna cum- S-satoru I'm gonna cum-" You cried, completely forgetting about being quiet. The only person who should still be at the school was Ijichi, but you were hoping his office was far enough away to where he wouldn't hear what the two of you were up to. "Cum, please, give it to me-" Gojo groaned against your pussy, his voice only edging your orgasm on quicker as his words vibrated your cunt. 

Gojo shook his head rapidly back and forth, humming and groaning against you as his cock ached for you to cum. He felt totally blissful and fucked out just from eating you out, he could feel his skin vibrating with excitement just waiting for you to cum. "Fuck- fuck-" Your toes curled in your shoes and your moans went quiet right as your orgasm peaked. 

Your body jerked and spasmed as you came around nothing, your hole pulsing and squeezing, dripping juices down your cunt and against Satoru's lips. Gojo popped off your cunt with a moan and quickly stood to his feet, still jerking himself off quickly and sloppily. You snapped your legs shut and crossed your legs at the feeling of him no longer sucking your clit as you continued to cum.

Faster than you were able to understand what happened, Satoru rammed his cock inside you and gripped your waist hard enough to bruise as his chest collapsed against yours. You let out a scream from the unexpected penetration, undoubtedly loud enough for your poor coworker to hear. Gojo ramming his cock inside you prolonged your orgasm, giving you a whole other wave of pleasure as you clenched rhythmically around him. 

Gojo sunk his teeth into your clothed shoulder and bit down hard as his cock kicked inside your walls, his hot cum spilling out from his cock and into your cunt. His balls clenched as he released his seed deep inside you, feeling completely at ease as his whole body felt warm from being inside your hot, soft cunt. Satoru released one of his hands on your waist and reached it up to grab your face and tilt it to the side.

You hummed and whined into Satoru's mouth as he kissed you sloppily, moaning and gasping against your lips, making a mess of saliva on your chin. Gojo's hips weakly thrust inside you as he made sure your pussy milked all of his cum, even as his cock went soft he continued to just push his hips against your ass even while already being balls deep. 

Satoru broke the kiss and kept the hold he had on your chin as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, panting like a dog. You let your head dangle off the front of his desk as you relished in the warm feeling of his solid body pressed firmly against your own. "It's so soft inside you...don't wanna pull out ever," Satoru whined, his voice coming out weak and childish as his hot breath tickled your skin.

You bent your elbow back and let your hand find his hair, running your fingers softly along his scalp, making him moan softly in pleasure and gratefulness for the soft touch. He rubbed his head into your hand like a cat, wanting more and more of your touch. "Y'think Ijichi will drive us home? Don't wanna move..." Gojo asked. It was true, he did seem extremely worn out. After all, he was basically pressing all 190 pounds of himself on your body. 

"Let's not involve him in this. I'll drive." You said, ruffling his hair. "Okayy," Satoru moaned sleepily, showing no signs of moving or pulling out as he relished in your soft body under him. "Carry me to the car?" He asked childishly, making you scoff and shaky your head, ruffling his head a little harder to keep him awake. "If you pull out I'll try my best, but you did a serious number on my legs." You replied, feeling how shaky your legs were.

"I'm not that heavy, you got it. I'm putting my trust in you so don't drop me or I'll be upset." Gojo said, groaning as he begrudgingly pulled himself up and slowly slid his cock out of you with a whine. The man tucked his still-sopping wet cock into his boxers and grabbed your hips to pull you up. Satoru always got so clingy when he was tired, it was adorable. 

You were barely able to reach down far enough to pull up your panties to stop Gojo's seed that wanted to slide out of you the second you stood. Gojo wrapped his arms around your body and rested his head on your shoulder, his breathing now evened out. 

"You smell good..." He said quietly, his tongue poking out to lick the side of your neck. You giggled and tapped his hand playfully that was wrapped around your torso, signaling him to let you go. "Off, big baby. Gonna take you home." You said, letting him rock you side to side as he groaned at your words, saying something about just sleeping at the school in a spare room for the night. You eventually dragged him to the car after enough convincing. 

[monzamash]

valentine — lando norris

lando norris x you femreader | 1k rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language) inspired by this anon – you took me places and i'm so grateful.

lando screams messy to me, in everything he does – cooking, cleaning, kissing, fucking; he’s just one big mess of a man and although some of those things drove you up the wall, the positives easily compensated for the negatives. the way he had you riled up, purring and cursing under your breath within seconds of having his mouth attached to yours was unmatched; incomparable to anyone who came before him.

he shamelessly indulged in you – eyes glued to the way your delicious hips swayed to the music while the raw desire settled in the pit of his stomach. he had learned how to control it, how to redirect his attention but he was 4 shots of patron deep, mind filled with wicked thoughts, every last one rushing to his dick. so he held strong, until he couldn’t – nothing could stop him in his pursuit to have a taste of you once he let the devil in.

“stop it are you being serious right now?”

your pathetic protest was mumbled through tangled tongues, both desperate for more than a hasty kiss. god, he loved swallowing your whispered moans, each one whinier than the last as he licked into your mouth and across your warm cheek. you were the mess when he found that sweet spot just below your ear, tethering the first knot in your stomach to the blood rushing to your core, fingers needy for something to hold.

“why not?”

you could hear the smirk in lando’s retort as you tugged his head from your neck – pulling a guttural, almost pleasurable sound from the smiling assassin attached to the fistful of curls.

“because you can’t control yourself”

“who said anything about me?”

lando punctuated his question with a heavy hand gliding across the soddened silk shielding your cunt, his fingertips teasing every last nerve ending as he pressed his forehead to yours. he was a vision of sin when you dared to open your eyes, the sight stoking the perilous fire that burned for him. a roguish smile and a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest when he felt the reaction he’d caused.

“hmm, isn't that interesting. maybe i’m not the only one with self-control issues…”

“not nearly as bad as you.”

"but i know you love it when i'm bad."

you were foolish to think he believed a word you were droning, so pliantly at his mercy when he plunged out of sight, admiring his handy work. lando hiked up the hem of your short skirt and carelessly tugged down the cotton soaked thread that had him salivating like a feral dog. he left them loosely hanging around your knees, down just enough to let the brisk, london breeze blow over your exposed cunt and far enough for him to nestle his face between your thighs.

it was muscle memory the way your back arched off the brick wall and hips rotated towards lando’s warm mouth – legs spread, hands trying to leverage some ounce of control as he licked into you folds, sucking the sensitive bud of nerves nestled between into his soft lips. the sensation of his affection and your pleasure sliding down his throat and on inside of your thighs inspired a chorus of moans that echoed into the silent night – the only thing keeping the public from baring witness to your sinful act was the emergency exit door lando had lured you through only moments before.

the fear that anyone could find you like this vanished the moment lando spat messily into your cunt; the only thing connecting him to you were strings of spit dangling from his filthy mouth.

“fuuuu- yeah just like that,” your breathing was ragged and drawn from burning lungs as his middle finger teased your slick hole, edging your high with an evil grin.

“ride my fucking face, pretty girl… i need a taste.”

you were fucking losing it.

lando dove back in; raucous spluttering and choking groans coming from the man devouring you like a melting popsicle on a sweltering summers day, paired with how fucking good it felt having his tongue circling your clit, had you whining and writhing on his tongue like a woman possessed – flat, firm and served up on a silver platter. he had to watch as the knots he’d tangled in the pit of your stomach unravelled, showering you with muffled praise while the soft baby curls tickling the nape of his neck were savaged by your grabby hands.

the incoherent pleads of mercy sounded like a foreign prayer to lando as he held you firmly in his grasp, tongue lapping unrelentingly. cruelly – any longer you thought you may never reach it, unfairly denied until the restless pants and murmurs of blasphemy ascended into temporary bliss, blinded by the numbing pleasure as you dragged your languid hips over his taste buds, one, two three times – wringing out every last drop and then some.

lando was a mess of moans as he finished you off, curls and eyes wild beyond recognition when he finally rose from between your aching thighs – his dribble and your sweetness coated his stubbled chin, thick neck; even the blushed tip of his nose glowed under the streetlight above, lips raw and curved in a fucked out grin.

“you’re so baaaad baby” he teased, earning a soft smack to the chest before he brushed his warm hand over your cheek and leaned down for a kiss. tasting yourself on his lips and inhaling the smell of sex fused with his spiced aftershave was love personified. he was boyish and sloppy; fun and goofy and the only man who could make you come just by using his mouth. he was also unequivocally, heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with you.

“that’s why you love me.”

the sound of your laughter echoing through the otherwise abandoned laneway, wrapped up in one another, only reiterated that this was his best-worst idea ever.

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[marvelfilth]

Her idiot

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: your night out with Thor and Valkyrie leaves Natasha worried unimpressed.

Masterlist

“Nat-”

“No.”

“But-”

“But no.”

“Just let me-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth promptly snaps shut, the sound of teeth clattering echoing through the empty Compound.

You're being dragged to Natasha’s room, or you hope you are - you wouldn't put it past Natasha to lock you in one of the holding cells in the basement. You kinda deserve it. You can admit that even in your current inebriated state.

She drags you upstairs once you reach the end of the hallway, your shoes squeaking on the concrete, making you grimace with each step you make.

You're also starting to get cold.

You're not stupid enough to tell her that.

Wanda's head pokes out of her room, her eyes bleary with sleep and her expression pure confusion. Her eyes grow twice their size once she sees the state you're in. And then she laughs, shaking her head.

“You're so dead,” she whispers when you pass by and ducks back into her room lest Natasha unleashes her wrath on her.

You gulp.

Yeah.

You probably are.

Natasha halts her stride, opens the door to her room, and pushes you inside.

“You better not get any of that on my carpet,” she growls, tugging off your drenched shirt.

You're thankful you've had enough of a mind to leave your heavy winter coat by the lake before you decide to-

“Off.” Natasha gestures at your feet, putting a stop to your musings. You shrug off your dirty boots, carefully leaving them by the door. As carefully as you can, that is. The room is spinning a bit, and Natasha's face is a little blurry around the edges.

Then, she tugs down your jeans, making you wince as the harsh wet fabric slides down your legs. She looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You're starting to shake, a little bit. And your teeth won't stay put. Or is it your jaw?

Natasha sighs and leads you to the bathroom. It's already full of steam and the bath is full of bubbles, and you sag in relief, almost tearing off your underwear in haste to jump in.

You moan the second you sink into the warmth.

“You do know how stupid that was, right?”

You nod, wishing you could hide from her gaze.

“Then why?”

Your cheeks redden, not from the warmth, but from the sheer embarrassment. Now that you've sobered a little, none of the fun and entertaining ideas Thor and Valkyrie proposed sound fun and entertaining.

She sighs again, and starts gently threading her fingers through your hair, untangling the knots she finds there.

“You're not drinking with them ever again.”

“Okay.”

“And you're not going anywhere near that damned lake anytime soon.”

You wince at the memory of falling through the thin layer of ice after successfully making it halfway across the lake - just like Thor dared you to - and then swimming under said thin layer of ice the remaining half of the way and emerging on the other side, right in front or very angry and very concerned Natasha.

You're probably gonna-

“And you're sleeping on the couch.”

-sleep on the couch. Yep.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You're an idiot.”

“I am.”

She snorts. “It's very hard to stay mad when you're being so pliant.”

You bite on your lower lip, keeping a bashful grin from emerging. You decide to test your luck when the fond glint in your girlfriend's eyes intensifies.

“So no couch for me, then?”

Her eyes narrow, lips pursing. “You can sleep on the floor if you'd like.”

No luck. Ugh.

“Okay. Couch it is.”

She hums, leaving your side to retrieve a warm fluffy tower. You get up, almost falling into Natasha's arms when you slip. She wraps the towel around your shoulders, holding you against her chest.

“I love you,” you mumble into the crook of her neck, your body buzzing with love, warmth and remnants of alcohol. “So much.”

“And I love you. Even when you're being an idiot, which is-”

“Always?” You interrupt with a grin, pulling away just a tad to see the expression on her face.

Her eyes sparkle in the low light, the lines of her face all soft. “Yes. Always.”

[heich0e]

rintarou's sheets are scratchy.

they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.

so, he got new ones.

these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.

but right now, they're scratchy.

and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.

you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.

"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."

you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.

"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.

suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"

you blink again. "okay?"

it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.

"how'd i get here last night?"

rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."

"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."

rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.

"suna."

he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.

"suna." you repeat yourself again.

suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.

no.

no.

you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"

you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.

"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.

"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.

rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.

"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.

you refuse to look at him.

"i didn't even say anything embarassing."

you still don't budge.

"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."

your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.

"are you embarrassed of me?"

his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.

you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.

"no." you mean it.

the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.

"you sure?"

you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"

rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.

when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.

"what, rin?" you ask him gently.

"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."

"i like the park," you pout.

because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.

"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."

[jamil-s-wifey]

I saw the rules that NSFW is fine & things u don't write for the NSFW, soo may i req hcs of Savannaclaw's dorm with gn!s/o (f!s/o is ok too) where s/o asks the boys to breed them? Ummm is my req still alright? do tell me if u feel uncomfortable with this. Thank u!

Yes, of course, your request is perfectly fine! One interesting proposition towards the Savannaclaw dorm coming right up! Thank you for diligently reading the rules! ♥️ I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Nsfw under the cut!

Leona

See, he gets it. You're dating a beastman. Of course you'd want to get a taste of the wild side - the primal urges, the possessive bitemarks, the delicious feeling of being full to the brim, like a good little bitch in heat. He gets it. ...But that doesn't mean he won't have some fun with it.

"Breeding, huh? You think just 'cus I'm a beastman, that we call it breeding, that it comes natural or something? Wanna live out your little creampie fantasies through me, huh?"

Oh that accusatory tone, that sharp glare.

Just as you were about to apologise, he interrupted you.

"You'd stand correct, herbivore."

Oh, that piece of-

And he was on you, pinning you to the nearest surface, which ended up being the bed itself. (Lazy lion be lazing) Sharp canines scraped over the pulse point on your neck, as his hips ground into you.

"You wanna be bred, huh? Filled to the brim, marked and scented, so that everybody will know who you belong to? Careful what you wish for, little herbivore."

"You might just get it. Now spread your legs."

Ruggie

He right about *choked*.

You? With him? Now?!? But he's not prepared for fatherhood. He'd want to have a steady income to provide for his family and - and it's so tempting, and you're pulling him in with those glassy eyes, and delicious lips and-

Oh, you meant in like-. Oh You just really want to be filled, don't you. Okay. He can work with that.

He'd be for sure frazzled at first, but very quickly get into rhythm. The more ye imagines it, the more obsessed he gets with the image of your hole dripping with his cum, reddened, used and thoroughly bred.

He'd have to wait until nighttime, when he's free, but the moment you two were left to your own devices he was quick to shed your clothing, nearly ripping yours from your body.

Surprisingly eager, considering the state of pure panic he was in earlier that day. All teeth, and growls, and breathless moaning, and all just for you.

"Shishishi, and here I thought I was the wild one. Oh doncha worry, I'll fill you plenty~."

Somehow that sounded more like a threat than a promise and you were content with both.

Jack

Every single fiber within Jack's body was screaming at him to take you right then and there. His instincts were going haywire at the prospect. He needed you carnally, viscerally... and you were just offering yourself to him?

His tail was a dead giveaway, as to the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him, as he stared at you. His fingers were twitching, aching to get a hold of you.

"You....do realise what that entails, right? We uh...we mate for life. I know you find it..uhm.....attractive, but I have to warn you."

He figured you were aware, he just couldn't believe it. His breeding also entailed a knot after all. You had to be warned. And you already knew. Of course you knew, you'd been together for years. After hearing your wholehearted confirmation, he felt the thin thread of his self-control snap within him.

A deep guttural growl left his throat, as he stepped towards you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for the kiss of a lifetime. Big, rough hands travelled from your face, to your neck and down your body, only to lift you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"I can't wait to paint your insides white. You'd look so good, full and sated, my perfect mate."

Who are you and what did you do to my Jack?

[woundedoves]

Random Sex Scenes With: Lyney, Wriothesley, Gaming and Tighnari X Bottom Male Reader (AMAB)

A/N: this is a dark nsfw content blog. that being said this is just normal sex scenarios I had in mind. MDNI! Anyone of age regardless of gender can interact with my blog.

Warnings: Cryo infusion, use of “slut” (lovingly)

Lyney

Your fingers thread his silky hair as your fingers curl, pulling on them as you arch your back and suck in a breath; your cock buried inside Lyney’s throat. He hums and you shiver, “Fuck… Lyney I’m so close—“ you’re cut short as you let out a gasp when you feel a finger prodding at your hole. Lyney pulls away from your cock as your fingers relax against his scalp; his hands gripping your inner thighs as he runs his tongue down from your tip, all the way to your balls.

“Look at all that precum baby, I’m going to lube you up with your own cum and my spit. I want to see you cum on my fingers.”

Your breath hitches as you do your best to relax your body, giving his nimble fingers easy access. He bites his puffy lips as he watches your hole swallow his finger, letting out a groan when he sees your cock twitch his own feels like it's about to blow from how hard he’s been edging himself to you.

“Fuck… look at that pretty hole, taking it so well.”

Your hips stutter as you whine, his gaze turns to your face as he watches you succumb to pleasure— the most ethereal display right in front of him.

Wriothesley

Papers crunch under you as your body jerks back on the duke’s office table; important documents scattered on the floor as wriothesley has one hand curled around your throat and the other pressing down on your stomach. Almost growling as he tightens his hold on your neck when your walls tighten around his dick: “That’s a good fuckin’ boy. You only behave when you get dicked down, huh?” He chuckles breathlessly as he fastens his brutal pace.

You blabber ‘sorry’ ‘fuck me harder’ and ‘please’ as you get closer and close to orgasm, your lungs breathing in air hungrily when he releases your throat; your whole body shivers and your breath stutters as you feel his cryo infused hand works your the shaft of your dick. “What? Too cold for my slut to handle?” You whine pathetically as hot skin of your cock is assaulted with the freezing cold of Wriothesley’s cryo.

Gaming

God, he’s so flustered whenever he sees you naked. He loves just groping your ass, thighs, belly, love handles— anything he can get his hands on. It grounds him during sex and draws out pretty little noises out of you so it’s a win-win.

His favourite thing to do is just to play with your hole, prodding and pressing to find your sweet spot while his other hand works on your pretty cock. He loves the way your hole quivers as you arch your back and let out a whorish whine when he finds your prostate, feeling your cock throb against his hand— he can’t help but thrust up as his cock is straining with wanton desire. Nothing gets him more hot than watching you be turned to a babbling whore on his cock or fingers, fucks you until your hips bruise, hickeys bleed and your speech is incomprehensible.

You’re at your prettiest when you’re brains fucked out of ya’.

Tighnari

He loves teasing you. Thrusting into you so hard that you feel your ass burn, your knees hurt from standing up as his claws dig into your skin so hard that they’re drawing blood; his knotted cock working your hole so good it has your stomach burning and your eyes rolling back to see stars.

He smirks as he snakes one arm around your waist, his other hand gripping your chin tightly and making you look back at him: “Look at your useless, drooling monster of a dick. It’s so big; big enough to bring any bitch in heat to their knees— too bad you’re too busy being a cockwhore yourself, isn’t that right love?” He purrs as you feel your hole quiver from his cock and his verbal assault.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Aemond X Wife!Reader: Words of comfort

Warning: fluff, Aemond being a good husband, talk of pregnancy, fear of faliure, reader is a bit self consious, no use of y/n, gn reader

Word count: 970

You stared into the mirror, face twisted into a concentrated expression as you tried, for the third time, to finish your hairstyle. Normally a maid would help you do your hair but you’d sent her to help Heleana with her children. There never seemed to be enough people to help the twins when they got fussy. Heleana did her best of course but sometimes it was to much for the young mother to handle. 

You groaned in frustration, watching as your hair began to unravel on its own. Aemond watched you twist your arms behind your back in an attempt to grab a chunk of hair that was missing from your braid. A small smile tugged at his lips. You were quite amusing like this. He could have watched you in silence for the rest of the day but your eyes caught him in the reflection causing you to turn to face him.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I merely wanted to sit with you.”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable.”

Aemond began to walk around the room. You turned back to the mirror, focusing on the task at hand once more. Aemond stared out the window of your room, his eyes moving over the world outside with little interest. He was far more interested in the small rage filled noises you kept letting out. 

“Oh I give up.”

You groaned, placing your hairbrush on the table in aggravation. You placed your head in your hands, sighing in defeat. Aemond made his way towards you, his hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved his palms against your body in a comforting manner. You let out a small sound, raising your head so you could see him. It was silly that something so simple had managed to get tears from your eyes but Aemond knew you weren’t crying about your hair. There was something more to it, and he would find out what.

“Want me to help?”

“I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. More important matters.”

“No matter is more important than the joy of my wife.”

You smiled at him, placing your hand on top of his. Aemond moved to sit behind you, fingers moving against your hair. You watched him unbraid your hair before grabbing the hairbrush of the table. He brushed your hair thoroughly, making sure there were knots. Once he was satisfied he placed the hairbrush down and began to braid your hair. His slim fingers moved over your locks gently. He looked so focused that you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him.

“How many do you want?”

“Two. And then you tie them together.”

Aemond gave you a hum moving to do the hairstyle you had requested. He’d seen you in it loads of times, it was your go to hairdo. It took him a while to get it just right, the amount of hair you had was quite large. Once he was done he rested his hand on your shoulders, observing as you took in his work. You turned your head so you could look at him straight on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you husband.”

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Want to braid mine?”

“Yes.”

Aemond switched positions with you, allowing you to become face to face with his hair. You knew he would remove the small braids you filled his hair with after he left the room but you didn’t mind. Messing with his hair calmed you down and Aemond knew that better then anyone.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

You let out a sigh moving to start another small braid. Aemond waited for you to start talking, his eye watching your lips quiver for a moment. When you finally started to speak he could tell you were trying very hard to hold back tears.

“I can’t do anything right. I can’t thread my corsets alone. I can’t braid my hair. The last time i tried to embroider my dress I stained it with red because I kept pricking my finger with the needle.”

These were all things that bothered you but Aemond knew there was something else. Something bigger. You bit into your lip, sighing once more before closing your eyes. 

“I can’t get pregnant.” 

There it was. The real root of the problem.

“How am i supposed to be a good wife to you if i can’t even perform my duties correctly.”

Aemond turned around, his hair slipping from your fingers as he did so. He placed a palm on your cheek. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Aemond its my one-”

“I do not care. You are my wife and I love you. It doesn't matter if you can’t get pregnant right now, we have time.”

“And if I do get pregnant, what if…what if I'm not a good mother?”

“That isn’t possible. I’ve seen you with Heleana's kids. They adore you. There isn't a bad bone inside your body. You will make a fine mother. Just as you make a fine wife.”

Aemond’s thumb moved to wipe away your tears before placing a small kiss to your temple. You moved forward, allowing Aemond to tug you into his embrace. His hands moved over your hair, tracing over the braids he’d made moments ago.

“And another thing. I quite enjoy the process of making a baby.”

“Aemond!”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, feeling his chest move as he laughed. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, Aemond had a way of always seeing the very best in you. You loved him for it. You raised your head from his chest, placing a kiss to his lips. He rested his head against your forehead, closing his eyes.

“I love you Aemond.”

“I love you more.”

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[lowkeyren]

YOUR DOCTOR AT BAY, KEEPS THE NIGHTMARES AWAY!

in which — your boyfriend comforts you from a nightmare

pairing —dr ratio x gn!reader

"an apple a day, keeps the doctor away" lol get it, short comfort fic ft our favourite doctor, from req: here!, reblogs w comments are vv much appreciated, anyway please enjoy!!! <3

the air constricts around you like a tightening vice, each breath coming harder than the last; your quiet sobs fill the room as the darkness envelops you like a shroud. the recurring nightmares haunt you each time you close your eyes, never failing to ensnare you in their chilling embrace.

the suffocating darkness presses in, its weight bearing down on your chest as you struggle to breathe; you curl into yourself, sweat lining against your back, clutching the bedsheets as if it’s your only tether to reality. the sheets twist and damp from your restless movements, you let out a yelp involuntarily, a desperate cry that echoes in the oppressive silence of the night. 

your heart races, pounding in your chest with each beat reverberating through your entire body, amplifying the fear coursing through your veins. your breathing now erratic, your eyebrows furrowing as you feel the walls around you slowly closing in.

in the midst of your turmoil, a gentle touch breaks through the chaos. dr ratio’s hand finds yours, his touch cool and reassuring against the feverish warmth of your skin. 

“you’re safe with me.” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering fear.

with his other arm, dr ratio draws you close, enveloping you in his comforting embrace. his heartbeat, steady and strong, reverberates against your chest, reassuring that you’re indeed, safe with him.

“i’m sorry i woke you up. i’m fine i—” you say meekly, unable to steady the shaky tone in your voice. “shh,” he squeezes your hand lightly, “you don’t need to apologize, i will be here for you, no matter what.”

you subconsciously lean into him, the scent of his skin a familiar anchor in the swirling maelstrom of your mind. he strokes your back gently, the tension in your brows loosen as you nestle into him. the fear and dread gnawing at your mind slowly dissipates, replaced by the soft touch of dr ratio tracing gentle circles on your back.

he notices stains of tears glistening on your cheeks, and your figure trembling slightly. “look at me,” you look up to meet his gaze as he wipes away the lingering tears with his thumb, “take a deep breath, it was just a dream.” his voice is tender and soothing, breaking through the remnants of fear. 

“i'm here,” he leans down, his breath warm against your hair. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

his arms are wrapped securely around you, the warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away any lingering chill of fear. he continues to stroke your back, the tender motion helps to unravel the tight knots of tension that have taken hold of your muscles.

“everything will be okay.” gradually, the room around you starts to feel less oppressive as you feel the walls that once seemed to trap you now loosening and expanding. “you’re safe with me,” he repeats, his gaze locking with yours.

you nod at his reassurance, opting to bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear slowly lulling you back to sleep. he continues to hold you tightly, his fingers gently threading through your hair in soothing motions. 

he presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head, "sleep well, my dear." 

with those final words, you finally allow yourself to fully relax, the safety of his embrace guiding you into a deep, restful sleep. 

no matter what nightmares may come, dr ratio will always be there to hold you through them; even in the darkest hours, you are not alone. no matter how irrational “love” may seem, he knows that he will never fail to pull you back from the abyss that threatens to consume you, not when you’re safely cradled in his arms.

masterlist

[running-with-kn1ves]

Desperation

A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself 🙏

Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)

CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles

A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.

You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.

"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."

His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.

Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.

"Just like that... mending is simple work."

You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.

The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.

"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.

Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.

"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"

The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?

You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home,  'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.

"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"

You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.

"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."

He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.

You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.

You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.

The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.

"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."

You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.

"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."

You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.

"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."

The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.

"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."

You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?

"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."

You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.

"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."

You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.

"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.

He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.

"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."

"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."

You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.

Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.

A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?

"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."

His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.

Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.

"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."

His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.

But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.

You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.