#sorry for the sincere moment of love it will happen again

[ilona2nerrie]

(Bruce centric.)

I know I technically should be working on my fanfics, but I’m doing exams right now. So here I present you: JL as my favorite superstore moment! If you want a full one shot on them, tell me which one and will make a poll with the numbers you suggest and tag you in it. And I’ll do a few of the top scores. Enjoy!

coffee.

Bruce: I just wanted to make sure these pills wouldn’t be too addictive.

Dinah (drake): nope, uh, have you drunk anything today?

Bruce: just three pots of coffee.

Dinah: oh, that’s a lot but you should be fine.

 (Bruce started to walk away but turned back with a sigh.)

Bruce: no, I lied. It was seven pots. I just didn’t want you to judge me.

Dinah: …... That’s too much coffee Bruce.

2. Joint problems.

(Oliver had an arm over Bruces shoulder and one over Clarks, he had done something to his ankle mid battle. Clark was telling him it was alright while Bruce just kept walking.)

Bruce: this is what you get when you’ve got weak joints.

Oliver: ….. I:

Bruce: that’s why I have designated ankle day at the gym.

Oliver: /:

3. Box.

Hal: uhm, I’m a little worried I might run out of oxygen here?

Bruce: oh.

Bruce: on it.

(Bruce then proceeded to stab the box several times over, haphazardly with a pen as Hal tried not to get stabbed.)

Hal: …… Thank you?

4 .Cartoons.

Barry: oh, fun fact, the person who voiced that character killed himself in 1924.

(There were murmurs across the breakroom.)

Billy: no…

Clark: That’s terrible.                                                                 

Bruce: (under his breath): makes sense.

5. Truck.

(A truck had been outside the league earth base for ages, the team speculate.)

Barry: OH, maybe it’s an ice cream truck!

Billy: ooo I hope it’s a pizza truck. Sorry guys, kind of a pizza freak.

Oliver: Everyone loves pizza, it’s not a personality trait.

Hal: hey, here’s a crazy idea. Maybe it’s not a food truck.

Barry: ooo maybe it’s going to give us 50 dollars!

Bruce: (mamma instincts going off): maybe it’s planning on murdering Oliver.

6. Pizza.

Bruce: I used to tell Alfred I was eating with friends at bobs pizza, but really, I was eating alone at bobs pizza.

7. Electrocution.

(This takes place after a mission as Bruce is being wheeled out on a stretcher.)

Clark: Bruce? Honey? I found a clump of your hair; I’m just going to put it in your pocket, ok?

Diana: And again, Bruce, we are so sorry! But you are going to be fine.

She shares a look with Clark.

Diana: People get electrocuted all the time! It’s like- it’s good for you, it’s like a cleanse!

Clark: …. No? -

Diana: You’re going to feel great!                       

Hal: shit- what happened?

Clark: Diana electrocuted him.

Diana: Not on purpose. And he’s going to be fiiine.

9. Selling.

Dinah: How much do you think I could get for this?

(She asks, holding up a red leather heart bag.)

Oliver: aw, you’re selling that? But it’s so gorgeous.

Dinah: I know, but I need the money ):

Oliver: oh, God. I’m so sorry, I was being so sarcastic it came off as sincere. It’s hideous. Maybe two dollars?

It then sold for fifty.

10. Voting for new leader after Bruce went on maternity leave. (Au, don’t ask unless you want me to write.)

Barry: I just want to say, I fully endorse Clark.

Clark: thank you Barr-

Barry: He’s my best friend, and if he gets kicked out of this like Bruce kicked him out of the house, he’ll drive off a fricking bridge.

Clark: NOPE, NO-

11. Gaslighting.

Hal: Clark, calm down-

Clark: No! No, I’m not going to calm down, you calm down! You’re always starting stuff!

‘Hey Clark, lets google how to murder somebody,’ well you happy now! What’s next?!? ‘Hey Clark, let’s email the police and tell them I planted a bomb in the Justice Hall!’

The app Bruce made them download: Emailing local police station, I just planted a bomb in the store. Would you like to send it?

Hal and Clark: oh, oh uh-

Barry: Yes.

Clark: what! No!

Barry: shit- sorry! I just can’t say no!

12.  Answering phones.

Bruce: oh, hello ma-

Bruce: oh, sir.

Bruce: you have a uniquely high voice.

Bruce: oh, I didn’t know that could happen after a stroke.

Bruce: (hangs up the phone.)

Clark: (trying to be a supportive boyfriend.): oh, I don’t think I can go after that. (Chuckles awkwardly.) that was sooo good!

13. Maternity leave. (warning, very aggressive and not so family friendly.) (sorry.)

(When the league needed Bruce to fix something they messed up, a day and a half after having him and Clark’s child. Clark’s off world.)

(Bruce after Oliver tried to subdue his upset with a five-dollar bath bomb.)

Bruce: sorry, do you think a bath bomb is going to solve all of my problems?

Oliver: it’s not a real bomb-

Bruce: just kill yourself.

Oliver: what?

Bruce: Kill. Yourself.

Oliver: …. Bruce-

Bruce: NO! You don’t get to talk right now! I am SO tired! I have slept less than sixty minutes in the past three days! The lining of my uterus is coming out in clumps.

I have hemorrhoids, so big, my doctor looked at my A**hole and said ‘WOAH’. Have you ever had a doctor look at your a**hole and say that?!?

(Bruce got continuingly distressed as he continued.)

Bruce: I am wearing frozen diapers so that my Pu**y doesn’t fall out! Ok!?!?

Oliver: …. Damn, anyway-

Bruce: Why haven’t you killed yourself!

(They made Clark come back early, Bruce refused to come back to help for months, half mad, half very embarrassed. It got better eventually.)

14. Bathroom flood.

Barry: wait! Maybe I can try to fix it!

(He tried flushing the toilet again. It basically blew up.)

Barry: Nope, my bad, I made it worse.

(Clark, Bruce and Shazam walked in, coming to find Hal, Barry and Dinah in the bathroom.)

Clark: hey guys, there’s water in the hallway-

Hal: yeah! We’re aware!

Dinah: its pee-pee water! You’re going to get Hep!

Clark: Ew.

Billy: oh god.

Hal: it’s under control! No one is going to get hepatitis! I’m… almost sure of it!

(Bruce hoisted Billy up out of the water and onto a table before going there himself)

15. Comparing pictures. (SuperBat baby au again. Sorry, it’s funny.)

Bruce, seeing no one focusing and rolling his eyes: ok guys, I’m pregnant.

(There were fend noises of surprise that filtered around the room.)

Diana: oh!

Barry: aww.

Hal: oh, wow.

Aurthur: Well, I already knew. I compared the pictures.

(Bruce looked mortified and Clark turned and glared, eyes glistening.)

Clark: what pictures.

Aurthur: what pictures:

16. Clogged pipes.

Hal: if we could just find an opening I could just- like- suck out the clog!

(Barry turned to look at him with a very disgusted face, no saying anything as Hal searched the pipes. This incident may or may not be correlated to the bathroom flooding incident.)

17.  Accidentally high.

Bruce: ok, really quick. How do you walk? Or talk to people again?

18. Caught, but not guilty. (Not family friendly again.)

Hal: (walking past Barry and catching a glimpse of what he’s watching on his laptop.) you watching p*rn?

Barry: (honestly not bothered, knowing Hal won’t snitch.) yup

Hal: (staying to watch by Barry, unbothered.) hmm.

19. Weight gain.

Bruce: look, don’t worry Diana. Last month before I knew, I thought I might be pregnant. ID missed a few periods. And I was gaining some weight and-

Diana: oh no way! You were gaining weight! I hadn’t even noticed!

(She chuckled nervously.)

Dinah: Are you blind? Look at him.

Bruce: (disgruntled noises.)

20. Money.

(Billy turned to Bruce, looking confused.)

Billy: but I thought Bruce, the literal leader, would be making more than us?

Hal: he does.

Billy: I don’t think so.

Clark: How much do you make?

Billy: same thing we all make. 393,120 dollars a year?

(There were collective yells.)

Bruce: oh god, I forgot a decimal place.

(They make 18.9 an hour. Billy was making 189 an hour due to said error. He was allowed to keep the money, it was promptly corrected, Billy still makes ten dollars over everyone else. Bruce likes kids.)

Slang.

Hal: man, I hope she’s a Wilf. That’s a woman I’d like to fuck.

Bruce: (who had heard his kids use that a lot of the time.) O: That’s what that means!

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And sorry to the people reading my fanfics who want more, I’m a procrastinator and studying a lot. Please take this as compensation. If I should write more let me know, and please say in comments what your favorite part is! Thank you!

[antheiagoddessofwriting]

Gold Rush part 4

To say that you do not get along with Jake "Hangman" Seresin is an understatement. From the first day the two of you met, you got off on the wrong foot. When both of you are called back to Top Gun for a special detachment the rocky relationship continues. Between jealousy, fights and accidents, can you and Jake see eye to eye? or will your relationship sink and fade away before it ever began?

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Slow burn, enemies to lovers. Inspired by Gold Rush by Taylor Swift

Chapter 4 - roughly 2,900 words

Cross posted on ao3 under - AntheiaGoddessOfFlowers

Chapter 4 - I don't like that falling feels like flying 'till the bone crush

Due to the fact that the dagger squad just can't seem to get along, Maverick decides a game of dog fight football will do the trick. But will an accident in training change everything?

Hey guys warning! Bad injury, blood, bones not right, etc. Read with caution my loves.

It had been a few days since the incident between Hangman and Rooster. Things were still tense between the two of them which made the rest of the pilots tense as well. Hangman had been sticking to the slow changes in his flying and he seemed to be making progress in caring about others in the air. He didn’t show off as much and honestly it was a relief that he had your back in the air. 

However, because stress and tensions were still Maverick decided that you all need a team bonding exercise. He had said something the day before about dog fight training again but that it would be at the beach. You didn’t understand how he’d help you all with dog fighting there, but you put your faith in the seasoned pilot.

You put on a secure bikini with some shorts thrown over and headed out to the beach. When you got there it was the late afternoon and the heat had started to dissipate. Almost everyone had arrived except for Phoenix, Bob, Rooster, and Coyote. Hangman walked over to you nonchalantly as you all waited for full attendance. 

“Nice shorts” he said while trying to hide the way he checked you out. 

Feeling the heat rushing to your face you simply nodded. He was wearing nothing but shorts and seeing the sun glisten abs only added to the warm feeling you had. It must be the sun, you thought, trying to find a logical reason as to why you felt like this.

The rest of the pilots strolled up to the beach and you saw Phoenix look between you and Hangman and point it out to Bob. Oh god. Do they both think something is going on between us? In your panic at the thought you stepped away from Hangman. 

Luckily before Phoenix could comment Maverick started giving out instructions for Dog Fight Football. Apparently there would be two balls at once and both offense and defense would be happening simultaneously. According to Maverick this would mimic being in the air and encourage teamwork. 

For the first half hour of playing everyone tried their best to keep score so they could see who won. But everyone quickly gave up keeping score in favor of having fun. The sun had just started going down though, making it slightly harder to see the balls. Rooster had thrown one of them towards you and you ran down the beach to catch it. You jumped up and caught the ball, but as you descended you landed on someone and knocked the both of you onto the sand. 

“Ow” Hangman groaned as your elbow had hit his stomach. It was almost cliche that of all people to land on it was Hangman. 

“Sorry” you said sincerely while he stared up at you. Your chest was on his and both of you were breathing heavily. 

“It’s ok,” he replied with a soft smile. “The view is nice”

You laughed at his comment. A moment passed before either of you said anything. But Phoenix interrupted by yelling at you to get up so they could use the other ball. You got up and threw the ball to her before helping Jake stand up.

As he got to his feet he stood very close to you. The way he towered over you made you feel flustered. But he quickly left your side to continue playing Dog Fight Football. For the rest of the game you continued to feel flustered and nervous. You kept catching Jake glance and smile at you throughout the game. Each time you made eye contact with him you felt your heart skip a beat and your face flush. You couldn’t understand why you felt this way, you were supposed to hate him. Jake was all arrogance and self-importance who didn’t care about others. Although, he was changing… you had to admit that. 

After the game ended, you returned to base and took a cold shower. You assured yourself that it was just the sun and the exercise that had you worked up like this, nothing else. But that night you had a hard time falling asleep. Your mind was racing with thoughts of him. You realized that for the past few weeks he had been all you could think about. The thought was scary. After the horrible relationship with Sawyer you weren’t sure if you could ever trust anyone with your heart ever again. And Phoenix had made comments about how Hangman was a playboy. Surely he would just leave you heartbroken too. 

In order to protect your heart you decided that you should keep your distance. The next day you did your best to avoid his gaze and being alone with him. It had to be this way, you wouldn’t let yourself get hurt again.

Phoenix and Bob kept pestering you with questions about whether you like Hangman. Everytime you said no they both scoffed and refused to believe you. They both seemed to be convinced that you and Jake were in love with each other. How ridiculous!

A few days later you were in the hallway, taking a break from listening to the comms of everyone who was training in the air with Maverick. You were anxiously waiting until it was your turn in the air and decided you needed a breather. The mission had just been moved up. Instead of a few weeks there was only ten days until the Uranium plant would be operational. The new deadline was only adding to the stress you already felt.

Hangman followed you out into the hall with a concerned look on his face. It had been two days of you ignoring him, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“TAG,” he started, “are you ok?”

You just nodded your head and looked at the floor.

“Don’t be nervous about the run, you’re going to do great” he said trying to reassure you.

You looked at him, causing his face to light up. “Thanks Jake.”

Suddenly you realized how much it hurt not talking to him for the past two days. But you knew getting your heart broken would hurt even more. 

He glanced around before stepping closer to you. Softly he said, “you’ve been ignoring me.”

You dropped your gaze to the floor, not wanting to look at him. He noticed what you were doing. Had you really been that obvious?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

He sighed, “y/n. I asked you what I needed to do to get you to talk to me. I’ve been trying to change- to be a better man I-”

Before he could say anything else you both heard panicked shouts coming from inside the room. He shook his head before entering the room to see what was going on. You followed him in to hear Maverick panicking over the radio begging Coyote to wake up. He was in G-Lock and plummeting to the ground. Everyone else in the room was nervous and at the edge of their seat. Luckily, Maverick was able to get tone on Coyote, which woke him up. He lifted the plane, narrowly avoiding a crash. 

Coyote, Phoenix, Bob, and Maverick soon landed and it was your turn to fly. You Maverick, Harvard and Yale were up in the air. Skillfully, you led Harvard and Yale through the turns, making good time. But because they were going slow you reduced speed so you didn’t lose them. You dropped your missiles and missed the target. Shaking your head you tried to ignore your failure as you practiced the high G climb. It went well for you, and for Harvard and Yale. 

The planes leveled out and you all were about to turn around to return to the airstip when Maverick called out “Birdstrike!” A whole flock of birds flew at you all. Multiple birds flew into your left engine, starting a fire.

Hangman was sitting in a room with all the other pilots listening to the radio to hear what was going on. During your entire run he had been listening intently. When he heard Maverick call out the bird strike he got anxious.

He heard you say “Left engine’s on fire! Climbing”.  Jake jumped up from where he was sitting and ran to the radio. All of a sudden, his stomach was in knots and it felt like someone had stabbed him right in the heart. 

“Throttling back, shutting off fuel to the left engine.” you paused for a moment before saying, “Extinguishing Fire.”

The all knowing Phoenix immediately understood why he was so scared. “She’ll be fine,” she reassured.

However, they heard Maverick say “it’s on fire don’t start!”

But you didn’t hear him. The roar of your plane was too loud. You shouted, “throttling up”. But it didn’t work. Your engine exploded and you were sent plummeting towards the ground.

“I’m on fire!” you yelled! You stared at the screen and hit the button to extinguish the right engine.

“Oh my god” Maverick said.

“No… no this can’t be happening” Hangman pleaded after hearing the panic in your voice as well as Maverick’s. He knew you were plummeting to the ground, and here he was listening. Phoenix grabbed a hold of him as he tried to leave the room telling him there wasn’t anything he could do.

“I’m on fire!” you screamed, clearly the shock didn’t wear off yet. “Ok breathe. Extinguishing right engine” 

Jake sat back down and listened as you talked yourself through extinguishing the engine. Maybe you could save it after all?

But all his hopes were lost when Maverick shouted “Eject! Y/N Eject now!”

“I can’t control it!” You choked out. Giving up trying to save the plane, you ejected. Your body was sent flying out of the plane and you pulled on the string to launch the parachute. But by the time you ejected you were so low that the parachute didn’t help much.

Upon your crash landing in a tree you heard the crunch of branches as well as bone. Screaming in pain you tried to figure out what broke, but everything hurt. You tried to get loose, but you were stuck in the tree with the parachute holding you up. After looking up to see where the parachute was caught you started panicking even more than you already had been. It was ripped and barely tangled in the branches. If you made any harsh movements you were sure to plummet all the way to the ground, breaking more bones along the way. Besides, with what you were sure was a broken leg you definitely weren’t going to be able to climb into the tree. Your only option was to hang tight and try to ignore the horrible pain you were in. 

Tears streamed down your face as you waited for help. You tried your best to gently grab an emergency radio, but one of your arms was in agony and when you reached the other out you heard the tree branches creak. You gave up trying to reach the radio, fearing that your condition would worsen if you were sent plummeting farther down. Everything hurt, and eventually you passed out, the pain and the shock taking over your body.

In the air Maverick had watched you eject, and he saw where the plane crashed. But he paid more attention to making sure your parachute was open.

He quickly realized you didn’t have enough space between you and the ground. The parachute opened too low. When he saw that he said “we need search and rescue as well as medical”

Once Jake heard the words search and rescue he bolted out of the room and towards the runway. When he got there a helicopter was ready to take off. He forced his way in and patiently waited till they arrived in the area you crashed. He was bouncing his leg frantically and picking at his fingernails. His stomach was in so much pain and everytime he thought about you possibly being hurt, or worse- no he couldn’t think about that. God, what had you done to him? For years he had been in love with you. The first day at Top Gun when he saw you for the first time he knew. But, of course he messed it up. And then when Top Gun ended and you went your separate ways he tried to get over you, he really did. But it never worked. And now here he was, ready to jump out of a helicopter to find you. He was sure you hated him but that didn’t matter. All he cared about was finding you and getting you to safety. 

It took two hours before they finally caught sight of your parachute stuck in a tree. The woman piloting the helicopter slowly landed it. He and the medical personnel bolted out of the helicopter and towards you. They could see your parachute in the distance at the top of the tree line and followed it like the North Star.

When he saw you he almost had a heart attack. You were dangling from the tree, completely passed out. Your right leg was bent in all the wrong ways and in all the wrong places. There was a gash on the side of your head that slowly was oozing blood down your face.. He couldn’t walk any closer, couldn’t admit that this was real. Frozen in his place he watched you get cut down from the tree. The medical team set up a net to catch you in. He watched them try to find your vitals and felt sick to his stomach. If they said you were dead he was sure he’d die right then. 

Luckily, they found a pulse. You were alive, but barely. A weight was lifted off of him as they loaded you on a stretcher and into the helicopter. All he could do was stare at you and watch to make sure you were breathing. It felt like years went by before you were finally off the helicopter and being rushed to the medical bay.

Jake was standing on the runway, watching them roll you away. Suddenly it was like his feet had become bricks and his stomach had turned into cement. He wanted nothing more than to follow you to the medical bay and make sure you were ok, but he couldn’t move. His body was too heavy with his fears and dread. 

Phoenix had been the one to walk up to him. “She’s gonna be ok”

He shook his head, “you don’t know that.”

“She’s a fighter Jake, she will fight”

Jake stared at the ground fighting back the tears in his eyes.

“We’re all here for you, we know how much you liked her”

His gaze shot up to look at Phoenix. “Oh don’t act so surprised. You two are so obvious about your feelings for each other”

He laughed at her statement, “well TAG doesn’t have feelings for me. She hates my guts”

This time, Phoenix was the one laughing. “You are so blind Hangman”

He sighed and started walking towards the base with Phoenix by his side. 

“You know” he started, “I just can’t bear the thought that I never got a real chance with her, and that it’s all my fault” “What do you mean?”

“The first day I met her I made the stupidest joke because I was trying to flirt. And that got us off on the wrong foot. And then her stupid, phony boyfriend came along. I hated him. Everytime I pointed out how awful he was she defended him and we argued. And then we started arguing about everything…” 

He stopped talking, it was all too much. Had he really been so dumb for so many years? Why did he go on just letting you hate him?

“When I saw her at the Hard Deck for this mission I figured I finally had a chance. I could show her the real me but… it’s too late”

“Oh my god” Phoenix said, “She isn’t going to die”

“I hope not,” Jake pleaded.

Phoenix stopped walking to look at him. “You’re in love with her.”

Jake stopped walking too, but he didn’t turn to look at her. He sighed before saying “yeah… I am”.

Neither of them said anything, but they resumed heading into base.

“I think you should wait a few days to see her. You need to rest” Natasha told Jake. 

“You’re probably right.”

And with that they went their separate ways towards their respective rooms. He tried to sleep, to get some rest like Phoenix advised. But he just couldn’t. Everytime he got close to sleep he heard your voice, how panicked you were trying to save the plane. He saw your body hanging limp from the tree. All night he kept tossing, turning, and holding back his tears. 

Luckily, in the morning Maverick decided to give you all the day off given the events of the previous day. Jake took this opportunity to try and sleep since he got a total of zero hours of shut eye. He was able to get a few hours worth of napping in, but he kept getting awoken by a nightmare. That you died.

Heavy angst to follow!!! :) For my midwestern babes, careful in the Dust Storm :)

[shippy-from-apocalypse]

Must a girl communicate how much he loves his friends? isn't enought to Just look at them autistically?

[foxy-eva]

Love me Tender

Summary: When you finally tell him about your struggles with sex, Spencer proves to be the most understanding and gentle boyfriend anyone could wish for 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Reader struggles with painful sex/penetration, implied medical issues (not specified), implied negative past sexual experiences, feelings of insecurity and frustration, nervousness, crying, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (both receiving, including 69), handjob, fingering, attempted penetrative sex

Word count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Me? Writing a completely self-indulgent fic yet again? It’s more likely than you think. I hope this little story finds its way to people who need it <3

Masterlist

Heavy breaths. Heaving chests. Tongues intertwined and bodies so entangled it became impossible to tell them apart. 

Yet again you had found yourself on Spencer’s couch, his weight trapping you beneath him, while you got lost in the haze of longing. Albeit still being protected by some layers of clothing, it felt like you might melt together. Ever so slightly you rolled your hips against him until you could feel his desire burning for you. 

The lust you felt was overwhelming, yet the further things progressed, the more reluctant you became. That had happened before and Spencer sensed your hesitation. A sigh left his throat and you caught it with your lips. His kisses became more innocent until he was only softly pecking your lips. 

The word sorry burned on your tongue but before you could voice it, Spencer hushed you. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

He sat up and you mirrored his motion until you were sat beside him on the couch again. Gentle fingertips found the side of your face, caressing your cheek and ghosting over lips plump from kissing. 

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” Spencer breathed.

With heated cheeks you looked at him, his eyes dark and filled with yearning, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he was witnessing. It was comforting to see his adoration for you. However, a part of you still believed he’d run out of patience with you soon. 

It had been many weeks of you kissing and cuddling on his couch, acts that were innocent the first time quickly turned into something more sinful. A moan escaping his throat when he felt some friction against his hardness, a desperate sigh from your lips when you ground against him. And then you’d ask him to stop. 

He never once complained when you voiced your wish to slow down, always content with any ounce of affection you’d grant him. But how could it be enough? 

Spencer noticed the glistening in your eyes before you could even feel the tears forming. 

“Hey,” he cooed. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

The first tear rolled down your cheek and Spencer pulled you into his embrace. “I.. I just..,” was all you could mutter before the dam broke and you just sobbed against his chest. His heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, the panicked sensation he must have felt was very familiar to you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.” 

After several moments of silence, you wiped away the saline droplets from your face and shied away from Spencer’s touch. 

“I’m sorry, you must be so frustrated with me,” you sobbed and Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’m really not trying to be a tease, I swear.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was laced with concern and confusion. “That’s not what I’m thinking. And I’m not frustrated with you.” 

More tears spilled from your lashes. His words were sincere. Maybe it was time to be honest with him. 

“I know you want to have sex with me.” Your words almost sounded like an accusation but that wasn’t your intention, so with a softer tone you added, “And I want to sleep with you, too.” 

His facial features were soft when he said, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. There's no rush.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain. “I can’t have sex.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand?” 

“It hurts. I can’t have sex because it’s too painful for me.”

Spencer's eyes widened but only for a second. Then, after he encouraged you to speak, he just sat there and listened while words began bubbling from your mouth. Stories about advice from medical professionals and experiences with past lovers all spilled from your lips. 

“There are good days,” you finally concluded. “But most days it's a struggle. And sometimes I think it will work but then it doesn't.” 

Relief washed over you when you had finally told Spencer about this. It had been bothering you for weeks and you were glad it was finally out, whatever that would mean for your future together.

Staring at him, you suddenly felt your heart beating loudly inside your chest. His face still looked soft and understanding but you weren't entirely sure how he'd react.

“I'm very sorry you have to deal with this,” he softly spoke. “I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.” 

Your sight fell to the floor when you muttered, “I would understand if this was dealbreaker for you. I'm sure you expected something else when we started dating.” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said before gently touching your cheek to turn your head until you'd look at him again. Then, he continued, “I care about you and I really like you. I am grateful for any amount of physical proximity you'll grant me, whether sexual or not. I just want to be close to you in any way you're comfortable with.” 

His words warmed your heart and made you smile. “Just for the record, I was very comfortable with what we did before,” you snickered. 

“Yeah?” He purred as he leaned closer. “Good to know.” 

His lips captured yours in a kiss that turned from sickenly sweet to breathtaking within moments. It didn't take long until you found yourself in your previous position lying on the couch with Spencer on top of you. 

Within minutes you felt the heat rushing through your body again until this familiar tingling returned to your core. A slight shift of your legs and you had Spencer’s thigh pressing against you in the best way possible. It wasn't enough for you, though. 

“Spencer…,” you mumbled into the kiss. 

He leaned back slightly to look at you and whisper, “Do you want to slow down?” 

Staring up at him, your heart skipped a beat. He looked so beautiful with unruly curls hanging into his face and his lips plump from kissing.

“No, I wanna do more,” you confessed. In an instant, your hands flew to his shirt, getting a hold of the first button. “Want to feel your skin.”  

The sweetest smile spread over his face. “I want that, too,” he whispered and brushed over the hem of your shirt. 

A little too enthusiastically, you tried to sit up to get rid of your clothes and almost threw Spencer off the couch. Ungracefully, he grabbed the armrest of the couch to avoid losing his balance and colliding with the floor. 

“I'm so sorry!” You giggled as you helped him back onto the couch. He joined you in your laughter and placed several innocent pecks on your lips. 

“It's okay,” he chuckled. “I didn't expect how eager you'd be to get me naked.” 

“I have waited for too long,” you whined. 

“Come on,” Spencer said as he stood up and took your hand. “We'll be much more comfortable in my bed.” 

For a brief moment you hesitated but then you got up and followed him. You knew you could trust that he would be nothing but gentle and patient with you. If anything, it would probably be you who'd expect too much of yourself. 

At his bedside, curious hands began pushing and pulling on fabric until both of you stood in front of one another in nothing but underwear. Gently, you pushed Spencer onto the mattress before you found your place on top of him, straddling his lap. 

His clothed erection pressed against the lace of your panties and it almost drove you insane. As your sight travelled over his skin, you felt your cheeks heating up. You couldn’t decide whether to focus on the warm amber of his eyes, his saccharine smile, his heaving chest or the softness of his tummy. 

He was just so pretty.

You noticed his sight dropping to the swell of your chest at the same time his hardness twitched against your covered heat. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered before his hands cradled your cheeks to pull you down for another kiss. 

He didn't wait to deepen this kiss, his tongue begged for entrance right away. It became obvious how aroused Spencer was, a realization that only turned you on more. Tentatively, you began rocking your hips against his hardness, creating some much needed friction between your legs. The moan that escaped his throat sent shockwaves right through your body. 

His hands travelled down your shoulders and over your back until they found the clasp of your bra. Skillfully, he undid it before you briefly broke the kiss to toss away the piece of clothing. Spencer cupped your breasts, gently exploring your skin before taking your hardened peaks between his fingers. Caressing you this way made your head spin and had you grinding even harder against his cock. 

The lace of your panties became soaked with your arousal as the tension in your core only grew. The sounds of pleasure that made it past your lips were swallowed by him as he didn’t allow you to break the kiss. 

When you ground over Spencer’s sensitive tip, a desperate “Fuck!” was mumbled against your mouth. It was then that you decided this wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. Your lips left his to kiss along his jaw and down his neck instead, nipping on his neck until you felt his throat vibrate with a content hum. 

Sitting up, your hands wandered along his chest, caressing his skin before following the line of hair from his navel down to the waistband of his underwear. A smirk was painted over your face when you found his eyes again. 

“I want to touch you,” you murmured and as if to answer you, you felt him throb against the confines of his boxers. 

“Please…,” he breathed, watching your every move. 

Spencer whined when you got off his lap and you mourned the loss of pressure as well. But you had other, even more fun things to do. With a swift motion, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear to pull it down and throw it on the flow to join the rest of his clothes. 

His cock laid on his stomach, swollen and thick with a weeping tip that begged to be touched. Everything about this man lying in front of you was so aesthetically pleasing, it let heat rush through your veins. 

Then, a very silly thought crossed your mind. Nothing you intended to say out loud but of course Spencer noticed the change of microexpressions in your face. 

“Everything okay?” He said, having you tear your sight away from his body to look at his eyes again. 

“Yeah sorry,” you awkwardly stammered as you laid down beside him. “I don’t want to kill the vibe, I just had a silly thought about something.” 

He raised his eyebrows as he said, “Now I’m curious.” 

“You’re very beautiful and so, so perfect, Spencer,” you said with the utmost sincerity in your voice. With a more light-hearted tone, you quipped, “It’s so silly but I kinda hoped you had a small penis. It would have made things a lot easier.” 

When you heard Spencer laugh at your words, you were relieved and chimed in with your own giggles. He briefly looked down at himself. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just average,” he chuckled. 

“Nothing about you is average, Dr. Reid,” you cooed before capturing his lips once more, feeling him smiling into the kiss. 

One of your hands travelled down his body with a clear goal in mind. When you found his cock, you let your fingertips travel along his length. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. Spencer trembled when you finally wrapped your fingers around him to give him a gentle squeeze. The droplets on his tip were collected by your thumb and used to glide up and down his length with slow and precise motions. 

When he dared to look down to watch you taking care of him, he downright growled at the sight. “Feels so good!” 

Then, with greedy hands he grabbed your hips and drew circles into the lace of your underwear. He looked at you again, a soft expression on his face, and purred, “Can I touch you, too?” 

His question made you sigh and retract your hand from him. Spencer apologized immediately, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

However, there was nothing to be sorry about. The truth was that you were burning for his touch and longed to find relief. Aware that your feelings of restraint were a result of previous experiences and didn’t have anything to do with Spencer, you wanted to give him a chance. He deserved to get the opportunity to show you the care you needed. 

“Don’t apologize. I want you to touch me, Spencer,” you told him as you pulled down your panties, revealing yourself to him. “Just be gentle, please.” 

His hand wandered over your breasts and gently brushed over them before it descended further down. His fingertips danced along your hips and your thighs before they wandered closer to your heat. 

You were sure he could sense your nervousness when he whispered, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?” 

You nodded and he placed his warm palm over your slit, holding it still for a moment. Despite your nervousness, you were so turned on you could feel your own heartbeat drumming against his hand. “Still feeling alright?” He wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. 

Gently, he let his fingertips glide along your seam, collecting the wetness that had dripped from you already. With the same amount of carefulness, he parted your folds with his forefinger to find your swollen pearl and started circling it with slow motions. Shockwaves travelled through your body and you could feel how your thighs trembled slightly. 

He kissed your cheek and murmured, “How does that feel?” 

“Feels good,” you sighed and instructed, “add a bit more pressure.”

When he did, your entire body shook and a broken moan made it past your lips. Spencer hesitated to continue moving his hand. “Too much?” he wanted to know. 

Shaking your head, you whimpered, “No, it’s perfect.” 

He smiled at you and continued this motion. Then, he let his fingertips glide through your folds to collect more of your arousal from your entrance. Without intending to, you flinched when you felt him at your opening. Not because it was actually painful, but because you expected it to be. 

In an instant, he retracted his hand. Concern was written all over his face when he looked at you. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” 

“No,” you said and took his hand in yours. “I just thought it might hurt.”

You placed his fingers back on your sensitive nub to encourage him to continue before you wrapped your hand around his cock again. When you began stroking him once more, Spencer started moving his hand as well. Weeks of built-up tension begged to be released as you brought one another closer to the edge. 

Closing your eyes, you focussed on this magnificent sensation of being at ease. Facing this wonderful man, your body pressed against his, you felt so safe and cared for. It only took a few more moments until you let yourself come undone, your thighs quivering and core pulsating as you ground your swollen bud against his fingers. 

When you came down from your high, you shied away from his touch to focus back on him. His cock felt hot and heavy against your palm and even harder than just a moment earlier. Spencer tensed his entire body while panting some curse words right before relief washed over him. As he throbbed against your fingers, his essence spilled over your hand and onto his stomach. 

Curling into his side, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek as you waited for him to catch his breath. It was hard to leave the comfort of his embrace but the two of you had to get up to get clean eventually. 

Soon enough you were cuddled up under the blanket again, basking in each other’s warmth. Spencer held you safely against his chest while his fingers danced over your skin ever so slightly. 

“That was fun,” you finally broke the silence and tilted your head to look at him. 

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, it was.” 

Even though Spencer seemed content, you still couldn’t quite tune out this nagging voice of insecurity inside you. Feeling brave for once, you decided to address it. “Can I ask you something?” 

Spencer nodded, “Anything.” 

After taking a deep breath, you wondered, “Are you disappointed that we didn’t …do more?” 

The man beside you seemed surprised by your words and raised his eyebrows at you. He thought about his words for a second before he responded, “Absolutely not. I think what we did was plenty.”

That was all that you needed to hear. Spencer, however, had more to say about it, so he started one of his ramblings, “Did you know that studies show that the majority of women cannot reach climax from penetration alone? So if you think about it, it’s actually odd that what most heterosexual couples define as sex focusses so much on that. According to one study I read–”

As fun as it was to learn that Spencer apparently read sexual research papers, it wasn’t really the kind of pillow talk you needed right then, so you shut him up with a peck on his lips. He didn’t seem to mind and kissed you back in a same sickenly sweet manner. It didn’t take much longer until the both of you dozed off together. 

Within the next few weeks you grew more comfortable around one another, exploring each other’s bodies whenever you were alone. That first night together was repeated in similar ways several times until Spencer confessed how much he craved to taste you. From then on you found his face buried between your thighs more often than you could count. 

There was not much you could complain about and Spencer seemed happy, too. But still, whenever you caressed his throbbing cock you longed to feel him inside of you, to fill your emptiness and create a connection unlike anything else. 

The next time you found yourself in Spencer’s bed again, clothes already shed and limbs entangled, you felt confident and comfortable and your pain was nothing more than a distant memory. 

Spencer’s breath was hot against your cheek when his hand made its way between your legs. Desire was dripping from your folds as his fingers carefully glided through them. At the same time he began circling your most sensitive spot, you started stroking his hardened cock. You imagined how it would feel to have his swollen tip press into you and you instantly clenched around nothing. 

Your free palm found Spencer’s hand between your legs and guided it further down until his fingertip was at your entrance. 

“Inside,” you breathed

Your boyfriend hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

With widened eyes you looked at him and nodded. “Please,” you added. 

Slower than necessary, he pressed his middle finger against your opening and stopped when he sensed some resistance. After taking a deep breath, you focussed on relaxing your pelvis. Once your body allowed him to continue, Spencer pushed his finger further in. 

“Does that hurt?” He wanted to make sure. 

The pressure was unwonted but not uncomfortable. You shook your head and noticed how Spencer curled his finger inside you, reaching a particularly tender spot. A gasp fell from your lips and you throbbed around his digit. 

“Feels good,” you breathed. 

Without any rush he worked his hand against your core until you were sure you'd float away any minute now. Your hand around his erection trembled as your imagination ran wild. 

“I want your cock,” you finally whimpered, surprising the both of you. 

Spencer looked at you with widened eyes and his mouth agape. Before he could say anything, you added, “I mean… I want to try if that's okay?” 

Carefully, Spencer removed his hand from you, making you sigh at the loss of contact. 

“That’s more than okay,” he breathed as he reached for the nightstand, taking out a condom from the drawer. 

Intently, you watched as he opened the foil and rolled the latex over his cock. You motioned for Spencer to lean against the headboard of the bed before you swung your leg around his hips to straddle him. 

Looking down at his hardness, your heart started fluttering. You couldn’t wait to finally be filled out by him. After wrapping your hand around his shaft, you tentatively let his tip glide through your folds. 

Spencer watched you patiently, his hands resting on your hips. 

“Take your time,” he purred before placing a soft kiss on your lips. 

Positioning his tip at your entrance, you hovered over him and took a few deep breaths. 

“Sorry, I'm really nervous,” you murmured as your cheeks heated up. 

“That’s okay,” Spencer whispered. “You’re the one in charge here. We can stop at any point. I won’t be disappointed, I promise.” 

You tried sinking down on him but once you felt the pressure of the head of his cock against your opening, you stopped.

“Can we maybe add some lube?”  

“Yes, of course.” Spencer said as he reached for the drawer again. “I'm sorry I didn't think of that right away.” 

You took the bottle of lube from his hand and softly spoke, “Let me do it.” 

After squirting a fair amount of the liquid into your hand, you leaned back slightly to be able to spread it over his latex covered erection. Spencer moaned at the sensation and twitched against your palm. 

When you were satisfied with that, you took in your previous position, hovering over his cock. One more deep breath and you began sinking down on him. 

Half an inch in and the pressure was almost overwhelming. You stopped, took more deep breaths and noticed how you could feel Spencer's heartbeat inside you. 

You took in a little more and the pressure morphed into a stinging that you were far too familiar with. A frustrated whine made it past your lips and Spencer stilled your hips. 

“Please stop if it hurts,” he almost begged you. 

In hopes your body would adjust to the intrusion, you kept still for another moment.  It didn't though. The sting turned into a burn that made you yelp. Quicker than you probably should have, you lifted your hips again and plopped down on the mattress beside your boyfriend. 

Your voice was already breaking when you said, “I'm sorry, I really hoped it would work.”

Spencer immediately wrapped you into his arms, just in time for the dam to break that let tears stream down your face. 

“Please don't apologize,” he mumbled. “It's okay.” 

His kindness only made you sob more and he pressed your body tightly against his. It wasn't the pain or any sadness that made you cry but the frustration over not being able to do what you yearned for. 

When you had calmed down a bit, Spencer took a tissue to wipe away your tears while cooing, “I love you. You know that, right?” 

“I love you, too,” you snivelled. “Thank you for being so kind and understanding.” 

“Of course.” 

With a sweet smile painted over his cheeks, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

After cleaning up a bit, you continued cuddling in bed. Many moments and innocent kisses later, the longing inside your chest returned.

Your kisses turned more urgent while one of your hands sneaked down Spencer’s body to dance over his hip and thighs. Your tongue brushed over his at the same time your fingertips found his dick, quickly hardening under your touch. The sensation of him growing inside your palm let shockwaves run through your body. 

Spencer’s hands greedily brushed over your chest and down your body until they squeezed the curve of your backside. 

When you began kissing down his body, Spencer threw his head back into the pillow. You wanted to feel him inside you, one way or another. As you kissed down his stomach, you took his erection into your hand. 

He felt hot against your fingertips as you brushed over his velvety skin, making Spencer shudder when your thumb moved over his leaking tip. Leaning down, you started kissing along his shaft until you were sure that your lips had brushed over every inch of him.

You pressed your lips against his tip before opening them to let him slide into your mouth slowly. When he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed around him, eliciting a deep moan from your boyfriend. 

With precise motions you began to move up and down, your hand covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth. The room filled with the sinful sounds of your mouth moving against his length and the moans falling from his lips.

“Wait,” he suddenly whined. “I wanna taste you, too.” 

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. With a soft pop you released him from your mouth. 

Smirking at him, you wanted to confirm, “You want me to… sit on your face?” 

With more confidence than you had anticipated, he said, “Yes. That's exactly what I want.” 

Shifting your position, you moved up the mattress before swinging one leg over his face until you were hovering over his face. Without wasting any time, Spencer showered your inner thighs with kisses and pulled you down so he could reach your core. 

Like a man starved he let his tongue run through your folds and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his tongue. For a moment you just sat there, revelling in the pleasure before your sight fell down on his cock, lying thick and hard on his stomach. 

Spencer had such a tight grip over your thighs, you failed to lean forward. 

“Spencer,” you snickered as you tapped his hands gripping your thighs. “You gotta let me go, I want to finish what I started.” 

His hold on you lightened and you leaned forward until you could reach his hardness. After peppering him with kisses and tasting the little bead of precum that had spilled over his tip, you took him into your mouth again. 

It was difficult to move with a rhythm, your own pleasure rushing through your body forced you to stop and moan around him every few moments. When he focussed his attention on your swollen pearl, you had to take a break. You released his cock from your lips and instead moved your hand lazily up and down his length. 

Moans and sighs fell from your lips as you ground your hips back against his tongue, chasing that exhilarating sensation you so desperately longed for. When you finally came, Spencer became more gentle but didn't let you move away from him. Instead he lapped up your release before he let his mouth move over your folds carefully. 

Once you had stopped panting erratically, you took his hardness back into your mouth, keen on granting him the same blissful feeling. It only took a few more skillful motions until he fell over the edge and released his warm essence on your tongue. 

A few more soft kisses were placed on his tip, his shaft and at his base before you moved off of him to lay down beside him instead. His lips were glistening with your arousal when you kissed them, your own taste clearly perceptible. 

You found your place inside his arms, your head resting on his chest. The comfortable silence was interrupted by your words. 

“I love you so much.” 

Tenderly, he kissed the top of your head. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

“I love you more.” 

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[rosy-hollow]

Your husband, Sukuna, is a menace—but he can't say no to your even bigger menace of a daughter.

He already can't say no to you—the absolute sweetheart he had fallen deeply for—so how could he stand a chance against his five-year-old daughter, who looked so much like you yet had the wrath and fury to make even hell freeze over?

It’s Yuna’s first day of kindergarten, and you and your husband have already been called to the school because of your girl's… behavioral issues.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. and Mrs. Sukuna. I, uh… as you’ve heard, Yuna has been acting disruptively in school today. We’ll have to send her home due to her actions, but I sincerely hope this doesn’t happen again."

Underneath the table, your hand finds your husband's reassuringly, squeezing it to let him know you'd handle this.

"I apologize for any inconvenience, sir... but may I know the details of what happened first?" you ask politely, maintaining a calm facade. And if the two of you weren’t talking to your daughter's school principal, Sukuna would’ve kissed you right then and there—because the moment he opened his mouth, he’d probably have a restraining order filed against him in every country.

Despite your calm demeanor, though, you were practically seething.

You knew your daughter. Yes, she had quite a temper, but to act up in such a way that caused a scene? That didn’t sound like her. And if she really had, then something serious must've happened.

The principal nods, sighing bitterly. "Apparently, there was a squabble between your daughter and another boy on the playground… He ended up with a tooth knocked out in the end."

You blink, taken aback, frowning.

Your daughter, though prone to getting angry, would never resort to violence. You and your husband raised her better than that.

Your blood simmers slightly as you take in the principal’s disdainful expression and condescending tone. You want to punch it off his face—but you don’t, much to your own chagrin.

Your husband is squeezing your hand so hard it feels like your bones might snap, but you still rub your thumb comfortingly against his knuckles.

"May I speak to my daughter? Though this behavior is unacceptable, this doesn’t sound like her at all," you say, and the principal sighs, nodding.

"Yes, but please make it quick."

You nod, mentally flipping the man off, before exiting the room with your furious husband in tow.

There, just outside, sits your daughter—wide red eyes filled with tears.

"I-I’m sorry, Mommy..." she whimpers softly, and something inside you breaks as you rush forward to envelop her in your arms.

It takes everything in you not to hunt down the people who reduced your loving daughter to this mess. And you're sure your husband isn’t doing any better—years and years of therapy doing everything it can to keep his rage at bay.

"H-He said my eyes m-made me look l-like a m-m-monster, and t-then he pushed me, and so I just pushed him back, and then he tripped over his shoelaces and his t-tooth fell out—"

Yuna is full-on sobbing now, and you freeze, holding her tightly.

Wordlessly, you pick up the small five-year-old and hand her to your husband, a glint in your eye. Sukuna stiffens, swallowing hard. His grip on Yuna tightens slightly as he watches you storm inside.

He’s only seen you mad maybe four times in your ten years of marriage—if Yuna could freeze hell over when she was angry, then you were the devil incarnate herself.

You reenter the principal’s office, slamming the door behind you. Sukuna decides to be a smart dad and take his daughter down the hall, avoiding what is definitely about to be verbal homicide.

When you finally exit the room, there's an eerily peaceful look on your face. Casually, you dust off your shirt, approaching your husband and daughter with a warm smile.

Sukuna and Yuna exchange uneasy glances.

"So~ who wants ice cream?"

Yuna’s not uneasy anymore.

Sukuna sighs.

He loves his two girls more than anything in the world—he never, ever would have pictured himself being the calmer one in the relationship, but you never ceased to prove him wrong.

That’s what he loved about you, though.

A/N: i love when beefy men are down bad for me (this has never happened)

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[wileys-russo]

rage room II l.williamson

"babe. i love you so much but fucking please hurry up." the milton keynes local groaned, twirling her keys around impatiently on her pointer finger, jingle echoing through the hallway. "lee we are literally not booked in until three and it's only eleven thirty." you laughed at her lack of patience from the bedroom.

"technically correct but you’re gettin your nails done at twelve and i’ve got a haircut, and then we’re going for lunch and i said we’ll pop in to see grandma for tea and then we have the rage room at three. so we're on a tight schedule here woman, chop chop!" the defender clapped, popping her head through the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"so sorry! i'll hurry up." you made a point to bend down and lace your sneakers in super slow motion, leah leaning against the door frame with a deep and annoyed sigh.

“oh i lost it…we’ll have to start again.” you purposefully let go of the half done knot with a shake of your head, going even slower now as you began to retie it.

"nah i'm gettin grey hairs here man." your girlfriend huffed with a shake of her head, hurrying over and smacking your hands away, kneeling down and quickly lacing up your shoes for you.

"sure babe you can borrow my limited edition vintage dunks i’ve worn twice, thanks for askin." leah mocked sarcastically as you grinned. "sure love you can borrow my prada sunglasses, thanks for asking." you quipped back quickly as the smile was wiped from her face.

"fair point. right come on then!" she took your hands and forcefully pulled you to your feet, hurrying out of the bedroom and yelling for you to follow.

“woman you are walking a thin line here!" leah moaned as you dug your heels in and walked at a tortoises pace just to annoy her further, trudging slowly down the hall.

“sorry babe safety first, what if i fell and got carpet burn?”

"you're such a fuckin wind up!"

~

"thank you for today lee, its been perfect." you smiled sincerely, now sat opposite from your girlfriend at your favourite sushi spot, leaning across the table and meeting her lips in a sweet kiss. "anything for you and that smile gorgeous." leah smiled charmingly as you shook your head.

"if only you were this smooth when you asked me out the first time." you teased as leahs cheeks suddenly flushed bright red. "oi you promised to stop bringing that up!" the defender groaned burying her face in her hands.

you'd transferred to arsenal from everton three seasons ago, and leah had been enamored by you from the moment you stepped foot into the locker room with a shy wave, a little taken aback by how forward and friendly the entire team was right off the bat.

her friends very quickly picking up on the developing unsubtle crush leah had been relentlessly bullied into eventually asking you out on a date.

though with half the team well aware of her feelings and the lingering fear of rejection, it was safe to say she'd been about as close to a nervous wreck as she could get.

so when she did come over to you and try to speak the words got jumbled up together. then her attempt to ask you out for coffee wound up with her rather aggressively asking you to buy her a coffee, and you hurriedly leaving with a confused nod thinking you’d done something to have her annoyed with you.

so then showing up the next day with a flat white in hand for her (which was from your messaging around to a few of the girls to get leahs coffee order right) lead to a very embarrassed vice captain who hurried to correct what she'd really meant with her tongue in a twist.

"love its a crucial part of our epic romance story, i can't pretend it didn't happen." you beamed as your food arrived and you both thanked the server, leahs cheeks still flushed rosy pink as she muttered something under her breath and hurried to change subject. "show me please?" leah asked eagerly holding up the chopsticks in hand.

"leah, my love we tried this last time." you smiled sympathetically but unable to say no to her pleading eyes you walked her through it, the brunette eventually dropping them to the table with a clatter and a list of swear words dropped from her lips when she didn’t even get close to success.

"fuck this." leah grumbled, snatching the fork you'd made sure to have on hand for her and stabbing the chicken role before shoving it angrily into her mouth in one go.

"what?" your girlfriend asked with a frown, mouth still crammed full of food having you wince.

“you know sometimes i miss when we weren't so comfortable around each other."

~

"so obviously the walls are off limits! they are cement though so i wouldn't recommend to hit them anyway, because the shock of the bat hitting it could break your hand." the worker shrugged casually as you and your girlfriend shared a look of concern at his laidback demeanour.

"well thats everything. have fun ladies!" he shrugged, stepping out and closing the door as music filled the room. "ready?" leah grinned wolfishly, stepping forward and tugging your glasses down over your eyes for you as you nodded eagerly and music began to blast through the room.

"go!" you yelled, leah swinging her bat at a stack of plates as you cheered and the music got a little louder. you watched on with a grin as your girlfriend wreaked havoc, letting out a war cry and this time hauling a few plates at the wall by hand.

"go on babe!" the blonde encouraged with a wave as you lifted your bat and swung at an old computer monitor barely knocking it over. "nah you can do better than that my girl. think about that prick from your old job, the one we used to scream into the pillows about!" leah remembered suddenly, clicking her fingers as your eyes narrowed.

a sudden rage filling your body you let out a war cry of your own and swung at an old tv sending the glass screen flying in hundreds of tiny pieces around the room.

"christ babe i didn't know you could hit like that." ella whistled in shock. "fancy a bit of baseball?" you gave her a wolfish grin holding up a mug to toss in her direction as she perked up and readied her bat.

"you know you should really bring captain kimmy here babe, im sure dealing with you lot everyday she has a lot of pent up rage."

[vanesycho]

• bsf's dad!chan x f!reader | m.list

| It doesn't seem like a good idea to tease your friend's dad.

warning | smut(ofc), dirty talk, overstimulating, ruined orgasm

word count | 1,2k

from the moment your friend pushed you in front of him with a smile on her face and said "dad, she's the friend I told you about" you knew it wouldn't be your last time at this house. you briefly looked at the hand he extended to you and reached out the same. his hand, which was bigger than yours, tightly wrapped around yours "well, pleasure to meet you sweetheart"

and that was all. he rarely left his office for the rest of the day. so that's why you decided to go to him instead "um..if you want, i can take the coffee to him while you choose the movie." only you knew the desire to see him again behind the innocent eyes of yours "oh okay then" the cup in your hand brought a smile to your face, you soon found yourself in front of his office door and knocked.

after a while of silence, the door opened, chan raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw you "oh- is there a problem young lady?" you briefly extended the coffee in your hand to him, your action made him smile sincerely, his narrowed eyes and the dimples you saw made you wet your dry lips. "wow, thank you, i really needed this actually."

at that moment, chan thought about how kind and ladylike you were, he loved that his daughter was making friends with such a nice person. the next time you came home, he always greeted you with a smile, not knowing the thoughts behind your gaze.

"oh fuck." said your friend "language." she rolled her eyes and mumbled "sorry dad— anyway i forgot to get the most important ingredient for the cake, i'll be right back." your gaze turned to him the moment she left the kitchen, he was at the kitchen counter, taking out the ingredients in the bags, you took the opportunity and stand up, approach him "you're someone to be proud of, you take care of your daughter all by yourself... but doesn't being alone get tiring?" chan stopped at the question directed to him and locked his eyes with yours "well...you get used to it, time flies when you're busy." he politely brushed it off, but that didn't end yet, your eyes began to scan him shamelessly from head to toe "i mean...you're a really nice looking guy. i'm surprised that you're not seeing someone." he pulled his eyes away from you with what he heard and cleared his throat, the tension on his face made your smile even bigger "thank you...but these are not things to talk about."

you knew it would be easy to tease him, you could see that he was trying to push himself back but his gaze, the change in his breathing gave it all away. he just didn't want to convince himself that he wanted you.

now, the face that greeted you with a smile when you came home had turned into a tense expression. he avoided being alone in the same place with you but you weren't going to give up, he understood that when you entered the room without knocking. "I would've preferred you knock on the door." the fact that he was still trying to sound distant made you laugh. you made sure to lean in close enough to him as you placed the coffee on the table. chan felt dizzy the moment he smelled your perfume, his eyes drifted to the open buttons of your shirt and down to your breasts, he let out a shaky breath "If you're really interested, I can show you more." he cursed under his breath. no, you were never the innocent and kind girl he thought you were. you were a young naughty girl who didn't know how to behave. and the first chance he got, he was going to show you what happened to naughty girls.

you had gotten him to the point you wanted him to be, so you decided to pay him another little visit. unannounced. the day your friend was out with her friends.

when chan opened the door, the person he saw while waiting for his daughter made him hold his breath for a moment, you went inside without waiting too long. the familiar scent of perfume made his head spin again as he closed the door behind him and followed you. your steps took you to his room "I assume you didn't come for my daughter." you raised your head towards him and tilted it slightly "right guess, she's with her other friends, what could I do...? I got bored so I thought I could at least see you, did I do good?"

he ran his tongue across his cheek angrily "you don't know how to behave yourself, do you?" he took a step towards you, hand gripping your arm tightly. his grip made you whine in pain at first, but he didn't stop. he kept walking until your foot hit the bed, losing your balance and falling backwards. you watched him as he leaned over you "I gave you plenty of time to stop didn't I? so what did you do? you ignored my warnings and did your own thing." you could tell how serious and angry he was. the coldness in his voice had literally given you goosebumps.

chan got up off you, so you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him. noticed his hands going down to his own pants "well then. you asked for it, you'll get it." after hearing that sentence, something inside you was awakened by how easy it was to get what you wanted.

but chan wasn't going to let you experience the pleasure fully.

a groan filled your ear as you beg "please..." but your begging only made him continue more "mm..what's that? wasn't you the one who wanted it? you worked so hard to get my cock in that tight little pussy didn't you? I'm giving you what you want." his big thick cock was filling your walls, your pussy was being destroyed with each hard thrust but you still hadn't come completely. "wanna..cum.." you weren't even sure If you were heard anymore because none of your pleas were working.

"you really think you deserve to cum? you horny naughty girl, shouldn't think there won't be any consequences for what you do." your legs were shaking, you were on the verge of tears from the sensitivity of your body.

chan felt himself close to cumming, his vocals increasing "fuck—" he was making sure you took the full length. your body started to tensed, felt close to cumming again " 'm close..wanna cum..fuck— please.."

chan held your hips tightly where you were sure there would be a mark "yes, fucking cum baby, you can cum on this cock yeah? c'mon, make me proud." after a few hard thrusts you finally came with a loud moan, then chan came on your stomach.

while you try to catch your breath, he leaned closer to your face and kissed your forehead "there you go. you better not test me again or it won't be good for you, understand?"

taglist:

[amdiriel]

lonely pt. 2

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: After a vulnerable moment of comfort, Reader tries to navigate Azriel’s increasingly flirtatious behavior without assuming anything. Because she really shouldn’t. Right?

WARNINGS: FLUFF, slight suggestiveness, a bit of hurt but SO much comfort, not proofread we die like men

NOTE: thanks for so much love on part 1! I have some ideas for new Az fics, so lmk if you're interested in being on my Azriel taglist! xox diri

WORDS: ~4.2k

part 1 main masterlist

•••

It had been about a week and a half since my little breakdown in my room, my cycle coming and going just days after it. I attributed my moment of uncharacteristic hopelessness to hormones.

I hoped Azriel would too, since I had trouble fully looking him in the eye ever since out of embarrassment. After a night of deep rest post-letting-it-all-out, I woke the next morning to a spill of hindsight in my mind, grumbling at my ridiculousness into my pillow. Despite my cycle being a royal pain in my ass, it was a few days where I could hide safely in my room.

So the next few days, I was determined to be fine. I was great, living the dream, no worries here, wielding a grin and a dry joke as always.

The first day after my cycle ending, I wake up to blissful absence of pain in my abdomen, and treat myself to a long bath.

Afterwards, I take advantage of a brisk morning walk, the sunshine making the late winter weather less intolerably cold. I barely get two blocks from the River House before a shadow passes over my head.

I tilt my head back, squinting through the direct sunlight. Then the shadow descends at an alarmingly fast rate and touches down near-silently beside me. “Good morning,” Azriel murmurs.

I jump at his sudden appearance, the bubbling nervousness at his closeness making it more pronounced. “Shit—Azriel,” I gasp, calming myself with a breath. “What the hell?”

He chuckles lowly and nudges me slightly as he matches my resuming pace. “Sorry. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” he says, not sorry at all.

I huff and roll my eyes, even as my lips curl up as well. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You need to wear a bell.” His laugh curls around me.

“I’m not sure it would go with my leathers,” he pretends to muse. “A collar would really ruin the effect of my scariness. Not to mention the whole point of being Spymaster.”

I snort, shaking my head. He nudges me again, drawing my gaze back up to him. I find his eyes warmly on me.

“I’m glad to see you out and about,” he says. “I was worried about you.”

I let the sweet words warm me for a quick moment before I huff a small laugh. “It’s my cycle, not sickness. I’m good.”

He shrugs. “Still. I know it’s much worse for you and your sisters now that you’re all fae. You handling them alright?”

My expression softens. “You’re sweet. I’m fine. I didn’t have much pain as a human, so I think as far as fae cycles go, my pain now is relatively mild. I mostly just don’t want to do anything,” I reply with a shrug of my own.

Azriel eyes me for a moment. “Alright. But you’ll let me know if you need anything, right? I haven’t forgotten about our agreement, you know,” he says with a sly smirk.

It takes a second for it to dawn, but soon a blush blooms on my face as I remember that night. I huff a sigh, finding it within me to laugh a little at myself. “So, what, you want me to come to you any time I have a problem?” I ask dryly.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he answers plainly.

I give him a look. “Are you now our resident therapist too?” I deadpan. “Your resume’s long enough, Shadowsinger, you can take a pause every once in a while.”

He laughs again, shaking his head at me. “I may be busy, but never for you. Never for family,” he replies, and with such sincerity in his eyes that my steps falter for a moment.

Fuck. What happened to cool and collected, Archeron?

But I swallow and arch a brow. “Sweet. But you’re barely here enough to be able to do so for the many members of our ever-growing household,” I say, thinking about our nephew Nyx.

He shrugs a shoulder, his wings unfurling then furling in a subtle motion that catches my eye. I’d always found them fascinating. “Then how about this—I’ll never be too busy for you,” he says, a note saucily that my widened eyes turn upon his smirking face.

I grasp for words for a moment, and I see his eyes delight at my moment of hesitation. I shut my mouth and switch tactics, laughing. “Why Az, you are positively Rhys-like today.”

His brows raise, expression lighting in challenge. “Oh am I? Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

I bite hard on the inside of my cheek at that damned pet name again. This male just made it so bloody difficult to be dignified at all. I swear, every moment in his presence is a fight for my life. “You’re all—” I gesticulate over his person, “Swaggering. It’s unnerving. Please, for my sanity, resume your duties as our resident brooder. You’re putting me off.”

His head tilts back with a hearty laugh that startles me into astonishment. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he drawls, suddenly feeling like he’s looming over me.

Stupid, tree-like male.

I don’t reply except for a disbelieving huff at his forward behavior. His smirk is self satisfied as he halts, taking a step back with a sketch of a bow.

“You’ll have to resume your walk without me, Ms. Archeron,” he says, and I wrinkle my nose at the use of my surname. His smiling eyes rove over it, dipping to my lips before locking with my own gaze again. “Think you can manage?”

I scoff and manage to flip him off as his enormous wings unfurl and beat his figure into the air. His rumbling chuckle disappears as his shape grows smaller in the sky.

—

The following days, he wasn’t as blatantly swaggering, as I had called him, but he was…

Forward. Disarmingly so.

I couldn’t seem to avoid his presence if I tried, if merely to kick some sense back into myself. First it was the library—when I had settled into the cozy window seat, my usual perch, an hour into my reading, he had strode in his silent yet confident way of his. I had stilled, as if hoping he’d simply not notice me. Fool. He notices everything. And he certainly had wasted no time sidling up to my perch and leaning over to observe what I was reading. His warmth and masculine scent was a pleasant yet oppressive blanket to my poor sensibilities. And I barely survived when he had hummed “Any good?” practically into my ear.

Or there was lunchtime—I’d wander into the kitchen to make something quick and simple for myself, and when I walked into the dining room he’d be sitting there already, looking up with a small, unassuming smile. When he bade simply, “Sit with me”, I had no choice but to obey and eat with him. In my suspicion, I confess that I switched the times I went to get lunch by random intervals, in which each and every time he either was already there or showed up soon after.

I couldn’t tell if it just happened that way, or if he was being overly clever in his intentional variation.

Now, three weeks post-meltdown incident, Azriel had been gone a few days on Cauldron-knows-what business, so I’d loosened up, no longer bracing myself like he could walk into the room at any second.

Which is apparently my folly, since as soon as I round the corner into the dining room one morning, I found him standing at the sideboard, back toward me, making a cup of tea.

I halted, nearly rearing back as my mouth started to form the word shit, but quickly clamping it down. But even the smallest of noise alerts someone as discerning as him.

He turns and calls my name with quiet warmth, and I banish the wince from my face. “Hey,” I say simply. “When did you get back?”

“Last night,” he says, abandoning his tea to draw near. My head tilts back as he stops in front of me. “How have you been?” he asks with a soft smile.

His quiet care is almost more flustering than his forwardness. “Well. Fine,” I answer. “And you? Your mission or whatever successful?”

He huffs amusedly. “My mission or whatever was just fine,” he replies. Then he returns to the sideboard. “Tea?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Just bla—”

“Just black. I know,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at me. I blink in surprise, cheeks pink. He’s been paying close enough attention that he knows that?

Of course he has, dummy. He probably has dossiers on everyone in this city with information down to the way they take their tea, the pragmatic voice in my head deadpans. You’re no exception.

I blink again as he draws near with a second cup, passing it to me. I take it with a small thank you, sipping it gratefully.

Just when I start to squirm on my feet at the silence between us, he speaks. “About what we talked about that night a few weeks ago—” I still. “You’re alright in that regard? And don’t lie, I’ll be able to tell.”

I huff a sound between a sigh and laugh, looking down. “Well, I haven’t had a night as bad as that one since then, so that’s good right?” I say with wry self-deprecation. He doesn’t reply. “But really, I’m alright. Just winter blues, I suppose.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

I roll my eyes in a small flash of annoyance. “Alright, not just winter blues. But they certainly don’t help. But I’m fine. Really. You did really help that night,” I admit softly.

I don’t really notice my teacup is empty until he gently takes it from my hand and sets it next to his already abandoned cup. “What helped most, sweetheart?” he asks gently.

My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth—speaking my vulnerability aloud both impossible and foreign. Letting him in last time didn’t hurt. It helped, a small voice whispers in my head.

I take a breath. “Just—talking through it. Physical touch too, um…” I fight to stay steady. “It’s grounding.”

He hums, nodding. There’s a light touch to both my elbows, and my eyes shift down to find that he’d silently reached for me. I allow the touch, but don’t dare go further, suspended in the fear of the unknown.

“You don’t have to be afraid to ask for that,” he murmurs quietly. Suddenly I’m very aware of the air we’re sharing, how close he’s gotten to me. His hands slide slowly to my upper arms, my breath hitching as the warmth of his palms bleed through even my heavy sweater.

The panic sets in before I can think this interaction through, before I can rationalize that maybe, just maybe he wants to be close to me, wants to touch me. Instead my eyes find the clock and seize the subject change before me. “Don’t you have Valkyrie training in five minutes?”

Azriel stills and follows my gaze to the clock. His jaw works once before the fleeting tension is gone. “You’re right. I should go.” He squeezes my upper arms gently before letting his hands drop. “Stay warm today. Wind is supposed to get bad, and temperatures will drop rapidly once the sun sets.”

I nod, giving him a brief smile. “Of course, you too. Stay warm, I mean.”

He returns my smile before leaving the room.

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs as soon as I’m alone again. Idiot. Silly, foolish girl.

—

Azriel was at his wits end.

He’d been pulling far more stops than his usual personality allowed, hadn’t he? She was certainly clever enough to notice that he was acting much differently around her, right? Had he just not been forward enough?

And still, she did not allow him closer, as close as two people could be. He'd given her every sign he could think of without embarrassing himself.

Impossible girl. Can’t you understand that all I want is to comfort and coddle you?

He must not have taken care to erase any tension in his expression by the time he touched down in the ring atop the House of Wind, because Cassian’s brows raised upon seeing him.

Azriel just had to cast him a cool look for his brother to relent, though he caught the half-smirk on the General’s face as he turned toward the group of priestesses warming up and began training.

It was during sparring that Nesta finally deigns to sidle up beside him as he watches a match. “So. What the hell’s going on between you and my sister?”

He stills for just a moment before erasing the reaction. He debates lying to his friend, but she’ll call him on it. He doesn't think she’ll warn him off her sister either, so finally he admits evenly, “Much less than I would like.”

The eldest Archeron huffs a laugh. “I appreciate you sparing me a lie. Honestly, Az? My sister is just supremely oblivious, clever as she is. If nothing else has worked at this point, you just need to lay one on her.”

He chokes and turns his head toward her. “I would never. Not without her express permission—”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Gods, males can be so boring. At the very least you need to sit her down and make sure she doesn’t leave until she understands exactly what your intentions are. Then you can lay one on her, if she’s amenable to it.”

Azriel takes a deep breath, letting the words sink into his turbulent mind. “I don’t want to scare her,” he admits after a pause.

“You won’t,” she replies instantly. “She’s not afraid of you, she never could be. In truth, my sister is scared of very little. But based on the fact that she’s never had a romantic attachment before, what seems like indifference is likely just borne out of nervousness.”

“I don’t want to make her nervous either.”

“It’s not you that does. It’s just—being vulnerable. Emotionally intimate with someone,” Nesta says. “Years of fighting with her have taught me that she’ll hide anything behind biting wit or a laugh and joke. I think that’s what makes it all the more difficult to understand.”

He doesn’t reply.

“But speaking not as her sister, she definitely is attracted to you,” Nesta continues. “Speaking as her sister?” He looks at her cool features. “Don’t fuck it up.” Then she stalks away to Gwyn and Emerie.

Azriel forces down a growl. Tonight. He'd do it tonight or hell, he'd go crazy from this dance around the line. He'd spent too many centuries wanting this, wanting companionship for him to squander an opportunity with, at last, a female that he connected so deeply with. A female that seemed to need his touch as badly as he needed hers.

So...yes. He'd had quite enough of waiting.

—

True to Azriel's word, it did end up being very cold today.

I forgo any ideas of taking a walk, but I did end up camping out in the warmth of Feyre's study, taking turns with her to organize some of her paperwork or play with Nyx on the floor. My nephew (and his poor parents) had had some rough nights due to the last dregs of his teething pain, but it was good to see him smiling and playing despite it all. Rhysand stopped in frequently, unable to stay from his mate and son for extended periods of time, and after the fourth time Feyre shooed him out with their laughing, squirming son in his arms.

Our bi-weekly dinner fell that evening. Usually I enjoyed it.

Usually.

The dinner was fine. But I was so chilled that I took the opportunity of warmth from any hot dish passed around to me. I shiver for the upteenth time as Azriel passes me the potatoes.

"Cold?" he murmurs close beside me, and I shiver again. Not from the cold, damn him.

"Freezing," I retort instead, scooping potatoes on my plate. "Doesn't Rhys have this place warded to hell? Why is it so drafty?"

Azriel chuckles lowly. "How do you know that it isn't just you?" he teases.

I shoot him a look. "No, no, Mr. 'Stay Warm Today', I'm quite certain it isn't."

He laughs again, and it warms me only temporarily. I finish before everyone else, per usual. Not only do I tend to eat fast, but I'm also not caught up in constant conversation. Bored, my eyes travel the room, around my friends. My family. Even in my relaxed, two-glasses-of-wine haze, my mind doesn't fail to notice how paired up they all seem to have gotten.

Feyre and Rhys feed a fussy Nyx in his highchair, Rhys's eyes roaming over his mate and child with unrepressed love. Cassian's arm was slung around Nesta's shoulder, my usually stoic sister slumped comfortably into his side. Varian looked down at Amren next to him like she was the most fascinating creature alive, which...wasn't entirely a subjective statement, considering her interesting history.

Even Elain was speaking in shy tones with Lucien, who watched her with amused adoration. I had been so proud of my younger sister for finally realizing that she could just as well choose him as not choose him. They were taking it slow, she'd been telling me recently, but she begrudgingly had found that her mate was, indeed, her perfect match.

But as with all my friends and family, my happiness for them comes at a cost. To myself.

I turn and opened my mouth to chase away the tightness in my chest, but found that the Spymaster next to me was turned away, engaging Mor in conversation on his other side.

I quickly clamp my mouth shut and instead go for my wine.

Gods, hadn't Feyre mentioned there was some sort of will-they won't-they situation between the two of them? Something that had been brewing for the five centuries they'd known each other? It was none of my business, of course, and I hardly paid attention, but even I noticed that it had been pretty consistently they-won't in the past few years of living here.

Right?

Azriel laughs at something she says, and suddenly I feel sick.

Cauldron. Was I going to be the only one left?

And even worse—had I also been imagining his forwardness with me as of late?

There's a rushing in my ears and I tune out completely, going blissfully blank.

I hardly recall cleanup. Or the migration to the living room. My body seems to draw itself to the fireplace, a hand lifting to drag a blanket off the back of an armchair as I settle on the floor before the flames.

And as I wrap the blanket around myself, shivering minutely, I can't bring myself to look at what I know I'll find behind me—each couple in the house cuddling for warmth.

—

Azriel's heart aches at the sight of her vibrating form in front of the fire.

He'd taken his place behind the armchair she usually sat in, hoping to finally coax her into having a conversation in the privacy of the hall. Or if things went well, his bedroom.

But instead he watched her walk as if unawake from the dining room to the fireplace in the living room. Unblinking. Not looking at anyone else.

He doesn't know what to do.

He also doesn't realize that a shadow had flitted to her until it came slinking back to his shoulder, whispering, Upset. Crying.

His heart broke. Oh, sweetheart.

He felt suspended in air, in time for a moment. Everyone was lounging, cuddling in their respective pairs, speaking quietly with one another. Distracted. So he took a gamble.

And silently pushed forward.

—

I felt him before I heard or saw him.

I lock up as I feel his warm body settle on the rug, not quite directly behind me, but not quite beside me either.

His touch was warm, intentional.

Mother, I needed intentional touch so badly.

I hadn't realize how upset I had gotten until the first cold tear spills down my cheek. I wipe hastily at it.

"Hey," he coos softly in my ear, his arm coming firmly around me and drawing me into him. I sniff, shooting a panicked glance over my shoulder since everyone was in the room right now. I barely register that his wings block any sight of the two of us from the rest of the room before his gentle hand guides my chin back to look up at him. "No one can see, sweet girl," he murmurs. "You're alright."

The lump tightens painfully in my throat as a second, third tear spill down my face. "Sorry," I mouth, unable to get any sound out.

"Stop," he whispers gently. "You're alright. You're safe." His hand slides to the back of my head and I let myself be guided to the shelter of his embrace, once again in his lap as I silently shake. "Are you feeling that way again?"

I nod silently.

He sighs. "Sweetheart. Why don't you just let me in?"

I untuck my wet face from his shoulder to glance confusedly up at him. "I...I am," I breathe. "You're—you're hugging me."

He shakes his head, cradling my face with both hands. "I mean: why don't you let me into that head of yours? That world? Most importantly, why can't you just let me into your heart?"

Said heart seems to stutter and stop beating.

There's a long moment where my lips don't form words, don't do anything except lay parted, slack. "What do you mean?" I finally blurt, a note of tightness in my voice.

His jaw works and he sighs heavily through his nose. "Sweetheart, is it so impossible to understand that this whole time you've found yourself lonely at the sight of everyone paired off that maybe I want to be that person for you? Your person?"

"Wh—you?" I sputter on a whisper as everything dawns, hell, practically crashes down upon me. The denial comes a split second after. "No."

"Yes."

My expression shutters in emotion. "There's no way—"

"There is," he murmurs with an adoring smile on his handsome face, thumbs brushing at my tears. "And you can't change that, ever. But what you can do is let me in."

I take a shuddery breath, in and out. "Let you in?"

He nods.

"Be my person?" I croak. "And I be yours?"

The words seem to have an effect on him, his chest puffing for a moment before deflating again. His hands cradle my face like I'm precious. I've never felt more so than in his lap. "Yes, sweet girl. Mine. And I, yours."

A release another uneven breath, feeling my body go warm all over. "I—I never thought that I...that you could want this with me. Could want me," I rasp.

He smiles. "But I do. I have for a long time."

I let out a little wet laugh. "Gods, I—" I shake my head. "I don't feel like asking questions right now. I've wanted you too, for so long. I just didn't want to delude myself, to make a fool of myself in front of you when you're so..."

He raises a brow but his eyes remain warm. "So?"

"So perfect, damn you," I finish, no real malice behind my words. When he laughs this time, I feel it seep directly through my chest and into my soul.

"You're the perfect one, sweetheart," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to my hairline like he had those weeks ago. "In more ways than one." He draws back to look at me, and I return his gaze with nothing but openness, with love. Then he breathes, "May I kiss you?"

Heat blooms across my cheeks, but I give him a little nod. "You may."

He dips his chin ever so slowly, and when his soft, full lips finally meet mine, my eyes slip shut. Tentative, and so gentle with me, he dares his tongue over my bottom lip. Though I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, I let him through.

The first swipe of his tongue, this hungrier kiss sets my soul ablaze, his hands travel to wrap around my waist, drawing my chest against his.

We kiss quietly yet needy for Cauldron knows how long. All I know is that I’m breathless, fuzzy, and light by the time I draw away softly. He chases my lips a moment more before settling his forehead against mine.

Breathing the same air.

A giddy smile tugs at my features, and I giggle with blushing embarrassment. “They definitely know what’s going on,” I whisper, fighting the urge to peek. He chuckles lowly and draws me closer, depositing a kiss on my shoulder, my jaw, then my lips.

“I sent them out,” he replies. My brows raise. “I told Rhys mind-to-mind that if he didn’t get everyone out, I’d quit.”

A laugh bubbles up within me. “Liar. He just decided to have mercy on us. On me, at least.”

Azriel grins, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Boyish. Free.

“Kiss me again,” I whisper. And he does.

That night, he takes me to his room, scooping me under the covers and into his body. I’m too wired, too happy to fall asleep right away. It’s when I watch him slip into dreamland, the most relaxed I’ve seen him, that there’s a tug within my chest.

A soft glow flickers to life deep in my soul. I smile and let the tears fall as I feel what I think is the bond.

I settle in. I’ll tell him tomorrow.

•••

NOTE: i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it! i have an idea for a short series taking place post-ACOSF, where Reader is part of a group in Montesere that’s sort of adjacent to the Valkyries, and she comes to visit the Library, so I’ll start drafting if anyone is interested k love you bye! -diri

TAG LIST: @lilah-asteria @salvatoresister1 @a-courtof-azriel @thestartitaness @casiiopea2 @kk191327 @missxmarvelous @saltedcoffeescotch

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[daeniradraconis]

Can I get a soft, cozy Quinn Hughes fic? Something that feels like a warm hug? 🥺

Thank you so much for your request! 💕 I’m really sorry for the wait—I truly hope you love it! ✨

Sewn with Love

You never really meant to steal all of Quinn’s hoodies. It just kind of… happened.

It started with one—the navy blue Michigan one he let you borrow after a late-night skate. Then came another, a Canucks hoodie you pulled on after one of his games because the rink was freezing. Then a gray one, an oversized black one, a few more you conveniently forgot to return.

At first, Quinn would roll his eyes and make half-hearted attempts to reclaim them.

“You know I do need to wear clothes, right?” he had teased one morning, plucking at the hem of the hoodie you were currently swimming in.

“You have plenty,” you’d countered, pulling the sleeves over your hands, completely unfazed.

And eventually, he stopped asking for them back.

The teasing never quite faded, though. Whenever he caught you in one of his hoodies, he’d just shake his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. He never said much, but you could tell—he liked it. Maybe even more than you did.

So when your birthday rolled around, you weren’t expecting anything huge. A dinner, maybe a thoughtful gift—Quinn wasn’t flashy, and honestly, just spending time with him was enough.

But what you woke up to was… unexpected.

Standing at the foot of your bed, hands stuffed in his pockets, was Quinn. Draped over his arms was something large, something soft, something familiar.

You blink, sitting up groggily. “What—”

“Happy birthday,” he says quickly, shifting his weight like he’s nervous. Then, in one smooth motion, he lifts the fabric and lets it unfold in his hands.

It’s a blanket.

But not just any blanket.

Your breath catches as you take in the patchwork of fabric, stitched together in uneven, but clearly careful lines. And then, realization crashes over you like a wave.

It’s made from his hoodies.

All of them.

“You did not,” you whisper, barely able to process it.

Quinn scratches the back of his neck. “I, uh… figured since you basically stole them, I might as well make it official.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something deeper underneath. A kind of quiet sincerity he’s never been great at saying out loud.

You reach out, running your fingers over the fabric, memories stitched into every piece. The navy blue Michigan hoodie is now part of one corner, the Canucks logo peeking out from another. You can still spot the frayed cuffs of the gray one, the one you wore so much it practically molded to your shape.

And then, you notice it—stitched into the fabric, small but unmistakable, are words. A few along each patch, written in slightly uneven embroidery.

The first time you stole this one, you kissed me. The night you visited me at UMich, you borrowed this. You wore this one to my first game with the Canucks. You took this during Christmas break and never gave it back.

Your fingers tremble as you trace the stitching, your heart swelling with every word. You look up at him, eyes wide. “You remembered all of this?”

Quinn’s ears tinge pink, and he shifts awkwardly. “Yeah. Of course I did.” He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “They weren’t just hoodies to you. And… they weren’t just hoodies to me, either.”

You swallow, emotion thick in your throat. Each memory, each moment, immortalized in the fabric, just like the feelings between you.

“You cut them up?” Your voice is caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Well… yeah,” he says, watching your reaction carefully. “I mean, it’s not like I was getting them back in one piece anyway.”

You gape at him, then back at the blanket, your heart nearly bursting. “Quinn, this is…” You shake your head, overwhelmed. “This is insane.”

He shifts again, like he’s unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “I, uh… I did all the sewing myself,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Watched a bunch of YouTube videos. Poked my fingers a million times. It’s kinda messy, but I wanted to do it myself.”

You run a hand over one of the seams, slightly uneven but carefully done. “Wait—you actually sewed this?”

“Badly.”

Your chest tightens. “That’s—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

His lips twitch, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “So you like it?”

You don’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you push back the covers and practically launch yourself into his arms. He lets out a soft oof as you bury your face in his shoulder, the scent of fresh laundry and something unmistakably him wrapping around you.

His arms tighten around you, warm and steady, his chin resting lightly against your hair.

“Thank you,” you murmur against his hoodie (which, ironically, is one of the few he has left). “I love it.”

You feel him exhale, the tension in his body melting. “Good,” he says softly. “’Cause you’re kinda stuck with it.”

You smile, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes are warm, fond, and maybe just a little shy.

“Quinn?” you say, tilting your head.

“Yeah?”

You smirk, tugging lightly at the hoodie he’s currently wearing. “This one’s next.”

He groans, but the way he pulls you closer tells you he doesn’t actually mind.

[1d1195]

Chances

~5k words

From Me: It's been about 2 minutes since my last love at first sight story so I figured that was long enough for another one. Just a silly little thing.

Warnings: A tiny bit of smut. Also she's shorter than Harry (only relevant for 20 seconds, max). Other than that, should be fluff fluff fluff.

Summary: Airports are gross, overpriced, and extremely anxiety-inducing. She hates being there.

But it's also where she sits with a really cute guy who makes her feel like she's flying from the moment she looks at him and before takeoff even begins.

What was it about airports that were so romantic? Everyone knew how gross they were. A petri dish of diseases on every surface. Overpriced food and drinks. Not to mention the exorbitant price of books and magazines. Almost everyone passing through was stressed with worry about missing their flight, losing their bag, losing their kid, or personal items. She was one of them. Even with an hour and half cushion she was worried it would take off or something while she was going to get a coffee.

Which was perhaps why she didn’t notice where she chose to sit at her gate. All that anxiety festering and building in her that only the relief of flopping into one of the seats near an outlet would release. She put her coffee in the little cup holder, tucked her bag beneath her feet and placed the overpriced book on her lap.

Someone called out for another person making her head tip up at the noise.

It was fate. Destiny. Whatever corny thing a romance writer would say it was. But there were only so many places her eyes could fall, and they happened to land on him.

What was it about making eye contact with a guy her age at the airport that made her feel like she was in a Hallmark movie? He gave her a polite smile. One that was downright pretty. Too pretty to be on a man's lips and one that made her heart skip a beat.

Hence why she was thinking about the romanticism of the airport in the first place.

She sincerely hoped she returned his kind smile because at the very least she didn’t want to be rude. But it was all a matter of seconds; this little romance novel scene she was playing out. Her cheeks felt warm with a rush of blood to her skin before she dropped her gaze back to her book. She had to. If she didn’t, she was going to do something crazy like profess how taken she was with him after meeting those stunning green eyes for half a second like the love at first sight she saw in movies.

But was that his gaze she felt heating up her skin? She refused to look up, but the words of her novel blurred together, and she could only think about how blue was one of her favorite colors growing up but green might have kicked that right out of the top spot in that moment.

*

Their flight was delayed which stressed her out beyond comprehension. It wasn’t even that long but if she didn’t have somewhere to be when she landed, she would have felt a lot better. She swore she was the last person to board the plane, and it only fueled her anxiety further.

But if it weren’t for the delay, her being last, or the fact that she was going to miss the rehearsal dinner for her friend’s wedding, the anxiety of seeing the hot guy from the gate was sitting next to her empty seat was surely going to give her a heart attack at the ripe age of her late twenties.

She felt her cheeks burning in recognition as he smiled again at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

That pretty face that was going to haunt her dreams for a lifetime. “Are you 12A?” He asked. The window seat, fortunately. His voice was warm and gentle.

“Yeah, sorry,” she bit her lip.

He chuckled standing in the aisle to get out of her way so she could get settled. “S’nothing t’apologize for.”

“I’m sure you thought you were going to have the row to yourself,” she sighed and placed her oversized purse on her seat so she could stow her carryon above her head.

“Allow me,” he offered and hoisted the bag to the storage space as if she hadn’t crammed a week’s worth of clothes and shoes inside it for only a long weekend. “S’okay. S’not a big plane. They said it was full.”

Stupid airports and their romantic goggles.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully and slipped into their row.

She noted all of his items were ready: a book tucked into the seat back compartment, a bottle of water stowed there as well, and his phone and headphones that he pulled from his pocket and placed on the tray once he was seated again. She fiddled with her bag, pulling out the items she wanted tucked into the spaces she had easy access to as well. Most importantly, she grabbed the travel package of disinfectant wipes to clean off her little home away from home for the next few hours.

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” he smirked admiring her tidiness.

“I think Covid taught me that airplanes are one of the most disgusting places on the planet.”

He chuckled. “I suppose s’fair,” he nodded in agreement. “D’you have an extra one?” He asked. She nodded and held the little package out to her row-mate. He took two and repeated her routine to clean. The air vent, the tray table, the belt buckle and arm rest. He used the second to wipe down his headphones, phone, and book with a quick swipe. She held out a little sandwich bag she used for trash while on the plane. “Y’must fly a lot,” he smirked at her preparedness.

“Used to,” she took a deep breath. “I still get kind of nervous.”

“Honestly, would think y’were not human if y’didn’t get nervous.”

The announcements were being made and she focused on the flight attendants and their safety demonstration. Well, tried to. The man beside her was so handsome it was like he demanded to be stared at; it was hard not to comply to such a silent request. He looked effortlessly comfortable and so attractive it was unfair. But maybe it was those stupid airport goggles making her fall in love with someone relatively close to her age and perhaps he was only a little hot.

But as he reached for the air vent again, his sweatshirt sleeve slid down his wrist so that her eyes darted to his forearm and landed on the tattoo on the inside of his arm. It wasn’t even something she would qualify as a sexy tattoo, but it was there. As it appeared in her vision, all her dignity, self-respect, and thought of him being only a little hot, flew right out the window.

Stupid men.

The plane jolted a little as it started its take-off, making her gasp and she gripped the armrest tight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as it settled into its rhythm. The final announcement that the ascent was going to begin came through the speaker and the plane got quiet as it always did at that time. “Hey, love?”

It was pathetic she recognized his voice already. Pathetic that she was going to respond to the little pet name. They had barely spoken. But the two little words were soft and sexy. In a gentle kind of way. She peeked out of one eye to glance at him. She swallowed thickly around the nerves. “Uh... yeah?”

“I can hold your hand, if y’want. S’just a tight grip y’got on m’arm,” it was so gentle. He didn’t even sound annoyed or pained. She gasped again, released his arm from her goddamn death grip, and covered her mouth. How fucking embarrassing. She didn’t even notice.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“No, s’fine,” he assured her, his smile was so kind. Like she was a wounded bird that he found after it flew into the window. “Here,” he offered pulling her hand from her mouth and laced their fingers together. “M’not a fan of takeoff either,” he explained giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Did he feel how perfectly their hands fit together? Or did she imagine it? These airplane goggles were thick as hell. She was fucked when she got off the plane and never saw him again. They were silent during the remainder of the ascent and once the bell signaled that they could unbuckle, the pilot announced they were at cruising altitude, Harry gave her hand a squeeze again before releasing it.

“Thank you,” the sincerity in his voice made her blush and she was glad it was dark on the plane and the flight would remain dark. Because if she had to see how pretty his face was for the whole flight, she wasn’t going to make it. It was unfair that someone so handsome was seated next to her and she would never see him again. Someone who was thanking her for holding her hand. After she tried to rip his arm hair out.

Did his hand feel cold? Her hand felt cold. It was so ridiculous she just wanted to scream.

She had the worst luck.

*

Harry had the best luck. The pretty girl from the gate was in the same row as him. He got to hold her hand. The flight was only five or so hours long and the thought of it being delayed was miserable. But there she was looking so unbelievably beautiful.

There’s a REALLY pretty girl at my gate. He texted Mitch the second he saw her.

You better not be creepy. Sarah says there’s NOTHING worse than a guy being creepy at the airport.

I’m not going to make my soulmate uncomfortable. I’m just going to ask her every question that pops into my head to get to know her, and then ask how many kids she wants to have with me.

...Best of luck to her.

I’m probably not even going to talk to her :( She looks busy and what are the chances she’ll be sitting next to me? There’s no way I have that kind of luck.

But Harry did have that luck it seemed. The pretty girl was tucked into their row against the window, her head resting against the side of the plane. She was clean, organized, and adorable. He liked how she spoke to the flight attendant. Like she was a hinderance by being a passenger. It was sweet and he admired her kindness and thoughtfulness. She was so grateful when Harry handed her the little bag of pretzels and the drink she got.

“Reading something good?” She asked quietly.

Harry smiled and held it out to her so she could read the back cover. “Something m’sister recommended.”

She intently read the words on the back and nodded. “I think I’m going to add it to my never-ending list.”

God, he wanted to say he could give it to her when he was finished. But he was never going to see her again. So maybe he didn’t have the luck he hoped he did. “How ‘bout you?”

“Um...” she smiled. “It’s nothing... intelligent. It’s a brain-rotting romance thing. I don’t know, I like to read trashy stuff on the plane. Take my mind off it and everything else.”

“I see,” he didn’t ask Gemma a lot of questions, but he knew that meant it was filled with spicy romantic scenes that he could only dream about with someone as pretty as her. But that would be what Sarah called creepy, so he pushed that thought away quickly. “M’not a huge e-book person.”

“They’re good for travel,” she smiled. “I love bookstores, and I think I could build a whole house out of the books I have or want to buy. But traveling... it’s nice to have something compact. But I bought a book at the convenience store before we left. Which is so dumb because the mark up is like an extra ten dollars and I could have gotten it for free on this thing but the Wi-Fi is a bit of a problem sometimes, like I can’t get my new book to—” She paused as Harry listened intently. It was so disarming listening to her talk about books and her e-reader. It was adorable. Her eyes, even in the faint glow from the emergency airplane lights, were lit with excitement. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“No!” He frowned, shaking his head hurriedly. He immediately missed the excitement in her eyes. “Y’weren’t. I never thought ‘bout how the traveling is easier with it. I had t’forgo a whole outfit t’get m’books in m’bag.”

She smiled and sipped her drink. “I always do that. Except I’m sure you felt how heavy my bag was, I didn’t do it this time. I told myself I wasn’t going to overpack and I just couldn’t do it.”

“M’sister has a hard time with it too.”

“It’s impossible, I think. Especially for an event, you know?”

Was Harry still smiling? He couldn’t stop smiling. She just had this air about her. The air between them was vibrating and it wasn’t because of turbulence. She had to feel it, right? Harry couldn’t be imagining this electric feeling that was pulsing between them. They were just sitting there, staring at each other.

“Can I say something crazy?” He asked.

“Crazy? Are you planning on murdering me?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I jus’...” he paused and scanned her face memorizing the moment wondering how on earth he could meet her again. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to have a plane ride back with her. But there couldn’t be that much good luck. “This is a bit...” he trailed off and he chuckled. His face was only inches from hers. She bit her lip.

“Yeah... it is.”

“S’crazy, right?”

She nodded. “It is,” she whispered back.

“Hi,” he said quietly, a smile growing on his face.

“Hi,” she giggled.

*

When the plane began its descent, he held her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. It made her stomach flutter. As they left their little row, her heart hammered in her chest. How unfair it was that she would never see him again. He grabbed her bag from the compartment above and he walked with her all the way to baggage claim. They chatted a little more. Smiling and giggling. She didn’t even realize he was still holding her hand.

At least the airport goggles were working both ways it seemed.

“You let me go on and on about overpacking and you checked a bag?” He smirked, grabbed her hand again and led her toward the rideshare pickup spot. “Can I say something crazy?”

“Are y’planning on murdering me?” He asked.

“You felt it right?”

“Felt what?” The smile melted off her face and she dropped his hand like it burned her. “Whoa, hey,” he laughed and snagged it quick into his again. “S’bad joke,” he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. “Course I felt it.”

She looked at her feet. The seconds felt like hours as she looked for something to say. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she frowned looking back at him.

“Yeah...” He sighed. “It’s...” he sighed. There was so much he wanted to say. So much she wanted to tell him. They needed more time, more space.

She wanted to live on that plane.

Harry wanted to stay at that airport.

She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. It was crazy. Outlandish. Ridiculous. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. He smiled on her mouth making her want to melt. His hand found her lower back, pulled her closer because in just sneakers she couldn’t reach his lips completely. With her firmly in his embrace, he nipped at her lower lip. It was so sinful she shivered.

The honking interrupted their moment, pulling each other apart. “I have to go,” she whispered looking at the Uber that matched the license plate listed on her phone.

“I know.”

“Hi,” she whispered with a quiet laugh.

“Hi.”

“It was... really nice meeting you,” her smile was so goddamn pretty it was going to make Harry cry.

“It was nice meeting you, love,” he answered. Safely tucked her into the back of the cab. She unrolled the window.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry,” he said.

“Harry,” she repeated. “Nice meeting you, Harry.”

*

“You have outdone yourself,” she smiled as she turned. The woman before her had a stunning smile, her hair half pinned, her white silk pajamas shimmering in the light. “They’re stunning.”

“You’re one to talk, I’d give you a hug but I don’t want to mess anything up,” she wrinkled her nose. “You love them?” She asked.

“I love them. They might upstage me.”

“I sincerely doubt it. You look stunning already.”

“Do you hate me for not making you a bridesmaid?”

“God, no,” she shook her head. “I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of person anyway. If you need anything today, I’m your girl,” she promised. “I was too far away,” she shrugged.

“Don’t remind me,” she frowned. “These flowers are the things of dreams. You are the best,” she sighed dreamily. “Can I see my bouquet?” Her frown quickly turned into a smile again. “I’ve been dreaming about it.”

She went to the bucket that was at the edge of what would be the ceremony floor and pulled the bouquet from it. She felt so proud and happy with the arrangement she made for one of her long-time best friends. “Seph,” she smiled. “You look beautiful,” she reminded her.

Persephone grinned admiring the bouquet. “You’re incredible... How was your flight? Other than delayed?”

“It was...” she tried to think about anything but the color green. “Good.”

“Oh?” Seph’s perfectly plucked eyebrow arched suspiciously “How good? Did you join the mile high club?”

“Oh my God, Persephone, of course not.”

“Well, you don’t say good like that if he’s not cute.”

A slight pause as she looked at the ceiling and then back at her friend. “He was really cute.”

“You’re a walking Hallmark movie.”

“That’s literally how I felt.” They giggled then she sighed thinking about the kiss she shared with a stranger. It was so unlike her to get all in a twist about a guy she just met. This wasn’t normal. It was like she was still in the airport. There were so many things they didn’t talk about. So many things she didn’t know about him and never would. It was unfair and yet she couldn’t stop herself from feeling like she was still flying. Shaking her head, she turned to her friend once more. “Alright, I have to finish these flower arrangements. Not sure if you know this, but there’s a wedding happening here tonight.”

“Sorry about your airplane man, babe,” Seph squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey, no frowns. It’s your wedding day,” she turned back to the table she was working on before her friend’s interruption. “I think some moments are meant to just... exist in that moment.”

*

Harry had thought about only three things that day. Breathing, cake, and of course the beautiful girl he met on the plane.

You KISSED her?! Sarah asked.

I know... I’ve never met anyone like her.

That’s a real bummer, Harry, honestly. It was and Sarah was right. At first, he was joking, but now he was certain she was his soulmate, and he just let her go. But what choice did he have? Yes, there was the feeling of his heart beating faster. The excitement of making her laugh. But there was the calmness, the tranquility of being beside her. Holding her hand.

Maybe it was morbid, but Harry was certain he was looking for someone to hold his hand if the plane were to go down and maybe that’s what a soulmate really was.

It was easy. Easy to talk to her, make her laugh. It was easy to get to know her and he didn’t even know anything about her. He didn’t know where she was from, what she did, where she was going, but he just knew that she was his and he let her go. There were too many variables. Too many things he couldn’t control.

“Harry, you almost done?”

“Jus’ putting the finishing touches,” he mumbled.

“We’re going to be late!”

“They won’t start without us,” he rolled his eyes.

“If there is a speck of—”

“I’m clean, I’m clean,” he shook his head, coming to the other room and brushing his hands along his coat. “Let’s get married, yeah?”

*

The maid of honor talked about how lucky the pair of them were to find one another. How there were an infinite number of opportunities for them to not have met but there was this special moment destined for each other. Where Persephone would walk into the library to sit in her favorite study spot and if she wasn’t so superstitious she would have just found another table.

But instead, she walked right up to the table, told her future husband he was in her spot, and she was preparing for an exam, and she wouldn’t let him use her favorite seat.

The best man spoke about how he was actually destined to be with the groom for forever and ever which made the entire place laugh.

But talk of luck and destiny just made her feel miserable on the inside. If she asked for his number or where he lived, it would be hours from where she lived. She would be devastated. A kiss was a good ending to her little story. That would suffice.

Maybe he already had a girlfriend. That would work too. Something to make her feel like a horrible person and lessen the blow that her soulmate was somewhere out there never to be seen again. Harry was just a guy that held her hand on a plane and talked about books with her for hours so she wouldn’t be scared. Someone that split his snacks with her even though she didn’t know him.

No. She couldn’t think about him. She had to stop thinking about him. It wasn’t good for her brain or her heart.

It was a beautiful ceremony. That’s what she needed to focus on. Persephone was a gorgeous bride and the event was just... perfect. “I think I’ve given your name and number to just about every single woman here,” Seph said sliding into a seat beside her and kissed her cheek.

She laughed. “Well thank you,” she smiled. “Let me see,” she held her hand out for the one with her new jewelry and she admired the pretty diamond that glimmered alongside the new band of diamonds below it. “Everything is beautiful.”

“This place is beautiful because of you. Just like you said.”

“Oh... it was beautiful before. I just added to it.”

“I didn’t see it though. It’s a bargain if you can envision it like this. I seriously wouldn’t have picked it without you saying you’d do the flowers,” Seph explained. “You saw so much more than I did.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a place on earth that doesn’t benefit from flowers.”

“Well, thank you,” she squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t be having a wonderful day without you. I know it was a lot to travel out here and—”

“No, no. Don’t even. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Flowers or no flowers.”

Persephone grinned. “Well... in other news... do you see anyone as cute as your airplane man? Lerone has a lot of single friends.”

She smirked and shook her head. “No offense, Seph, but there is no one that’s going to be as cute as my airplane guy.”

“No one?”

Her head snapped up to the voice that she had already planned on dreaming about for the rest of her life. Her eyes met the same green gaze she had the pleasure of looking at for five hours while chatting about books and whispering about nothing of importance (but it all seemed important at the time). There was no way. She didn’t have this kind of luck. If there was a squeaky carriage at the grocery store she was sure to pick it. There was no way that—

“Hi Harry!” Persephone smiled. “Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that,” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hi,” Harry grinned at her.

She cleared her throat, adrenaline flowing through her body. “Hi,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Harry baked our cake. He went to school with Lerone.”

“Oh,” she swallowed.

“And I heard y’did all the work with these pretty flowers,” Harry smiled.

“She’s like the flower queen,” Persephone giggled.

“I see.”

There was a pause while they stared at each other. Harry grinning like a madman, he was sure. But she was stunning. A floral dress draped her body, her hair half pinned up. She was so pretty. Somehow even prettier than the way she looked on the airplane and Harry was certain she could never be prettier than the moment she sat next to him.

“Hi,” she laughed.

“Hi,” he chuckled.

“Of all the gin joints.”

Harry took a seat beside her. Persephone had moved onto the next table and yet, she hadn’t even noticed. “I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you, love,” he grabbed her hand. “Been thinking ‘bout the plane, y’e-reader, and that earth-shattering kiss.”

Her cheeks heated up and Harry reached out to brush his thumb on her cheek. “This is insane,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I don’t have luck like this,” she explained. “I’m the kind of person that has their luggage get lost. Or my coat will snag on the doorknob. If I didn’t want to be paired with someone in a group project in high school, I could guarantee I was going to be in their group.”

“Y’think it’s lucky you’re meeting me?” He practically wiggled his eyebrows. Trying to sound egotistical but all it did was make her fall harder for him.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Well...yeah,” she swallowed. “I mean... what else am I supposed to call it?”

“It doesn’t have t’be luck. Can jus’ be meeting you.”

“I don’t think it works that way for me.”

“Can I dance with you?” He asked.

“I’m not very good and I think there’s a good chance I’ll step on your toes and—”

Harry was already helping her stand and tugging her to the dance floor. She did step on his toes, not hard, but her quiet “sorry” was lost on Harry. It felt perfect to hold her in his arms. One hand in his, her other at the back of his neck, his free hand on the small of her back. They fit like puzzle pieces. “A florist, hmm?” He hummed right by her ear.

“A baker?” She replied.

He chuckled. “What are the chances?”

*

“D’you have any idea how good y’look?” He groaned. She was in just a T-shirt. Harry’s T-shirt. He propped his head in his hand as he looked at her laying in his bed. His finger skimming just below the hem of the shirt. It barely touched her thighs and the only thing that stood in his way was a scrap of fabric she called underwear.

She giggled. “Back at you.”

“This is insane,” he smiled and pressed his lips to hers.

“It is,” she whispered.

If all her bad luck had been to make this weekend happen, she was forever grateful. This was worth it. Harry was worth it. “When’s your flight?”

“Quarter of five. When’s yours?”

“The same, of course.”

She smiled and tucked her face into his chest. “How far away are you from my shop?”

“Only ‘bout a half hour drive,” he told her. “Why?”

“Just... wondering.”

“Jus’ want t’know how much time and distance is between you and a toe-curling orgasm?”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I wasn’t talking ‘bout you,” he peppered a line of kisses down the side of her face and along her neck, down the curve of her shoulder, even when the T-shirt got in the way. “You are so pretty,” he mumbled pulling at his shirt to touch her soft skin and curves. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so pretty.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I’d remember you,” he smiled pressing his lips to her collarbone. He pulled the shirt off her and he brushed his thumbs across her nipples softly. Making them perk up more than they already were with the cold air from the room and no barrier between her. “Definitely remember this,” he mumbled into her skin.

“I have to pack,” she whispered but her voice was air and her resolve wasn’t there.

“Put it in m’checked bag,” his lips were occupied by one of her nipples making it extremely difficult for her to concentrate. “Jus’ shove everything in there. Then s’a promise I’ll see y’after we land.”

Her heart fluttered. “You want to see me again?”

He popped his head up from licking at her like she was candy. The air was even chillier against the sensitive skin without Harry’s warm mouth wrapped around her. “M’sorry, was I not clear?”

She smirked. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about airport goggles.”

“Airport goggles?” He repeated.

“I have really bad luck, Harry. I just worry that the idea of me in an airport because I’m roughly your age... or like, you know airplane food is a real thing? Not just a joke? Something about the altitude messing with your tastebuds or something. So maybe this is all an illusion, is what I’m saying. Maybe I am really unlucky because when we get back to our real life we won’t have airport goggles and—”

“Kitten,” he chuckled and rubbed his thumb across her lip. “Shh,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I’m just saying—”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. “I hear you. But m’telling you, there’s no such thing as airport goggles. Even if there are, m’never taking them off.”

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[gf2bellamy]

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days—the kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all. 

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time. 

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment. 

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.” 

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. 

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.” 

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?” 

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving. 

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears. 

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest. 

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. 

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together. 

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock. 

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet. 

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. 

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart. 

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. 

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” 

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.” 

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—” 

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?” 

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?” 

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.” 

[truuskn]

it's so interesting to see evil done unintentionally. when a really good person makes a mistake, a serious terrible mistake, and becomes the cause of someone else's grief and pain... it's moments like this that give you a glimpse of their true nature. give you a new perspective of them. the way they try to make amends with all their might, try to justify and explain themselves, the way they suffer, regret what they have done and dream of turning everything back... life journeys like this, especially solo journeys, that's what i love. and, oh, jazz had it rough

you know, after everything cybertronians have been through it's hard to stay that way. sympathetic. after centuries of violence, brutality and fear, after endless battles and losses it's truly hard to sincerely feel compassion or guilt, hard to feel sorry for anyone but yourself. you want to be selfish, you want to finally let go of the past and live the damn life, you want to forget all your sins and enjoy the well-deserved victory, the home, the precious peace for which you went through hell. but jazz can't do that

he's done a terrible thing. he killed a human. many in his place would just accept that "little inconvenience" and move on. again against the backdrop of everything that had happened to them this event really meant nothing. a few lines in the giant book of their history. a few heavy seconds in the flow of the thousands of years of their lives. nonsense. trifle. the death of a bad person who deserved it. a cruel decision of fate. an accident beyond their control. so many ways to justify themselves! but jazz can't do that. shame for what he has done haunts him. he tries to put it aside, tries to start over, but he keeps getting pulled back, to the heat of battle, to the darkness of his former life, by the hands of those closest to him and by his own efforts. it's this event that fundamentally changed something about him. changed the way he looks at the world and himself

he can't forgive himself. he can't forget. he wakes up every night with nightmares, reliving that day and hundreds of other days over and over again. why is he reacting this way? he became a bad man a long time ago. so much blood on his hands, so many murders, so many ruined fates at his mercy, but the bitter sharp shame still stubbornly follows him. he can't move on knowing what he and his people have doomed the earth to by involving it in their conflict, he can't move on knowing that in the eyes of the earthlings they are far from heroes, far from fighters against injustice. for humans there is no much difference between an autobot and a decepticon, they are all murderers, they are all destroyers of their home. if this is his legacy, if his struggles and sacrifices have led to this outcome, doesn't that mean he's been wrong all his life? was it all for nothing? what was even the point? is the only thing he's actually good at is destruction? it can't be true. it can't stay that way!

he wants to understand what he means to others, he wants to make a difference, he's really trying, but the scary truth is... nothing will change. no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, there's no going back. he'll remain a monster in their eyes and he'll remain a monster in his own eyes. they won't forgive him and neither will he forgive himself. he'll have to live with that. he accepts it eventually. it will never get any easier, but he will live through it

[loverofwomenswrongs]

I DON'T THINK I COULD LOVE YOU MORE

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x fem!reader Words: 1.9K

****** [So after everything that happened, I really wanted to write something cute and happy for the Grammys, I've been obssessed with Billie these last days, so I hope you like it!!!]

The alarm went off earlier than usual on the morning of the Grammys. Y/n stirred beneath the covers, stretching an arm out to find her girlfriend—only to be met with an empty, cold spot. She frowned. If there was one thing she knew about Billie, it was how much she despised getting out of bed without spending a few minutes tangled together, exchanging sleepy kisses.

With a sigh, Y/n lazily pulled her hair into a messy bun and grabbed one of Billie’s oversized sweatshirts. If they were already huge on the singer, Y/n practically drowned in them, despite being taller than her girlfriend. But that’s exactly what made them so cozy.

She padded toward the kitchen, where she found Billie perched on a stool, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. Y/n approached her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder. It was only then that she noticed how tense Billie was.

“Good morning, my love,” Y/n murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. But instead of the usual warm response, Billie only managed a small, tight-lipped smile—more a grimace than anything.

Y/n’s brows furrowed. Something’s up.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Billie let out a heavy sigh, finally turning in Y/n’s embrace to face her. “Sorry, baby. It’s just… I’m a bit stressed about tonight.” She hesitated, then ran a hand through her hair. “Claudia called me before the alarm went off. Turns out Finneas woke up feeling sick… and he lost his voice. Like, he literally can’t sing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry,” Y/n said sincerely. “But I know you’ll figure something out. Have you talked to your team?” As she spoke, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Billie’s hair, knowing it always helped calm her—even just a little.

“I called my mom, and she said I have two options: find someone to do the harmonies while Finneas plays guitar, or sing without them and just have him play.”

Y/n nodded, considering it. “What do you want to do?” she asked, pulling away briefly to make herself a cup of coffee. She missed the way Billie immediately pouted at the loss of her touch. Once her drink was ready, Y/n returned to her girlfriend’s side, taking Billie’s hand in hers and tracing slow, soothing circles on her knuckles.

“Finneas says he’ll still be okay to play, so that’s not the issue,” Billie admitted. “But I would really like someone to sing with me. It gives the song more depth, y’know? Makes it feel… fuller.”

Y/n took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “That makes sense. Is there anyone you can call? I mean, you still have one more rehearsal—you could try it out with someone and see how it feels.”

Billie fell silent, deep in thought. A few moments later, a small smile tugged at her lips as she turned to face Y/n again.

“Baby,” she started sweetly. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. “Of course I know… Why?”

Billie hesitated, her blue eyes wide and pleading. “Well… You obviously know the lyrics to the song…”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “…Yeah?”

“You’ve been to every rehearsal, so you know exactly where Finneas comes in…”

“Billie…”

“And even if you don’t believe it, you do have an amazing voice…”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “I do not like where this is going.”

Billie pressed her lips together before finally blurting it out. “Sooo… Maybe… Remember that I love you so, so much… but maybe you could—I don’t know—sing with me tonight?” She whispered the last part, voice pitching higher as she looked at Y/n with the most hopeful expression imaginable.

Y/n stared at her. “Babe. That is crazy.” She set her coffee down, heart rate already spiking. “I have never sung in front of anyone—barely anyone. And you want me to do it at the Grammys? In front of actual singers? I cannot do that. I’m not prepared. We’ve never even sung your song together—it might not even work!”

Panic was creeping into her voice now, but she also refused to meet Billie’s gaze. She knew that if she looked into those big, ocean-blue eyes, she’d be done for.

Billie took both of Y/n’s hands in hers. “Love, I trust you. I know you can do it. And, like you said, we still have one more rehearsal. Just try it—for me? Please?”

Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face. She was losing this battle fast.

“I don’t know… Are you completely sure you wouldn’t be better off on your own?” she tried one last time.

Billie shook her head, voice unwavering. “I’ll never be better than when I’m with you.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, already knowing she’d caved. Billie could ask her for the moon, and she’d find a way to bring it to her.

“I hate that I love you so much,” she grumbled. “You better make it up to me later.”

Billie smirked, immediately tugging Y/n closer by the hem of the sweatshirt, pulling her between her legs. One hand found its way to Y/n’s waist, the other tilting her chin up until their lips were just inches apart.

“Oh, you bet I will,” Billie murmured before capturing Y/n’s lips in a slow, deep kiss—soft, yet full of passion.

—

Much to Y/n’s dismay, the rehearsal went way too smoothly. Her voice blended perfectly with Billie’s, something she had no choice but to admit. And despite the nerves that had plagued her all morning, she found herself feeling… a little more confident, comforted by the presence of the siblings—Finneas strumming the guitar beside her, Billie performing so effortlessly that it almost felt natural to join in. Her girlfriend hadn’t stopped showering her with compliments, making sure she knew just how amazing she was.

Now, as they got ready for the night, their hotel room was packed with stylists, makeup artists, and assistants bustling around to make sure they looked their best. Clothes were everywhere—red carpet looks, performance outfits, even afterparty choices. It was overwhelming, but Y/n took it all in stride. She’d do anything for Billie, and she’d do it a hundred times over.

“Baby?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Billie’s voice. She hummed in acknowledgment, letting her know she was listening.

“I was thinking… Since you’ll be on stage with me tonight, maybe you could also join me on the red carpet?” Billie hesitated before continuing, her voice softer. “I know we weren’t planning to confirm our relationship, but I kinda want to… I want to hold your hand and kiss you without worrying about the cameras.”

Y/n smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “I think today’s perfect,” she agreed. “Besides, bringing me as your plus one would’ve already been suspicious. Not that we’re very discreet anyway. People really don’t believe our ‘we’re just friends’ speech anymore.”

They both laughed, knowing she was right. They had never officially confirmed anything, but they had never exactly hidden it either. They were private—but that didn’t mean they had to pretend.

—

Y/n had no idea how Billie remained so composed throughout the entire evening. Just walking the red carpet had her stressing, but she thought she’d done pretty well—posing for pictures, both together and separately, sneaking fond glances at Billie when the singer wasn’t looking.

She had met so many artists she admired, with Billie proudly introducing her to people like Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan, all while Y/n tried very hard not to freak out. But no matter how nerve-wracking it was, the steady presence of Billie’s hand on her back kept her grounded. The singer made sure she was okay at all times—whether by asking directly, squeezing her hand, or simply locking eyes from across the room.

But now, as they stood backstage, changed into their performance outfits, Y/n’s nerves returned—stronger than ever.

She tried to hide it, not wanting to add to Billie’s stress, but of course her girlfriend saw right through her.

A few minutes before stepping on stage, Billie pulled her into a hug, making her look at her.

“You’re going to do great, baby. I know it. Just like in rehearsals.”

“Yeah… except this time, real singers will be watching.”

Billie smirked. “And? I’ll be there. Finneas will be there. If it gets too overwhelming, just look at me, alright?”

Y/n exhaled shakily but nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They shared a soft kiss before someone from production signaled that it was time.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n stepped behind the microphone. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest, but then—Finneas placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a small smile, just as the lights dimmed.

Only for Billie to start… talking?

“Hi, guys!” Her voice echoed through the venue, casual and warm. “Normally, we don’t introduce our songs because we’re short on time, but luckily, they gave me a pass tonight.” She chuckled, the crowd responding with cheers. “This morning, we woke up to some sad news—my brother lost his voice. And, as you know, his harmonies are super important to this song. So, we had to find a solution.”

She turned slightly, glancing at Y/n with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Finneas is still going to play, obviously, but tonight, someone very special to me will be singing his part.” She paused before adding, “She’s a little nervous, so if you know the song—please, help us sing. Here’s ‘Birds of a Feather’ with Finneas and Y/n!”

And just like that—it began.

At first, Y/n could barely hear herself over the sound of her own heartbeat, but as the song progressed, she found herself feeling it. The music, the moment, the presence of Billie right next to her. Every now and then, Billie would glance over, locking eyes and smiling, silently reminding her that she was right where she needed to be.

Before she knew it, it was over.

As the final note rang through the venue and the applause roared around them, Y/n barely had time to process it before Billie wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I knew you could do it! You were amazing, baby!” Billie gushed, cupping Y/n’s face and pressing quick kisses all over it.

“Says you!” Y/n laughed breathlessly. “You were born for this, my love. Thank you for trusting me.”

“I always will,” Billie murmured. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

They kissed like there was no one else around them—before finally heading back to their seats. But not before Y/n insisted on changing back into her dress, claiming she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in a t-shirt.

Of course, Billie mocked her for it. “Nothing’s better than a t-shirt, babe.”

They continued watching the show, Billie leaning over at one point as the stage was being set for Sabrina Carpenter’s performance.

With a mischievous smirk, she whispered into Y/n’s ear, “You do know the next step is for you to sing with me on tour, right? And not just the harmonies.”

Y/n turned to her, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

Billie just grinned, bursting into laughter at her reaction. And, despite herself, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh too.

She shook her head, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Billie’s lips. “I was going to refuse, but… you do know all you have to do is ask.”

[springtyme]

We all know munch Spencer.

But… Spencer would also absolutely love sucking on tits

I’m sorry… if no one will say it I will be brave I stand to the congregation and say that man is a nipple stim king!!!

he would 💖 sucking on his girls nipples and leaving hickeys on her tits while he just lightly brushes his fingers over her thighs and soaked panties until she cums ok sorry for being horny at 2:00 pm on a Wednesday anon in your inbox🧎‍♀️‍➡️ forgive me!!!

If you want to turn this into a blurb fantastic - if not I’d love your thoughts - or just delete this if you hate it, I’m on anon so we can both pretend this never happened!

P.s Do you have a 🧋anon? If not can I be

-🧋? i love you!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ♡

Spencer Reid x f!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

Oh, you’re so right! He absolutely would love sucking on tits. I feel like Spence in general just has an oral fixation. He just loves having his mouth on you, kissing your lips, eating your pussy, sucking your tits. He just wants to devour you. His mind often goes so fast it can feel overwhelming, but when he has your nipple in his mouth his brain goes blank. All there is left in his mind is you. (And don’t even get me started if his partner was pregnant… he would go wild. He'd be so fascinated and in awe with how your boobs grow and get ready to provide for your baby… he would develop a lactation kink, for sure) Anyway, I ended up writing a little drabble, hope you like it.

And no, I don’t have a🧋anon. You can totally be it <3

word count: 766

The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminates the bedroom, casting playful shadows that dance along the walls as Spencer leans over you, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. You feel the anticipation building in the air, that delicious tension that always makes your heart race.

His fingers are brushing lightly against your thighs, teasingly slow as they trace the edges of your soaked panties. You bite your lip, trying to suppress a moan, but it’s impossible when he looks at you with those deep, expressive eyes filled with a mix of desire and affection.

“Spencer,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he seems to understand the unspoken plea behind it. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of soft kisses that make your breath hitch.

As his lips find their way to your collarbone, you gasp softly, the sensation electrifying. Spencer has a way of making you feel desired, cherished. He leaves a soft trail of kisses until he reaches the top of your sternum before he leans back again to meet your gaze again. His brown eyes filled with a mix of eagerness and adoration. 

There is a plea in his expression, a silent question of permission that hangs in the air between you like a delicate thread. You can feel the weight of your own desire mirrored in his gaze, and it ignites something deep within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice lazed with admiration and reverence, and it sends a thrill coursing through you. The sincerity in his words wraps around you, making you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and comforting.

His eyes shift from your eyes down to your chest for a moment, taking in the way your body responds to his touch, the way your breath quickens and how your nipples have hardened from his touch. He swallows by the sight. You know how much he loves your tits, and the way he looks at you with such reverence makes you feel powerful and desired. He brings a hand to your left breast, his fingers brushing gently against your skin, teasingly slow as he cups you, his thumb tracing delicate circles around your nipple. 

The sensation sends ripples of pleasure coursing through you, the gentle caress igniting every nerve ending in your body, each movement igniting a fire within that you can no longer contain. You arch your back slightly, pressing into his palm, urging him to continue.

He looks so mesmerized, his eyes glued to your every reaction, as if he were studying a masterpiece. “Ca-can I..?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends warmth pooling in your belly. You nod, heart racing in anticipation. You know what he is asking, and right now, you want it more than anything.

With that, he wastes no time, letting his mouth wander to your chest. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking gently before swirling his tongue around it. You gasp, arching your back, completely lost in the sensation. The way he lavishes attention on your body makes you feel cherished, yet completely consumed by pleasure.

Every flick of his tongue sends shockwaves through you, each gentle pull tugging at your senses as he focuses all his attention on your breast. You can barely think, the world outside fading away as you become enveloped in the bliss he creates. You thread your fingers through his hair, urging him on, encouraging him to explore further.

“Spencer,” you breathe, your voice a mix of urgency and longing. It feels like you’re floating, each touch igniting a fire within you that demands to be stoked. He looks up, his eyes glistening with sincerity and devotion, and the sight of him  makes your heart flutter. 

He shifts his attention to your other breast, giving it the same reverent attention. You find yourself lost in the rhythm of his movements, the soft sounds of his breath mingling with your own gasps filling the room. The warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his fingers create a delicious tension that builds within you, coiling tighter and tighter.

You know by the intensity he is kissing and sucking that his lips will leave behind their marks, a reminder of his passion. You can feel the heat pooling within you, each gentle tug and swirl of his tongue pulling you deeper into the intoxicating haze of pleasure. The world outside your bedroom seems to fade into nothingness, leaving only the two of you and the magnetic connection that binds you together.