#this came into me one day as a vision and I HAD to draw this

[st4rpiece]

NSFW

pairings: office worker! nanami x hyper-femme coworker! reader summary: nanami doesn't like sharing your attention warnings: no use of y/n, office/public sex, fingering, oral (f! receiving), jealous & possessive nanami, airhead reader, (not proofread)

nanami kento was the epitome of discipline and order. his life was a meticulously crafted routine, each minute accounted for, and each task executed precisely. from the moment he woke up at 5:30 am sharp to the time he retired to bed at 10:00 pm, every aspect of his day was planned to perfection. he thrived on structure and predictability, finding solace in the monotony of his well-organized life.

that was until you entered the picture.

you were a whirlwind of pastel colors (mainly shades of pink) and rhinestones, a hyper-feminine force that indirectly disrupted the rigid order of his world. your desk was a chaotic explosion of cute stationery, scented candles, and an impressive collection of lip glosses. you were always seen humming some catchy pop tune under your breath or mindlessly shopping during work hours.

as the days went by, you began directly disrupting his carefully maintained routine. you’d stop by his desk to chat about the latest episode of your favorite reality show or to show off your new nail art. at first, nanami found it incredibly annoying. he had work to do and deadlines to meet, and your constant interruptions were a distraction he didn’t need. but there was something about your infectious energy that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

one particularly hectic afternoon, you appeared at his desk with a perplexed expression. “ken, can you help me with this spreadsheet? i think i messed it up,” you said, holding up your laptop. he sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t deny the small thrill he felt at the prospect of spending time with you.

as he walked you through the steps to fix the spreadsheet, he began to notice little things. like how good your vanilla & coconut perfume smelt or how kissable your glossy lips looked as you pouted in concentration.

when you finally got the hang of it, you beamed up at him, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. “thank you, ken! you’re honestly the best!” you exclaimed, leaving him with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.

from that day on, you made it a point to seek nanami out whenever you needed help. whether it was a technical issue or just someone to listen to your latest shopping haul, nanami became your go-to person. he tried to maintain his stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced whenever you were near.

he was printing out a report when you breezed into the office, a vision in pink. you wore a white dress shirt, buttoned halfway up, offering a peek at the baby pink lace bra underneath. it was tucked into your mini tweed skirt that barely covered your ass. the look was completed with white thigh-high socks that clung onto you like a second skin and a pair of shiny white heels.

your outfit effortlessly drawing attention. though it was more suited for a garden party than a corporate environment. like usual, you greeted everyone with a cheerful “good morning!” that was met with a chorus of subdued replies.

nanami barely looked up from his copies as you always greeted him separately no matter where he was. always with a random treat that he just “had to try.” so, like usual, he waited for you to make your way to him, but you never came. instead, he found you by your desk chatting animatedly with another male coworker.

a pang of jealousy surged through him, twisting his usually composed demeanor. he knew he had no right to be jealous, but the sight of you talking to another man had stirred a primal instinct within him.

“morning," he said, his voice steady but firm as he walked over, placing himself in between you and the guy. "hope i’m not interrupting anything important."

“not at all,” you replied, flashing him a bright smile, unaware of the subtle change in the atmosphere.

“great, could i see you in my office?"

he didn’t bother waiting for a reply, confident that you would follow, and the distinct click of your heels echoing behind proved him right.

nanami's body was a mere few inches away as you closed the door behind you. his warmth radiating toward you, made you all too aware of the lack of physical space between you. his eyes, usually so calm and composed, now danced with a dominant look that was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

“morning ken" you greeted like usual, trying to keep your voice even as your heart pounded. his proximity was intoxicating.

“morning sweetheart”

"you look lovely," his voice uncharacteristically playful as his fingers rubbed against the hem of your skirt, a gesture that was both comforting and possessive.

“but it seems i wasn't the first to tell you that this morning."

your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body as you looked away, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"only matters when you say it," you said sweetly, still avoiding eye contact, focusing on the way his fingers brushed your leg.

“is that so?”

his voice was low and gruff, hinting at the emotions he was trying to keep in check. his fingers still lingering on the fabric of your skirt as the scent of his cologne filled the space, a tantalizing mix of musk and something faintly sweet.

you nodded, feeling his hand move from the hem of your skirt to your chin, gently turning your face back to meet his gaze. the room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken tension as your eyes locked onto his. you could see the hunger in his gaze, a mirror of your own.

"may i?" he asks, his voice gruff with need. his hand remained on your chin, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip. his touch was featherlight, but the intention was clear.

you nod, unable to form words as your heart races. feeling a spark of desire ignite within you as you leaned into his touch.

“i need words, sweetheart,” he said, flexing his thigh. adding to the pressure against your cunt.

“what is it that you want?"

you gulped, eyes wide. the proximity was overwhelming, the warmth of his body pressing against you, his breath hot on your face. "i...i need you," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips. "please."

with a groan, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. his hand moving from your face to the small of your back, pulling you in tighter before lifting you off the floor. your hands gripping onto his shoulders, as he made his way to his desk.

the kiss was a declaration of need, of desperation, of a hunger that had been building for months. his tongue slid against yours, tasting and exploring as if he could never get enough. your body responding instinctively to the demand. the world outside his office door was forgotten as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

he places you down on the desk, your legs draping over the edge. the wood was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the fire that had been ignited within you. his eyes raked over your body; the sight of you, flushed and eager, only fueled his hunger.

“ken,” you whined at the sudden absence of his warmth. your lips swollen from the kiss, eyes hazed with desire as you watched him drop to his knees. his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he pulled your legs further apart. the scent of his cologne filled the room, mixing with the faint scent of your arousal.

he kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh, his eyes locked on yours, watching your every reaction. his mouth moved closer to your panties, his breath ghosting over the damp fabric, making you shiver. with a gentle tug, he pulled the lacy barrier aside, revealing your glistening pussy. his eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he took in the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

"so fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal before leaning in to taste you. his tongue slid along your folds, teasing and exploring, as he held your gaze.

you gripped the edge of the desk, biting your lip to keep from crying out. the sensation was exquisite, a sweet agony that made your toes curl. his hands held you open, thumbs rubbing lazy circles around your clit, as he devoured you with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"a-ah yes," you breathed, unable to form coherent sentences as his tongue delved deeper, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"please, m-more," you begged, your hips bucking against his mouth. he chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you, before obliging, his tongue curling and flicking, driving you closer to the edge.

“patience, baby,” he murmured against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body.

he knew exactly how to tease and taunt you, pushing you to the brink of insanity before giving you what you craved.

without warning, he slid a finger inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. the digit was warm and thick, filling you in a way that made your legs shake. he stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation before adding a second finger.

curling them slightly as he moved in slow, deliberate strokes, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue. the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you was almost too much, but he wasn't about to let you cum just yet.

instead, he added a third finger, stretching you even further. the sight of his digits disappearing into your slick warmth was almost too much for him to handle, his own cock straining against the fabric of his pants. he could feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in his stomach, but he remained focused on your pleasure.

he continued his relentless assault, loving the way your muscles tightened around him. watching the way your body reacted to his touch, memorizing every twitch and whimper. with the sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room. mixing with your muffled gasps and the wet smack of his lips against your skin.

"k-kenny," you panted, your voice shaking with need. you were so close, so incredibly close.

he noticed the desperation in your voice and felt a surge of satisfaction. he knew he had you right where he wanted you—on the precipice, begging for release. he picked up the pace, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers curling in a steady rhythm that had you gripping the desk tightly.

with one final, firm suck on your clit, he felt your body tense and then release in a cascade of pleasure. you came hard, your back arching off the desk, your legs wrapping around his neck. He held on tightly, lapping at your juices as your pussy contracted around his fingers. the sound of your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls in a symphony of ecstasy that only served to inflame his desire even further.

his fingers slow their rhythm, gently stroking your sensitive flesh as you ride out the aftershocks. your breath comes in ragged pants, and your eyes are glazed over with pleasure.

"ken," you whimper, your voice hoarse and needy. "more."

idk nanami is just the type of man you can be an airhead around cause you know he got it.

I didn’t know how much of an airhead i wanted the reader to be, but i ultimately settled on this one, so i hope you guys enjoyed it!

updates have been slow cause of school, so i’m just trying to get my drafts out of the way for now 😭.

[also, dodger blue by kendrick is so good!!!]

[miraku39]

yorokobe shounen

[demi-pixellated]

🌻Blade Breaker II & The Rose Noble🌹 - Power Couple of New Fodlan -

I am SO EXCITED to show my full piece for Sunflower, A Leonie zine. What a beautiful book, with all it’s fantastic merch, and I’m so glad I got to be apart of it and show my fav cavalry girl all the love she deserves!! Thank you to everyone who supported the zine, but if you missed out the first time around, don’t sweat it! Sunflower is now having it’s leftover sale!! 🌻 Pick Up A Copy Here 🌻

[arolesbianism]

Some au antag doodles

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

BABY FACE BABY FACE!!!!!!!! KSDJDHG LFFKL WHY IS HE SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE

embarrassingly long ramble and wintersberg drawing below the cut:

lmao, I finished the GG playthrough of re8 the other day and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

anyway yeah. Don't even know what to write about it cuz it sorta overtook me with no warning, and idk shit about resident evil but here we are.

I read mushrooms and magnets on ao3, i did the frowned upon thing and went straight to most kodo-ed (i KNOW it's wrong but i didn't feel like searching!! I just wanted to Read. If I stick around any longer I WILL read other things too), and I feel like that's probably a rite of passage in the ethan/heisenberg wing of this fandom. Blasted through it in like 3 days. Anyway, like, 3 quarters through it I realized I never took it upon myself to see what ethan looks like? I just assumed he had Typical White Guy Face, which yeah, he does, but after an image search.... I never realized he had such a baby face skjdgf sksjfh PRETTY BOY PRETTY BOY

So then I drew him. And I drew heisenberg too, although I need more practice with him. Plus I think I got gassed out for the night, after drawing ethan. it's really hot and it can be hard to remember how to draw for fun after doing so many commissions.

One of my go to drawing visions is one character in profile, and the other character all up in their face in a pseudo profile, 3/4, tilted angle. And idk why I keep doing that, because I fuck it up at least half the time. Ethan looks good here, heisenberg does Not. I need better references of him. Seriously, if someone has a karl heisenberg folder on their phone with a crap ton of pictures of his face from different angles, PLEASE send me some. I need a clear one of him in profile. All the ones on google have his face obscured by his hat, glasses, both, and he's always in dark lighting. Ironic that the one who's face you never see has better reference pictures.

Kinda considering doing a GG animated for the moment where ethan's like "I just want to fix my daughter!" and arin (as heisenberg) says "uh, she's in four pieces," because it cracked me up so damn hard. His voice is so dumb. I love him.

This came outta nowhere but hahaha oh well, my interests change on the wings of the wind (wings of the wind = what the grumps are uploading)

[maybanksprincess]

toys with jj!

warnings: smut, rough jj, spitting in mouth, kissing, choking, hair pulling, squirting.

requested by my love @jjmaybankssurfergf , hope you like it baby. 💋

jj had a particularly rough day. kooks, and the hot summer sun blazing down on him all day while he worked. he came home in a sour mood, immediately unbuckling his belt and shoving you down onto the bed as if you were a ragdoll.

when he got in these moods, you were more than happy to oblige with anything he said because you just wanted to make him happy.

"y' gonna sit here and take me, i don't wanna hear no complaining. got it?" he said, with a stern look in his eyes, as he never stopped working to get your panties off.

all you could do is nod, you were resisting the urge to press your thighs together from the way he spat in your face when he yelled at you.

he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders, pulling his boxers down just enough to reveal his thick, red cock, leaking with precum.

without warning, he nudges his tip at your entrance and slides himself in, causing you to yelp in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

he wraps his ringed hand around your throat, squeezing enough to cut off some of your circulation. "shh. be a good girl and jus' take it, hm?" he says as he snaps his hips into yours.

you couldn't contain the whimpers that escaped past your throat, as he squeezes down on it, the pleasure becoming all too much, your vision hazy.

"j- please." you say with a hoarse voice, one of your hands moving to try and push his hand away.

he abruptly pulls out of you, his dick coated in your juices. he flips you over onto your stomach, pushing your face down into the pillow.

the bed dips as jj stands up from it, walking to a corner of the room. your too nervous to speak at the moment, so you just lay there, hoping he comes back. after a few moments you can hear muffled sounds of drawers opening and closing.

after about 30 seconds, he comes back with something in hand, your face still pushed down into the pillow, your eyes met with nothing but darkness.

after a few moments, you stop biting down on your lip nervously, and speak up, curiosity getting the best of you. "jay, what are u holding?" you ask in a soft, muffled voice.

"since you cant listen, im gonna stretch both of your little holes out." he says, leaving no room for an argument.

he grabs a bottle of lubricant, coating one of his fingers in the liquid, then pushing it into your ass, moving it in and out of your tight hole.

"y' see this mama?" he says, pulling you up by your hair roughly, holding the thick dildo in front of your face.

your eyes go wide, seeing the thick silicone toy in his grasp. you open your mouth to protest, but you knew better than to protest when he gets in this mood, knowing it wouldn't end well for you.

when you shut up and nod, a devilish smirk forms on his face. "good girl." he reaches around and presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling his finger out of your ass.

"see, all you had to do was listen." he says, before pushing his own veiny cock in your pussy from behind, stretching your hole deliciously.

a few moments later, you can feel the silicone toy line up with your asshole, sliding inside with ease, thanks to the lubricant he used beforehand.

he pushes the toy and his dick in both of your holes at the same time, drawing a moan from his lips. he watches the way your pussy and ass clench around both dicks, it was almost enough to make him bust in that moment.

you could feel all your control and self restraint slip away at that moment, letting him take complete control of you, submitting to him as you close your eyes and moan into the pillow.

as both dicks penetrated you, all you could think about was the sounds jj were making behind you, the way his hand was gripping your hair roughly, and it only served to make you wetter than before.

you could feel a overwhelming pressure in your abdomen that was begging to be released.

"jay...'m gonna cum." you say, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, drool falling from the corner of your mouth.

he grunts from behind you "no, you cum when i tell you to."

he lets go of your hair, and grabs you by your throat, pulling you up so your back is against his chest. "who do you belong to, hm?" he says, chasing his orgasm

you try your best to hold back, but the pressure was becoming way too much, "you, jayj. only you." you assure him

"thats good mama." he grabs your cheek roughly, and pries your lips open with his thumb, spitting into your mouth. "swallow." he demands.

you swallow his spit with a whimper, and you clench around him

"you like that shit, huh?" he says, picking up the pace with both of the dicks. "cum f' me mama."

he pushes your head down again, and rubs figure 8's on your clit, coaxing your orgasm.

you immediately let out a loud moan as the pressure band in your stomach snaps, your orgasm ripping through you. your too lost in your pleasure to realize that you soaked jj from behind.

he groans loudly and pulls the silicone toy and his own dick out of you with a popping noise. he bends down to admire the sight of your squirting pussy.

"oh fuck, ma," he groans "your finna do that shit again f' me." he says, flipping you over.

[drewmeows]

i am once again thinking about cowboy/lumberjack/farmer/general blue collar worker logan and the sweet young thing that is his boss' daughter...

cw: explicit smut MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, implied virginity loss, implied age gap, afab reader wears a dress, logan refers to her as 'princess' 'sweetheart', wrote this on my phone and did not edit it amen, if i missed any tags please lmk!

wc: 693 words

"This is so- fuck- so wrong, sweetheart..." His guttural grunt made your eyes flutter shut and a shudder run down your spine and straight to your pussy, "Ruinin' ya like this, what would your daddy think, huh?"

You couldn't reply even if you wanted to, to try to convince Logan this only felt right, and who gives a shit what anyone else thinks. Instead your mind was a puddle at your feet. Or it would be, but he had you hiked onto the wall of the barn, your legs wrapped around his waist.

Your sundress was pushed up and over your tits so his hands could roughly grope them when he had the chance.

You simply rested your sweaty forehead on his shoulder, clutching his arms tightly as he rutted up into you. "Lo- Logan!" A squeal wrought from your chest as he shifted slightly, pulling you down further on his cock as one of his hands abandoned your tit to rub tight circles on your swollen clit.

Just as you went to beg for more he hit the gummy spot inside you that had your vision spanned with black dots. Logan grinned at you, feeling how awfully close to the edge he'd brought you.

"Better princess? Tha' the spot that's gonna make my sweet girl come?" You could only marvel at how not out of breath he sounded, almost unaffected by your damn near literal roll in the hay that unless you didn't have his cock throbbing inside of you and feel how taut his muscles were, you'd think this was just another day for him.

You nodded and pulled your head back, a whine caught in your throat at the debauched look of his hair tousled and flannel pushed down his shoulders. You dipped in for a kiss and Logan pulled back, a mischievous look on his face, "What's that, sweetheart? Gotta use your- ngh- words."

"Fuck! Want a kiss, please, please-" You continue to beg, wanton moans and cries slipping from your lips before he finally captures your mouth with his.

It's wet and barely louder than the slick sounds of your cunt as he fucks up into you at that same breakneck speed. Before Logan even goes to break the kiss, your high hits.

A keening noise rises high in your throat, met by Logan's grunt as you gush around him. He reared back, desperate to see your orgasm contort your face with pleasure.

All through it, he continues to rut into you, keeping that oh so steady pace that had you whimpering with overstimulation. Your nails dug deep enough into his biceps to draw blood, the feeling causing his eyes to roll slightly.

"Keep doin' that n squeezing me like that, and I'm gonna cum, princess," He spoke it as if it was a threat but all you heard was salvation. You nodded and looked him right in the eyes.

With a hand moving up to grip the back of his head of hair, "Wan' you to fill me up, please, Lo? Please- I need it-" A soft gasp escaping your lips once more as tears filled your eyes, pain and pleasure mixing in all the overwhelming new feelings.

It seemed that was all the permission he needed, a hoarse groan your only warning before he buried himself deep and came inside your cunt, warming you from the inside out as heat burns your cheeks.

Logan pants against your shoulder, small and inconsequential murmurs of praise falling from his mouth as you struggle to gain the ability to breathe much less speak again.

Hours later when you've come back around to your senses while picking a splinter of wood from the barn out of your back, you'll look back on this moment and wonder why it took you so damn long to finally make a move on your father's worker.

Because as you slip down from his waist and let your dress fall down to your knees- which are weak as jelly, wavering underneath you- and Logan's arm slides around your waist with a reserved smile, propping you up against him, you swear you can feel yourself falling anyways.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh���it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

[uno-san]

Bill Cipher Vs. Self-Hatred

Howdy y'all! Today I just wanted to go over some thoughts I had over everybody's favorite triangle that may or may not have occurred to some of you already. Naturally this will contain Book of Bill Spoilers.

To start off our little essay I thought it would be important to first sum up my thoughts on one of Bill's more complicated relationships: Stanford

Now we've all seen his dynamic with Stanford plenty of times in the show but with recent information coming from both the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com more light has been shed on the subject from both Bill's perspective and Ford's.

There's more than meets the eye when it comes to dissecting Bill's interactions and thoughts on Stanford, with the ever enlightening "EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES" making theorists scratch their heads. Within the Book of Bill are these codes and their meanings: hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg

eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv

The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob

Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly

As well as:

Finding out that both Stanford and Bill have a genetic mutation that made them Black Sheep suggests the possibility that Bill saw a kinship within Stanford. After all, he did make the offer for Stanford to join him. No doubt being able to sympathize with Stanford's situation yet misreading his motivations, causing the rift in their once savable relationship once Bill's lies were uncovered.

Now I'll admit it was others who came up with this theory in particular, especially when drawing comparisons of how Stanford was treated and how Bill allegedly was for having a strange eye. Stanford, in some form of other, might represent how Bill was before he saw the destruction of his world by his hands. A mere outcast looking for his place in the world. To be believed rather than ridiculed or "fixed".

Self-Hatred

And now we get to the Bill we all know today:

The chaos loving and nightmare inducing three-sided maniac, who may be hiding more insecurities than he ever let on in the show, thanks to the Theraprism.

Someone far more traumatized

Who's had to convince himself to fully be the bastard he is today

But if the theory that Bill had a type of kinship with Stanford thanks to their mutations was true, then wouldn't it be possible that his relationship with someone else might represent the inner struggle with himself?

For you see, the original title of this post was...

Bill Cipher Vs. Stanley Pines

As my own theory is that Stanley Pines is what Bill decided to project his self-hatred on. Nobody can doubt that the two have similar qualities, yet as I read the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom I couldn't help but notice the absolute malice that Bill has for Stanley whenever he's mentioned.

There have been many opponents before that have strived to take Bill down. Whether that was the Shaman, the Anti-Cipher Society, or Time Baby, none of his interactions with them have appeared as vitriol as compared to Stanley.

Not even Stanford has this same reaction, who, by really no contest, was the closest to ever defeating Cipher by himself. Both with the gun that he near successfully killed Bill with and the secret of the barrier of Gravity Falls he refused to give up. Bill didn't even have a real interaction with Stanley until the last episode.

Yet it isn't Stanford that causes Bill to break while he's in the Theraprism. It's Stanley.

"-A resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness!"

"Self-pitying"

"Stupid"

"Smug"

"Hack Jokes"

"UNWORTHY"

Now it could be just me, but those are a lot of specific insults to fling somebody's way that you've barely interacted with. Especially if Bill credits the Twin Swap to Stanford entirely as opposed to allowing Stanley the credit.

"STEP RIGHT UP, it's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they’re ALL YOURS for the low low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! ITS SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES!"

“SHAME:TM - IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!”

This out-of-character hatred doesn't come from the fact that Bill thought Stanley wasn't worthy, it comes from the fact that Bill sees himself in Stan. Who by all means is a lying and conniving screw up. Somebody who let his family down.

This could possibly be proven by the poem Bill had wrote about Stanley:

The whole poem suits my point but I decided to highlight the sections that caught my eye specifically. That when you put into consideration Bill's clear trauma and regret about the Euclidian Massacre, his own words can clearly be flipped back on him.

That he sees himself as a curse and a mistake. A self-made monster. Someone who's left the past behind when the loss of his home is still on his mind.

And what truly gets under Bill's skin about Stanley Pines?

"He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame"

Stanley got back what Bill can't.

[lightseoul]

so i finally did it, y'all—i commissioned the wonderful @zestivivi to draw my first-ever °˖✧ self-ship art °˖✧

and i couldn't help it upon seeing the draft; i had to write a drabble to give it a bit of a backstory and to really just treat myself, so here it is!

(the pic is under the cut, if you're not in the mood to read and just wanna take a peek at it!)

CALL ME YOUR FAVORITE, CALL ME THE WORST (k. bakugou x reader)

“—and so i told eijirou he could go to hell if he asked me to cover for him tonight,” bakugou finishes, just as you twist your key one last time, effectively unlocking the door.

you toss him a chastising look as you push it open, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest as you do so. “don’t talk to your best friend like that, katsuki.”

at that, he scoffs, trailing behind you and entering through the doorway. “correction, you’re my best friend. and he’s used to it.”

despite yourself, a smile manages to creep into your face, which bakugou unfortunately catches sight of. the man only smirks to himself before gesturing to his trainers, “where do i put these?”

“beside my birks, please,” you sing-song, although your voice comes out a bit wobbly.

fucking nerves.

dropping your bag on the counter, you quickly shuffle through your kitchen and toward your dining area slash living room slash bedroom, scanning the space for any spot you’ve missed before bakugou could see them.

you’re just about to conclude that this place is as tidy as it can get when you sense the pro-hero walk up beside you, and you look at him to see his eyes darting across the area in inspection, a pensive expression on his face.

“what’re you thinking?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. you immediately regret it, though, bracing yourself for constructive feedback that you know will sting nonetheless.

it’s not every day you get to show your new place that’s your very own to anybody, let alone to your famously (notoriously) pedantic boyfriend.

“it's really clean,” he starts, pausing to think for a moment. he eventually turns to face you, that smirk from before now back on his face, “it’s very you. i like it.”

you feel a warmth wash over you, and you don’t fight the grin that’s invading your features. “aww, thanks, babe!”

he waves you off with a hand, resuming his thorough survey of your unit. “‘s nice how you displayed your books here, and that your guitar is easy to reach for. and your decorations are just abo—”

you glance back at the man from where you were hurriedly pouring him a cold glass of water, “just about what, kats?”

to that, bakugou doesn’t say anything. he seems frozen, eyes fixed on what you think is your entertainment area.

you pad toward the spot beside him, and you follow his line of vision.

directly right to your dynamight figurines.

almost instantly, your stomach drops as if you just got hit by a metaphorical tsunami of scalding humiliation. your feet move before your brain can catch up, and in a matter of seconds, you find yourself planted right in front of bakugou, obscuring his view of his mini-me’s.

at least, you tried to. the tall man only continues to effortlessly stare at them through the space above your head.

“so what do you want for dinner?” you manage to croak out, desperate to change the subject and bones threatening to give out in embarrassment.

“…is that a funko pop of all might and… me?”

the ground can swallow you up just about now, thanks.

for a beat, you debate as to whether or not to joke or lie your way out of this one, but one look at the inexplicable expression on your boyfriend’s face has you ultimately decided against it.

“…yes?”

now, in the split second of choosing to tell the truth, you came up with the expectations of him snorting in response, or maybe shooting you a confused look that reads ‘what the fuck’ or something similar, but you certainly didn’t predict him to laugh.

as in, drop his head back and howl laugh.

immediately, you feel yourself flame in shame as you watch the pro-hero bend slightly over and clutch his stomach in mirth, what you think are tears now pooling in the corners of his clenched eyes.

you can’t help but frown, “quit laughing at me, you jerk!”

that only makes him bark out another loud one, and just when you think he’s about to finish, he wheezes: “and you’ve got a nendoroid of me, too!”

that’s it.

you spin on your heel, turning your back on your jackass of a boyfriend, and you’re about to scoop the figurines into your arms and throw them into the abyss at the back of your closet when you feel something tug at your wrist, pulling you and your entire body back.

and before you can even comprehend what’s happening, bakugou’s invading your space and leaning toward you, planting his forehead right at the crook of your neck.

“wha—”

you’re cut off by bakugou snuggling into you, and you can feel him shake in laughter before the chuckles finally escape him and you’re both left in comfortable silence.

you hope he’s not hearing the thunderous ruckus your heart is making right now despite yourself.

a few moments pass with neither of you moving or saying anything before you finally decide to speak up.

“if you think this’ll make up for you laughing so blatantly at me, you’ve got another thing coming for you, mister.”

at that, bakugou snorts, retorting without missing a beat. “i wasn’t laughing at you, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, although you don’t make any move to push him away. “sure, you weren’t.”

“i’m serious. it just caught me off guard.”

“and then you started laughing at me.”

from where he’s slotted right by your neck, bakugou huffs, and you stop yourself from shivering at the feeling of his breath against your skin.

“i was just laughing at how everything’s turned out, alright?”

instinctively, your eyebrows furrow in question, “what do you mean?”

he sighs, the puff of air he lets out tickling your flesh again, “i just think it’s fucking funny how i grew up with a shit ton of all might merch, and now i have my own merch displayed right beside him, in my girlfriend’s new home, no less.”

and, before you can even feign offense at his comment, he beats you to it.

“i’m just fucking happy, okay? just let me have this.”

you don’t know what else to say at his sudden confession, and so you only manage a nod, moving your head just enough for him to feel the gesture. slowly, you allow yourself to relax your shoulders and lean toward bakugou, who snuggles even closer to you in return.

“they’re quite expensive, you know,” you offer after a few seconds of silence. “and yours are especially hard to come by.”

you can practically hear the grin on his face when he quips, “what, am i your favorite hero, or something?”

“no,” you immediately retort, deadpan. “all might is. explains why i only have one figurine of him and a gazillion of you in here.”

at that, bakugou lets out a genuine laugh, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s sporting that boyish grin and disarming eye smile that really nobody else has the honor of witnessing.

nobody except you.

you hesitantly bring your right hand up, unable to resist the urge to gently cradle the back of his head. upon the split second of contact, however, bakugou stiffens, and you’ve half a mind to withdraw and pull away when he does so.

but all the apprehension evaporates from your system when almost immediately after, he nestles closer into you.

you feel yourself flush at the motion, failing to stop the smile that takes over your lips.

and, if you didn’t know any better, you’d bet your expensive ass dynamight figurines he’s blushing, too.

bonus:

you’re in the middle of feeding yourself a spoonful of chicken curry when you decide you finally have enough. placing the serving firmly on your platter, you shift to face bakugou, who’s at your right and eating beside you.

more of side-eyeing you than eating in the past thirty minutes since dinner arrived, really.

you pull your lips in a tight line, “spit it out, kats.”

at that, he tosses you a disgusted look, before quickly swallowing the mouthful of cabbage he was just munching on. “why the fuck should i do that?”

you roll your eyes, “not the food, dummy. you’ve got something you want to say.”

“i do not.”

you only give him a knowing stare.

bakugou huffs, putting down his own spoon after a pregnant pause, “fine.”

it takes him a moment to finally do so, and when he does you almost choke.

“…so who the fuck is akaashi and why do you also have one of him?”

for context, here's my entertainment area LMAO i really took self-indulgence to another level, huh (sorry not sorry) title is from the song call me by shinedown (credits to @creativepromptsforwriting for the idea)

anyway, thank you so much again to @/zestivivi for turning my vision into reality and then some <3 thank you for being so easy to work with and receptive to my requests, particularly to make the character look just like me! 'til the next one, for sure :,)

[hoe4hotchner]

Hii I just started criminal minds this month and ofc I HAD to run to tumblr when I saw Aaron Hotchner and I came across your blog and I really really love your writing !!

So I wanted to ask a one shot with him about an anemic reader (fem if possible) who forgot to take her med or to eat on a case and she gets dizzy but brush it off and continue working but hotch notice 🙏🏽

(Ignore if you’re not comfortable writing it ofc)

Watchful Eyes

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Light use of Y/N, dizziness, forgetting to take meds.

Requests can be send here

The sun was high, casting sharp shadows on the ground as the team spread out through the small town, gathering evidence and interviewing witnesses. It was the third day of their investigation, and everyone was feeling the strain, especially you. You'd been running on fumes, forgetting to eat properly, and skipping your medication a few times in the rush of trying to catch the unsub in time before his next victim was brutally murdered.

Pushing aside the foggy feeling in your head, you focused on the task at hand, sifting through piles of case files at the local police station, where the team had set up their field office. Your vision blurred for a moment as you tried to focus on the words in front of you. Shaking your head slightly, you tried to clear it away.

"You okay?" JJ asked, glancing over at you from a desk nearby.

"Yeah, just a bit tired," you replied with a forced smile. "I'll be fine."

But as you stood up to grab another file, the room seemed to rock. You reached out, gripping the edge of the desk in an attempt to steady yourself, but quickly brushed it off trying to power through it. There was no time to be weak. The team needed every set of hands, and you couldn't afford to slow down, not now.

Hotch appeared in the doorway from the chief of police's office, his presence commanding as always. "(Y/N), can you come with me to the crime scene? I could use an extra pair of eyes?"

You hesitated for a moment, the dizziness still lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but nodded not wanting him to notice. "Of course, Hotch. Just let me grab my things."

He watched you closely, noticing the slight hesitation and the way you braced yourself against the table. He was the chief after all. Hotch didn’t say anything, simply waiting for you to collect your belongings before leading the way out. As you stepped into the sunlight, the cool air hit you, and you did your best to shake off the unease, determined to keep up with your boss the best you could.

Hotch stood outside the suspected unsub's house, a deep furrow in his brow as he spoke into his earpiece. "Reid, I need you and Morgan to double-check the timelines with the victims' families. Prentiss, head back to the station and go over the CCTV footage again with the local officers. We might have missed something." He directed the team, trying to make sense of the case so far.

"Got it, Hotch," came the chorus of replies.

Hotch glanced down at his watch. Time was slipping away, and you needed a breakthrough soon. As he disconnected the call, he spotted you across the street, your figure slightly hunched over as you scribbled notes from a witness. Something about your posture made him frown. You looked pale, almost ghostly under the harsh sunlight, and there was a slight tremor in your hands as you took the notes.

His eyes narrowed. He knew the signs, he had seen them before. The stress, the exhaustion, the faint sheen of sweat on your brow despite the cool breeze. His instincts told him something was wrong.

Making his way over, he approached just as you swayed on your feet, your hand reaching out to the wall for support.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice low but firm, drawing your attention. "Are you alright?"

You blinked up at him, trying to muster a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Hotch. Just a little light-headed. It's nothing."

Hotch wasn't convinced. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of serious distress. "When was the last time you ate?" He asked, aware of your condition from your personnel file.

"I… I don't know, this morning, maybe?" You admitted, your voice wavering. You knew it was of no use lying to him. He was far too good at his job for that to work.

"And your medication?"

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. "I might have forgotten…"

Hotch let out a quiet sigh, concern etched in his features. "You know you can't skip those. You're not doing anyone any favors by pushing yourself like this."

Before you could protest, Hotch’s hand reached out, gently but firmly taking the files from your hands. The gesture was commanding yet tender, leaving no room for resistance. He looked down at you with a mixture of concern and resolve, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of defiance. When he spoke, his voice was calm but laced with an authority that you knew better than to challenge.

"That's it," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're grounded to the field office until you’re feeling better. No more pushing through or pretending you're fine."

He held your gaze, making sure his words sank in as if daring you to argue and make your "punishment" even worse, potentially pulling completely off the case. You felt a wave of frustration rise in your chest, you didn’t want to be sidelined, not when the team needed you. But beneath the frustration, there was also a sense of relief. Hotch wasn’t just issuing orders; he was looking out for you, protecting you from yourself when you couldn’t see past the immediate demands of the job.

"Hotch, I—"

"No arguments," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. "I'm not risking your health. Not on my watch." He continued, softer now, almost gentle. "I can’t have you out there in this condition. Not when it’s clear you’re struggling. The case can wait; your health can’t."

As you stood there, the weight of his words settled over you, and you realized there was no point in fighting it. Hotch wasn’t just your superior; he was someone who cared enough to make sure you took care of yourself, even when you wouldn't. You opened your mouth to argue, but the world tilted for the second time today, and you found yourself grateful for his firm grip on your arm, steadying you.

"Come on," he said softly, leading you back to the car to drive you back to the field office. "You're sitting down when we get back, drinking some water, and taking your meds. We'll figure out the case, but we need you healthy to do that."

Once you were back at the field office, the busy atmosphere felt distant as Hotch guided you to a chair in a quieter spot. He kept a steady hand on your back, making sure you were okay as you sat down, feeling more tired than you'd wanted to admit.

Hotch quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby cooler. Without saying a word, he opened it and handed it to you, his eyes never leaving you. The way he watched you, so carefully, as if worried you might collapse, it made you feel both comforted and a bit embarrassed. You knew he was just being responsible, but his concern was clear.

As you took a sip of water, it helped ease the dryness in your throat, but it didn’t stop the awkwardness you felt under his watchful gaze. You looked down at the bottle, trying to avoid his eyes.

"I'm fine, really," you mumbled, your voice quiet as you tried to reassure him, though you weren't entirely sure yourself.

Hotch knelt beside you, so you were at the same level, his expression soft and understanding. "I know you are," he said gently, but with a firmness that showed he wasn’t going to let this go. "But you need to take care of yourself, (Y/N). We all need you at your best."

His words were simple, but they carried a lot of meaning. It wasn’t just about the work, they needed you to be okay. And he wasn’t going to let you ignore your health again. His concern made you realize how much he and the team cared, not just about the job, but about you as a person. You nodded, a small smile finally breaking through, feeling a bit better knowing you weren't facing this alone.

You nodded, the dizziness starting to fade now that you were sitting. "Thanks, Hotch."

He gave you a small, rare smile. "Just doing my job."

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (15) - Acquaintances

Summary: Astarion meets a friend of old and quickly realises it might have just cost him something very dear to him.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma and abuse. Mentions of abuse.

Note: This post on reddit shed some light on Cazador, so I definitely giving it a read!

Word count: 3.3k

Series masterlist . Ao3

In times past, Astarion would have found momentary solace in the person standing right before him. After all, silence and whatever could be called normalcy were hard to come by in Cazador's palace.

The servants had been the very embodiment of the life he had long lost. In fact, they had been the only life that roamed the vast halls. All had accepted  being there willingly and under the foolish illusion that Cazador would one day grant them the gift of immortality. 

If you could actually call it a gift…

And even though they were loyal to the vampire lord to a fault, they were, for the most part, quite amicable to his spawn as well. Some would even tend to the vast and deep wounds inflicted by Cazador after he had spent his wrath.

Astarion had been quite fortunate to be on the receiving end of their mercy on numerous occasions, when his field of vision was nothing but a pool of blood – a sore reminder that crossing Cazador Szarr was not to be taken lightly.

Eyla?

He did remember her name and her kindness and gentle touch amidst his wails of pain.

“Surprised to see me?”

The slim figure took a few sure steps in his direction as he cradled your limp form in his arms, still overrun with shock.

Astarion tried to talk, but no words left his mouth.

“I suppose your silence is a novelty,” she said, coming to a halt as she pushed the hood down, revealing her pleasant face. “After all, you were always the loud and troublesome one.”

For better or for worse, navigating through undeath and the unpredictability of his circumstances ever since he was snatched from Baldur's gate, had taught him a thing or two about being prepared and always on guard.

The dagger tightly strapped to his thigh was proof of it. He would only need to move his hand slightly under you to reach the hilt.

“What have you done to her?”

The woman's lips were pressed into a fine line for a long while, as if examining his question.

His patience was running thin, and he tried hard to keep her engaged enough so he could find a way to incapacitate her.

“Do not fret – she will be fine,” she said with a sigh, drawing even closer. “Not that it wouldn't give me great pleasure to put an end to the so-called hero of Baldur's Gate and her role in what you did to the master.”

Ah.

He should have known that this had something to do with Cazador. It seemed that he was destined to have him haunt him even in true death.

The sudden realisation hit him so hard he held you even closer to his body, shifting along the bench as if that would create a safe distance from Eyla.

Surprised was soon drowned out by the ever-growing anger that took root within him. He was known for his temper and outbursts, and clearly not the most sensible man when cornered.

But this was something else entirely.

Astarion had over two hundred years of having the worst atrocities being inflicted upon his body and mind. As far as he was concerned, he had managed to find useful ways to deal with imminent threats to him.

But he wasn't so lenient when it came to you.

You were off limits to anyone.

And he wasn't going to allow any harm to befall you.

“You'd be wise to undo this right now, or this conversation will be rather short.”

She had the nerve to snicker, eyes flickering under the moonlight. “Freedom has made you even more insufferable and entitled. Godey ought to have been harsher to you back then. I reckon one hundred more lashings would have made a difference each time you crossed the master.”

Rage swirled throughout his body like poisonous fumes, and he found it hard to stay put through the taunting.

But she was a fool to think she could best him in his natural element. After all, he had a tongue sharp enough to rival the blade of his dagger.

“Well, darling,” he started, slipping nearly effortlessly into his usual demeanour, “Godey is now nothing but a pile of dust, so unless you intend on joining him for a tea party in the afterlife, I'd make sure to tread lightly.”

And like clockwork, the first cracks began to show.

Her face dropped ever so slightly and he figured he had one - maybe two if the gods above even cared to bestow him any grace - sneer remark left before she lashed out at him.

“You insolent and ungrateful brat,” Eyla spat out through gritted teeth, both fists clenched at her sides, allowing him to infer 

Well, he had clearly exhausted her patience already, hadn't he?

No bother.

His right hand now gripped the handle of the dagger firmly, as he readied himself for an imminent physical confrontation.

But something made him freeze almost instantly, and his gaze dropped briefly to your face.

Maybe, just maybe, it was merely his mind playing tricks on him and feeding off his desperation, but he could swear he felt you shift slightly against him.

And then he saw your face tense.

A sudden wave of relief washed down on him, his free hand giving you a reassuring squeeze.

Good girl.

It was in moments like this that he vaguely wished – much to his utter disgust – that the wriggling worm was still a . He would have made good use of them right now.

More than relief, he felt pride.

He had yet to meet someone quite as resilient as you. Whatever incantation had been cast on you surely wasn't enough to contain the tempest within you.

You had been shaped by the elements and woven into a sorcerer whose magic wasn't so easily put out. He had been foolish to think a mere vampire lord servant could ever be a match against your mind.

“Isn't it enough that you turned on your master and betrayed him?”

Oh, what a bloody nuisance. He had no patience to entertain speeches of heartbroken servants whose wet dream had been crushed.

However…

You shifted again, but no sound came from your parting lips.

Astarion knew then he had to play the waiting game. There was no denying you were slowly but surely coming to your senses, but he couldn't draw attention to it.

More than friends, you two had grown to become teammates, taking in on each other's queues to know when to make the right move.

He knew you needed time, and time he would give you.

Meeting her eyes with defiance, he took on the challenge. “What Cazador sold you was naught but a fantasy.”

Your hand shifted next.

Mentioning his name so blatantly made her visibly shudder. “How dare you? You utter his name with no regard that he saved you from certain death.”

He leaned back with a roll of his eyes, further reeling her into his trap. “Oh, please. And what would he save you from, exactly? Idiocy? I am afraid it would take more than a vampire bite to fix such ailment, dear Eyla. Eternal life can only do so much.”

Warmth began spreading under his palm, letting him know that you were returning to him.

Still, you needed more time.

“Your words might work on the weak, but not on me.”

“And yet… you managed to serve a vampire lord who had no intention to ever deliver his promises.”

Eyla was young and naive, so he couldn't truly fault her for being so passionate and loyal. Cazador's grasp reached far and viciously. Astarion had once fallen for his 

“That does not make me weak.”

A crooked grin curled his lips. “Just an idiot, then.”

He tugged on his dagger slowly, allowing his fingers to glide down across the blade, knowing that, sooner or later, he would have to make use of it.

Eyla scoffed, crossing her arms, apparently unaware that you were no longer unconscious.

Come on… you're almost there, darling, he urged sweetly in his head as if his words could ever reach you.

“The others warned me that you had become rather insufferable.”

Others?

“Oh, how very interesting,” he said, trying his best to ignore your hand clawing at his shirt. “Ava?”

Were they… friends? In on this together?

Her brows furrowed. “The monster hunter whore you befriended? Don't insult me.”

Clearly not.

Well… 

“Does this rendezvous even have a purpose?” Astarion said with a forced yawn. “Are we to swap snarky remarks until one of us perishes? I had more engaging plans for this evening.”

The serenity in her face had given her away. 

She wasn't alone and he was a master of shadows.

Even in the poorly lit area, he could see silhouettes drawing near right behind her. That was certainly yet another nuisance he would have to deal with.

“Astarion…”

Your voice snapped him out of his bloodbath scheming right away.

For a brief moment, he let his guard down by meeting your hazy eyes.

“There you are.”

His voice was almost shaky from relief, but it would come at a cost.

It had been an unfortunate distraction.

He wasn't sure how he managed to tap so quickly into his reflexes, but he soon felt the warm and familiar splatter of blood hit his face, making him wince from bloodlust.

In the midst of chaos and footsteps and hisses surrounding him, he was able to spot the man he had hurled his dagger at, slicing clean through the pulsing artery in his neck. The obscene gush of blood that ensued as he hit the ground was enough to drive any vampire mad.

And he was not immune to it.

He hadn't fed in days and he could use this to his advantage. In fact, he reckoned it would be the only way out.

Droplets streamed down his face, hitting his lips, and he wasn't strong enough to deny himself of an added burst of power. As such, his tongue darted out and a rumbling groan tore through him as the liquid progressively took over his senses. One by one.

Blood was blood.

He would have preferred yours, but he was far too hungry to be picky.

He had pushed you right behind him as he leapt from the bench, determined to take on anyone who dared to come close.

By the time he had managed to retrieve his dagger, Eyla had a smile dancing on her lips. One that had his eyes wide.

Astarion was fast and agile, but he was also severely outnumbered.

Two other men had rushed to his side, and he flinched as something began poking at his lower abdomen, as they looped strong arms around his own, immobilising him in place.

Wooden stakes.

“Astarion…”

Your voice was still void of the life it usually held. It was evident that you were still weak and in no condition to fight.

And, in truth, he wasn't even sure he wanted you to.

“Drop the dagger.”

It wasn't a request.

It was a command and he wasn't sure how to dodge this one. He usually carried knives and other daggers on him just to be on the safe side, but he didn't think he would need those tonight.

Fucking idiot…

No amount of self-deprecation would get him out of this one.

They wanted to kill him for what he had done to Cazador. They wanted revenge and he wasn't sure how his wits and snarky replies would talk him out of this one.

He groaned as one man drove the stake harsher against him, from under his shirt. Still, the pressure wasn't enough to break skin. Not yet, at least.

As a reflex, he immediately let go of the dagger, hearing it land with a muffled thump on the grass.

Eyla's spirit had been renewed and she took measured steps towards him. 

He heard grunts from his side as you struggled to sit down on the bench, flickering snaps of lightning emerging from your hands.

That almost made him smile.

You were a fighter through and through, and he wouldn't mind parting this world in these terms. Knowing you had been enough to ease the pain of centuries of hurt. He had been given a second chance at life when he met you and not when he was made immortal. 

He had never felt more alive than in the moments he had spent with you and he would wish to have more, but he couldn't wish for that at your expense. After all, you had your whole life ahead of you. 

He had had his fill. 

He was ready to meet whatever fate awaited him, as long as you were kept safe.

“You're coming with us.”

His brows furrowed, caught by surprise.

“Do not harm her.”

Eyla was so close he could feel her hot breath on his skin, fanning the blood on his face that had begun to dry into sticky patches.

“We are not harming anyone,” she said viciously. “But we've had enough of you running around unscathed after what you've done.”

He wished he could tear his eyes from you, but it was like a force field. Your arms trembled as you tried your best to rein in the elements inside you. Lighting and fire swirled erratically from your hands. 

Yours was wild magic.

Hard to harness and bend to your will.

Even harder when thrown off balance unexpectedly.

“Look at me, Astarion.”

The two men pressed the stakes harder and he had no choice but to comply, meeting her eyes again.

“Did you really think we were going to allow you to have your happily ever after? That you could off into the sunset with her once you found a way to not burn to ashes?”

She was mocking him… goading him, knowing he was rendered immobile.

“Have you been the ones sabotaging this all along?”

A surge of outrage nearly burst from deep within as her silence answered his question. 

“Surprised?”

That would be an understatement. He couldn't even begin to describe the turmoil that gripped him from the inside out.

“Why…” His voice faltered momentarily, “why not just kill me right when you had the chance?”

At this, Eyla laughed. “Is there a bigger punishment than the illusion of freedom? Killing you would have been the kinder way out for you,” she went on, each word dripping with poison. “No. No, Astarion. You were a fool to hope. You were a fool to hope your misery was over.”

A part of him was still in shock at the revelation, and he had no smart jabs that could possibly help him right now.

But the truth was that, the rest of him, had begun to accept that. He had been a fool indeed to think he could have had any other ending than this.

That he could have had a semblance of happiness with you.

“But I think that we are tired of playing this game. Maybe it's finally time to kill you.”

Just like a punch to his gut, he was quickly overtaken with dread as he heard a faint whimper from you.. “If you're going to kill me, don't do it in front of her.”

“You are in no position to make demands.”

“Please.”

He was running out of time. 

He thought he had bought enough for you to recover, but you couldn't even bring yourself to sit upright, let alone save him from whatever awaited him.

Most importantly, he was running out of ways to ensure you weren't scarred for life for witnessing him being destroyed.

“Oh, you're going to beg? The way you used to beg Cazador to stop carving the scars you carry on you, hmm?” Eyla said, visibly satisfied with the effect her words had on him. “Get on your knees and beg, then.”

“No… fuck…” you said in between groans. 

He'd rather you had lost consciousness once again, for each word from you was as a dagger that was carved into him.

“Astarion. Do not kneel…”

The two men holding him tight chuckled darkly as his knees began to cave in, but before he could go through with it, Eyla raised one hand, halting him.

“What if we kill her instead?” she chirped, making her way to you. “I think we should. Astarion would have an eternity to suffer for having killed the only person he has ever truly loved.”

Blinded by anguish, Astarion lurched forward, feeling both men struggling to keep him in place. He felt the sharp tips of the wooden stakes break skin just enough to draw blood, but he powered through the fear that loomed over him.

“I will fucking kill you if you touch her!”

With a click of her tongue, Eyla sat next to you, one hand caressing your head as you spilled curses at her, still drained from whatever magic had been cast on you.

“You'd be staked before you could even reach me, silly boy,” she said, revealing a knife from under her sleeve. “Now that I think about it, killing her seems the most reasonable choice here.”

You tried to flinch away from her grasp, and Astarion felt himself go mad from the sight in front of him.

He was about to scream when they muffled him with a piece of cloth, robbing him of his voice.

Reflexively, he tried to break free once more, but he was far too weak to put up a fight.

He knew it was futile, but he had abandoned all reason. Even though he had savoured blood, he was still too weak to break through the hold they had on him. Each pull from him and each attempt to break free were quickly met with an immovable force.

When his eyes met yours, he saw you mouth something.

And it broke him.

He didn't need to hear it.

He knew what you were attempting to say.

Thank you.

He doubted any torture Cazador had ever inflected on him could ever match the pain he was currently experiencing.

Eyla suddenly grabbed a vial from her robes, spilling the clear liquid along the sharp blade.

“Isn't it poetic justice that you are a master of poisons, and she gets to die at your hand?”

He recognised the vial as his.

It was his poison.

He couldn't tell which one, but it hardly mattered. Each poison he concocted was terrible through and through. They were designed to hurt and, ultimately, kill.

Soon, you began to sob, swirls of fire engulfing your hands as frustration gripped you. You were unable to get your magic under control and you were going to die.

For him.

Because of him.

Eyla threw him a final glance, positioning the top of the knife right across your neck. You stilled immediately, knowing any sudden movement could have the blade slice right through.

He tried to speak again, but all his words came out unintelligible. 

“If you scream, they'll stake you.”

Eagerly, he nodded, and they swiftly removed the cloth from in between his teeth.

“Please. Don't!” Astarion said in sheer despair. “I will do whatever you want!”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “You have nothing to offer us.”

He had to try.

He had to try to buy himself more time in the hopes that someone had heard him and might 

“You want eternal life, don't you?”

Silence. Dreadful and agonising silence.

“I can find a way to help you. There are other true vampires out there.”

Eyla tapped the side of her blade to your skin as she pondered his words. She then exchanged looks with both men.

“Should we take his offer?”

Had he made it? Had he managed to bluff his way out of this one? To possibly get you somewhere safe?

Hope.

Eyla lifted the poisonous blade and Astarion felt a crushing weight being lifted from him.

She locked eyes with him for what seemed like a lifetime.

Please. Please. Please. 

Eyla clicked her tongue with a pout. “I don't think so.”

And he watched in horror as she moved her hand to swiftly bury the knife into your abdomen.

“NO!”

Astarion felt his body go limp as his field of vision got flooded with a golden and warm beam that tore through the night sky akin to how the sun breaks the dawn. 

Next chapter: When All Things End

[inkedinshadows]

Just One More

Day 8: Overstimulation — Eris x f!reader

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, mention of safe word and tears

Word count: 659

“You can take one more, can’t you, darling?”

You were sprawled on the bed, hands twisting the sheets as you squirmed and whined. You had come three times already, but Eris’s fingers were still pumping inside you.

“I— I don’t know…” you murmured, your voice barely audible. You looked down at his head between your legs, and he curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot that had you arching off the mattress.

“Yes, you can,” your mate cooed, leaving a trail of kisses on your inner thigh. “I know you can, love.”

Before you could answer, his tongue had found your clit, and you cried out when he gently sucked on it. Your hips bucked and you unconsciously began to grind against his face, the pleasure too much and yet not enough.

You felt Eris smirk against your dripping folds at your movements, which only prompted him to thrust his fingers in deeper while he added a third one. Your moans grew louder, suddenly feeling like you were floating as your pleasure built and built once more.

“Eris…” you whined, breaths coming faster. “I’m close again…”

He pulled away slightly, eyebrows raised. “Already?”

When you nodded, he simply replied, “Then come on my fingers, darling,” before closing his lips around your clit again.

It was your undoing. You arched off the bed with a cry, fisting the sheets in your hands as your vision went white. You tried to close your legs, but Eris kept you spread open for him to fuck through it.

You collapsed back on the mattress, panting heavily and ready to curl up in your mate’s arms to cuddle, but he was still not stopping.

“Eris… Love, please stop, I— I can’t…” you mewled. Your fingers tangled in his hair to push his head away from your sensitive cunt, but he hovered just a few inches over it.

“You remember your safe word?” he asked as his fingers slowed down. It was a small reprieve. "Say it for me, beautiful."

His smile was almost wicked. “Then you can take one more.”

You nodded and repeated it for him. That word you had agreed upon at the beginning of your relationship, the one that would stop any intercourse as soon as one of you breathed it. But you could count the times you had used it over the years on one hand. Both of you had learned to read each other's bodies so well that you could tell when you reached the limit.

You gasped, eyes widening, unsure what to do. You were shaking, unable to control your body any longer, but the sight of that smile, of your slick release on his lips and chin, and the soft purr in his voice…

“Tell me your safe word again and I’ll stop, love.”

Knowing you might regret your choice later, you shook your head.

“No?” Eris lifted himself up to lean over you until you were face to face. “That’s my girl.”

He kissed you while his fingers resumed their fast pace, his thumbs pressing down on your clit. You were so fucked out you could barely kiss him back, and he took the chance to claim your mouth, gently biting your bottom lip.

Whimpering and squirming, you didn’t even realize there were tears running down your cheeks. Eris brushed and licked them away, hushing you tenderly and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.

It didn’t take long before you came for a fifth time. Without any energy left to even moan, you slumped beneath him, legs limp as Eris massaged your clit while you came down from your high.

You opened your mouth to finally say the safe word, unable to take a sixth orgasm, but Eris removed his hand right then and you sighed in relief.

“You’ve been so good, darling,” he purred, gathering you in his arms and drawing soothing circles on your back. “Now rest. Let me take care of you.”

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[gracexthoughts]

headstrong

warnings; none really, fluffy, mostly unedited  summary; okay so i combined these two requests (kind of and i may still write another intrusion like fic another time) because King!Dad!Jace immediately infiltrated my mind and would not let go once I saw these  a/n; again, thank you all for the requests, i love them all and am excited to work on them but here is a little short drabble bc i couldn't not write this immediately 

“What?” the Princess Luceara exclaims, her dark violet eyes darting between her mother and father. 

“You are of age, Lucy,” the girl's mother sighs, adjusting in her seat; the weight of her growing stomach causing discomfort. “You must have known this an inevitability.” 

“You told me I could choose!” The princess fires back. Kingsguards had intercepted her on her way to the Dragonpit so she stands in her riding clothes, her light gray hair woven back into braids that hang around her shoulder. Her hair is darker than that of the typical Targaryen, but like her father, her dragon blood proves true as she rides her dragon and argues and commands with the fire of her house in her voice. 

“You may and will. All I’m saying is it's high time we begin the search,” Jacaerys states, watching his daughter. Fathers aren’t meant to have favorites but he adores his eldest, his darling girl, his only daughter. The day she came into the world was one of the most terrifying and beautiful of his life and he adores the woman she is becoming, even though she aggravates him so. 

“You’re a year elder than I was when I met your father,” the Queen says, glancing up at her husband who rests his hand on the back of her chair. 

“You were fortunate. Aunt Baela and Aunt Rhaena were fortunate! Most are not! And yet you are intent to sell me off!” Lucaera cries indignantly. 

“We are not,” Jacaerys yells loudly before stopping himself and lowering his voice, “selling you off. You must marry to secure your reign. It is a fact, irregardless of your gender. My mother did the same, if you recall your histories.” 

The princess’ eyebrow raises as she coldly stares down her father, her gaze defiant and hard. She watches as her father’s face transforms from the soft, if disgruntled, image of her father to the vision of the King. She grits her teeth, knowing this is a battle she will lose, today or in a moon, or a year but she will lose. The inevitability of her fate consumes her hot like dragon breath, choking her and wrapping around like chains. Her hard gaze falters but, ever headstrong, she turns on her heel, her gray curls and blood red coat swaying in her wake as she storms from the King’s chambers. 

Jacaerys sighs, leaning down on the table at the center of the room. The weight of rule weighs heavy on his shoulders but in truth, it's his familial duties he worries of most. Even decades past the Dance of Dragons and in the safety of the Red Keep, his memories haunt him. Every draw of a sword reminds him of battle. Every labor his wife endures sends him into a panic, memories of his mother’s cries echoing through the halls as she birthed his sister still ringing in his ears. He is only pulled from the depths of his memories by his wife’s touch on his shoulder as she comes to stand at his side. 

“She learned that look from you,” Jacaerys states, pushing up off the table to turn to his Queen. 

“She will come around, just as I did,” she says placatingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“It took nearly a year, if I recall correctly. And that was after we met,” the king reminds her, remembering all too well how she shunned him when they first met at seven and ten years of age. She’d give him the same look his daughter leveled at him just moments ago whenever he tried to chip away at her defenses. 

“Well then you better summon suitors to court or send her off on a tour soon,” the queen laughs lightly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. She sucks in a sharp breath suddenly, her hand rubbing at her bump. 

“How is the little dragon?” Jacaerys asks, his warm hands moving to rest on his wife, wishing he could take her pain from her and bear it himself. 

“Kicking like a goat,” the Queen laughs feebly, leaning into her husband's embrace. “The maesters now believe it's a girl.” 

“So I’m to have another daughter to rain seven hells on my will?” He jests, his amber eyes gazing upon his beloved queen. 

“You speak as if you did not do the same to your mother, and she to her father, and so on,” the queen laughs. “It is the way of eldests and one day, she will have her own child who will refuse to marry and run off to ride on dragonback at the slightest inconvenience.” Jacaerys laughs, a true hearty laugh that is music to his wife’s ears. He shakes his head and pulls him into her, cupping her face as their lips intertwine, their worries momentarily forgotten.

[cyripticchronicler]

Hiii I have a request for Matt Murdock I was thinking him with an reader who’s job has gotten more stressful and it starts to get to them they get dizzy and lightheaded but brush it off until it happens around Matt and he can sense that it happened and he gets all protective and caring

Preferably fem reader but gn is also totally fine so everyone can enjoy it !

If this isn’t your cup of tea I totally get that !

In His Arms

Thank you for requesting, sweetie. I kind of went off track a little and I'm sorry :( (If you want me to rewrite it I happily will!) But either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed by your growing workload and the pressure to prove yourself, you keep your struggles hidden—even from Matt. When the stress leads to a breakdown, he pulls you back, reminding you that love means sharing the load.

TW: Panic attack, mentions of anxiety, pet names (I can't help it), swearing

Masterlist

Stress was a familiar feeling to you. Its sharp claws seemed always to be gripping onto you tightly. You’ve learnt how to manage the lack of air in your lungs and the painful squeezing of your heart whenever you go through a rough patch. 

That’s why the feeling of anxiety creeping up your spine was carelessly ignored. You regret that you shrugged the feeling away, too focused on your work. It’s much easier to calm your bones' nervous trembles before it worsens. 

But now it’s too late. 

You’ve been so distracted by your work. Your colleague had just gone on maternity leave after giving birth to twins. You weren’t sure what would happen to her workload, but you certainly didn’t think it would all be passed down to you. 

Now all your brain can seem to focus on is the deadlines coming closer by the minute. They flash in your mind each time you consider taking a break. You never take a break - this is your one chance to prove to your boss that you’re ready to take on more responsibility. The rumours floating around the office of potential promotions, motivating your hard work ethic. 

You’ve always been a hard worker; had always been distracted by what you consider important rather than what was essential- like eating, or sleeping. Each time you got away with it. You didn’t have anyone to look after you. 

Until Matt came along. 

He’s such an attentive man and would be even without his heightened senses. You knew he’d be worried about your desperation to complete your work, completely gone to the rest of the world as your stomach grumbled louder and your under eyes got darker. 

He’s a natural worrier. That’s what compelled you to keep your stress a secret. It’s hard lying to a human lie detector,  so you’ve taken to avoiding instead. It’s easy to avoid him when you’re so busy, anyway. A couple of messages per day seems to keep him subdued for now and you’re glad; it’s all the attention you could offer.

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, chewing hard enough to draw the taste of metallic blood. None of the words before you make sense through your blurry eyesight. As you attempt to read the same sentence for the third time, you angrily rip off your glasses and groan. 

Black spots take over your vision as you rub at your eyes aggressively, hoping the sickeningly dizzy feeling that’s making your throat feel tight will go away. It’s useless, yet you only allow yourself a second break before gulping down some water and returning to work. 

Your phone rings as soon as your fingertips touch the keys of your laptop and a curse slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. You hate yourself for the spark of annoyance that has your blood boiling when you read Matt’s name on your phone. 

He’d already left three messages from before. As well as a voice message that you hadn’t yet listened to; you were practically forced to answer the phone so as not to draw concern. You’re determined not to burden him with your issues - he’s a vigilante for God’s sake, he doesn’t need your petty problems on top of his own. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.” His deep voice crackles through your phone speaker. Instantly, your shoulders relax and your eyes flutter shut. He’s the bright sun during cold days, the flowers during winter; beautiful and everything you long to see.

“Hey, Matt.” You respond lazily, mustering up enough energy to open your eyes and read the words on your laptop screen. You use one hand to type while the other holds your phone to your ear. You can hear his smile in his voice. “I’ve barely talked to you all day. I thought you were coming to mine for dinner. Did you get my voicemail?”

Guilt nags at your stomach. “I’m so sorry, Matt,” the little sigh you can hear through the other line has your heart splintering, “I’ve just been so busy with staying on top of my work as well as Mara’s-”

“It’s okay. I know how busy you’ve been. I could come by with dinner. I can do some work while you do yours.” You hate to diminish the hope in his voice, but you know he'd be worried about your obvious stress as it shines through in your old clothing and unbrushed hair (not that he’d be able to see but feel). 

“Can we do a raincheck?” You whisper, guilt nagging at your stomach. His voice is so sweet. So understanding. It makes you want to cry. “Of course, baby. Try to eat, please. And take breaks. I’ll call you tomorrow; maybe we can go out for lunch.”

“Maybe,” If I’ve got enough work done, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You drop your phone on your lap as soon as the call ends. For once, you’re thankful for the large amounts of work, as it distracts you from the guilt that claws and tugs at your skin. 

⚝⚝⚝

The second time Matt calls, you’re nose-deep in paperwork that was slammed down on your desk. ‘More of Mara’s work,’ your boss said before leaving you with the rasing anxiety in your chest. Thoughts of taking your lunch break didn’t even assimilate in the blurry haze of your mind. 

Only the shrill ring of your phone brought you out of your bubble of work. Sighing, you don’t bother to check the name before picking it up, as you already know who it is. “Hey, Matt.” Your hand still scribbles words on the paper, phone pressed awkwardly against your ear by your shoulder.

“Hey. I called to see if you wanted lunch, but you sound busy.” Unlike last time, his voice doesn’t soothe your racing heart. If anything he makes it worse. “I’m so sorry,” you hope he can hear the sincerity in your voice, “I miss you. As soon as the crazy amount of work has subsided, I’ll call you.”

“Is there any way I can help?” You can’t help but smile at his caring nature, wanting nothing more than to be with him. But you know if you went to lunch you’d be too focused on work to be good company. “Remember that I love you?”

His laugh makes your heart melt, anxiety melting away with it. “Of course. As long as you remember that I love you. I won’t call so I don’t distract you from your work, but please take care of yourself. I love you so much, honey.”

“I love you too.” You hang up the phone and instead of returning to work immediately, you just sit there in silence, staring at the piles of paperwork in front of you. The sting of unshed tears joined by a nervous feeling in your stomach is enough to make you want to throw up. You’re so tired. 

You should have listened to your body. You should have gone out for lunch and taken a break. But instead, you got back to work, ignoring the bright red signs of a panic attack on the rise. 

⚝⚝⚝

Having been diagnosed with anxiety when you were younger, you’ve learned to identify signs of an upcoming panic attack. First, you begin to feel dizzy, then a little lightheaded. Your heart begins to hurt, and your stomach starts to turn. Then you can’t breathe, and you’re scratching at your skin to give your lungs more space to breathe. 

Now, as you stand in your kitchen, staring at the piles of paperwork that cover the dining room table, it’s hard to ignore how your body reacts to the sight of the never-ending workload; the feelings you so carelessly ignored before forced to be brought to attention. 

Your eyesight is unfocused, and you are unable to concentrate on the hand you’re using to prepare a small dinner. Your hands violently shake by your side and feel incredibly weak. But that isn’t what worries you; it’s the lack of air entering your lungs that has your eyes squeezed shut. 

Feelings of worthlessness travel up your throat and block your airways. You’re having a panic attack. The realization has you sliding down the fridge and to the floor, tears running freely down your flushed cheeks. You bring your knees to your chest, hands scratching at your throat as if it would allow air into your beaten lungs. 

Your body feels so weak, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you tried. You’re lost to the darkness and anguish the past weeks have wrought upon you; lost to the cruel insecurities your mind created to fool you into this vicious despair. 

No matter how hard you cry, how hard you claw and scrape at your skin, you still can’t breathe. Hopelessness washes over your chilled skin, pulling you into its shadows. You can do nothing but let it take you as its own, the fight for air warring off as you succumb to the darkness that spots your eyes. 

And as your eyes flutter shut, you fail to notice the opening of the window in the living room. You fail to notice the hurried steps and the gloved hands that hold your face gently. Or the man’s desperate calls of your name. 

⚝⚝⚝

The first thing you notice when you regain consciousness is the exhaustion that wracks through your frail body. The second thing is the man who lays next to you on your bed. 

Matt. 

He’s sleeping peacefully, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. You frown, unsure of why he’s here. The last thing you remember was you freaking out about the workload and having a panic attack. You must have fainted from the lack of air, you consider then immediately cringe. How embarrassing. 

“What are you thinking about?” You jump at the sound of Matt’s deep voice, eyes shooting up to watch a small smile grace his face at your reaction. “Why are you here?” The question comes out ruder than you intended, but Matt’s smile doesn't waver. 

“I was on patrol,” he begins, pulling you into his warm embrace, “and figured I’d stop by to check on you. I wasn’t going to come in, just listen-”

“-that’s not creepy at all-”

“-then I heard you panicking. Your heart was beating really fast and you were breathing really heavily. You were already passed out from lack of air by the time I was inside.” He pulls you in tighter like the moment still haunts him. You trace your fingertips gently down his bare arm, ear against his chest as you listen to his heartbeat. 

“What happened, sweetheart?” He asks when it became clear you weren’t going to speak. You sigh. “I’ve been a little stressed lately. And I should’ve listened to my body but I didn’t. There’s just so much work and such little time. I can’t handle all of this workload.” The familiar bite of tears has you shoving your head in Matt’s neck, letting him hold you tightly and reassure you that everything will be okay. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked through your stress together,” He questions quietly and you shake your head in response. “You take the burden of everyone else’s problems, and still go out every night to face all the bad guys- I just didn’t want to burden you with my problems on top of all the rest.”

He pulls away and you try not to frown at the lack of contact. Slowly, his fingers move under your chin and compel you to look into his beautiful, unfocused eyes that sparkle in the city lights shining through your windows. “You are not a burden. Your problems are not a burden. I want to be here for you. I want you to tell me what’s going on in that smart little head of yours-” He flicks your forehead playfully before giving it a small kiss “-And I want you to know you can talk to me.”

You nod your head slowly, feeling like a child that’s just been scolded. “Okay.” He lays there in silence for a moment, seemingly contemplating his words before he speaks, “I think you need to talk to your boss,” you open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off with a gentle squeeze, “This amount of work isn’t healthy. I mean, why hasn’t the workload been separated and passed around to all of your co-workers? It’s fucking stupid if you ask me. She’s obviously taking advantage of your brilliance-”

“-Matt,” You cut him off with an amused smile. His eyes glint at the sound of your giggles as if that was his mission all along and he won first place. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me. If anything I’m being selfish.” He grins cheekily, kissing your palm as it raises to cup his cheek. “And why, pray tell, are you being selfish?” Your smile is sly and knowing. 

“Because I’m doing this to get my beautiful girl back and into my arms. Foggy isn’t as good company as you, y’know.” You giggle, holding him tightly as your mind settles on a decision. “I’ve missed you too.”

Tomorrow you’ll call your boss and ask for a lessened workload. But for now, you’re just going to lay in bed with the man you love dearly and let him hold you tightly. 

[86-babyy]

Undeniable.

Part two - Insatiable.

Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader.

He’s your Dad’s best friend but when temptation comes to strong, you just couldn’t turn away.

This fic is inspired by the amazing edits of @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, which make me absolutely feral. 🫠 (pictures used in header created by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

Warnings: There’s a age gap. Reader is 20, Eddie is in his 30s. Fingering. Choking. Size kink, maybe? (Eddie is big.) Dirty Talk. Eddie is tattooed to the max. Teasing, a lot of smutty goodness. Dirty thoughts and easy temptations, it’s just filthy, babes. 😘 (let me know if I missed anything)

It started small.

Like a ever present dip that strung low in your stomach, it’s soft, subtle and you almost always missed it. The creep of warmth that prickled the tips of your toes, made your chest bubble like tiny explosions weaving through your bloodstream, left you feeling slightly left of centre with no real reasoning.

It was small, dismissive and evidently so fucking obvious.

You weren’t sixteen, freshly twenty, straight out of your adolescence but you were anything but naive. You knew by the second time the feeling had woven it’s way through your hormones like stitching, pulling, twisting, tightening the thread that lead directly to your cunt— that this was every bit of what you knew it was.

It was wrong. Instinctively and morally, it was everything bad, dangerous and wrong in the world to fragile to even think about— to impulsive, playful, thoughts of sin and lust, desire and temptation— It was fucking carnage and you wanted to dip your fingers, smooth the rough edges like rippled water, you wanted to ravish and explore— let the filth cover your skin like dirt and regret.

You wanted to devour, tempt and play with him.

You could take it. That was no hesitation. Everything he could dish out, you would lick clean and ask for more.

“Hey! Look, I got to go, alright?”

The hand waving across your line of vision breaks the border between your subconscious and draws you back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. It’s fine, I’ll see you when you get home.”

He shuffles the jacket over his shoulder, the puff slowly dissipates when he zips it all the way up, a concerning smile plays his lips before stuffing the keys into the side pocket and hoisting his bag on his shoulder.

“Try to be good. It’s a late one, don’t think I’ll be back until morning, 6am at best.”

There’s a slight wince in his expression, it falls and tugs his frame along with it, the weight shifting his stance when outstretched arms pull you in.

“It’s fine, Dad. I have a whole night planned, full of pizza and shitty movies.”

You run little circles at the middle of his back, the thick jacket restrains most of your touch but he gestures with a smile in response regardless, he huffs a laugh, nods and heads for the front door.

You genuinely felt fucking terrible most days, your Dad loved what he did, strived for the best in all aspects of his career and it was truly admirable but sometimes when the days would turn to weeks and the nights would stretch longer and longer, he felt guilty, leaving you for so long, though every reassurance you noted towards him felt like it fell on deaf ears you tried none the less.

Except this time, you weren’t alone.

The gentle hum of water swam through the pipes and trickled like notes through the wall, no, you definitely weren’t alone.

The occupied upstairs bathroom was proof of that, housed by one Eddie Munson.

It was like a cruel twist of fate that landed him on your doorstep, like a perfectly timed occurrence when your Dad mentioned that Eddie was in town and would be staying over the weekend.

You had met Eddie before, many times before, see Eddie was your dads best friend. Childhood friends, in-fact.

The pipes creaked, shuttered to a holt when the water turned off. It was like a alarm that vibrated the walls, sent signals telling you to vacate before he came downstairs, telling you to hide. Four minutes. That’s exactly how long it took for you to take the gap between Eddie leaving the bathroom and going back to his room. You stumbled upstairs, each step seemingly drifting further apart with each stride until you hit the top, feet planted and making a line straight to your bedroom. It sounded good, planned perfect, down to each second until you collided with something that held resemblance to a brick wall, knocking you clean from your feet.

The patches of water residue seeps through the fabric of your shirt, bleeds and stains your skin underneath but the searing heat that bares the curve of your waist sticks like molten from the hold as Eddie bares your weight, keeping you grounded, keeps you from falling.

You feel the muscle pinch, flex beneath your palm, the water soaking between skin, seeps from one pore to other beneath your hand.

It’s soft reels of time, like everything is in slow motion, your eyes rake over the sparse of dewy skin coated in a sheen of water, drops leaving tracks as they follow the contours of definition, the inky black images show so much more refine up close, each placed line and shading painted, stained, perfectly across his chest.

Curls cling to the dip in his shoulders, wet ends create a pool in divots of his collar bone, strands of black glisten from the recent action— everything is so wet.

It’s a sickly wet that drys way to quick, beads mirror your face in tiny droplets painted across canvas that you want to reach forward and taste— the border between water and salt, the cool on your tongue mixed with the taste of him.

“Sorry, I uh, are you okay?”

The wind catches in your throat, sucks any air and words along with it when you finally land in his line of sight— deep, dark eyes fluttered beneath eyelashes that study you.

“Yeah, sorry.”

It’s a pathetic response, it’s all breath with no voice and it makes you want to sink further than you already were.

“Maybe, I should—“

In a instant Eddie let’s go. Hovers slightly to make sure you have your footing but removes himself completely, from touch, from space, stepping backwards. The loss of contact winds you without the actual impact, makes you want to run, makes you want to stay more.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s apology is quiet, knowing.

“No, please. It was my fault.”

You pull a semblance of a laugh, a dry attempt at trying to lighten the strain that had set in the air. Eddie bites back with a smile, it’s lop sided and it quirks his lips to dimple the hollow of his cheeks.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

You can’t help it. You smile. It’s small and shy, makes you dip your head to hide the growing heat that burns to the tips of your ears.

“I was just about to clean up, make a pizza, want to join?”

His voice is thick, syrupy like honey but dark like malt, it bares rough in the back of his throat but cheery none the less. You sense the hope in his words, a strained branch in offering to deescalate the situation so you nod.

“Yeah, would love too.”

The painted skull on his throat bobs along with his adams apple when he smiles, reaches behind him and opens the door and you’re quick to take the message, heading back downstairs.

It’s a mess. The whole kitchen is laid out in flour and dough, ingredients spread across the island, once were in bowls, now a muddled mess of vegetables. Eddie’s got a ball of dough, fingers and knuckles need the springy texture to a mould and he’s helplessly coated in the powdery substance. It clings all the way up to his elbows and flecks decorate his hair.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Eddie side eyes you, the gleam reflects off the light and back into you but you can’t help it. You both look a absolute mess.

“Can you blame me? You said you were good at this.”

“Hey, I am. We got dough right?”

“Yeah, and so does the kitchen floor.”

There’s a drop in his expression, a pouty look before he dips his fingers, finds were the flour has collected most and smears your cheek. The white powder blends with your laughter, to slow to avoid his actions, instead you mimic.

Fingers dip into the bag of flour, you watch Eddie hesitantly step backwards, eyes squinted in a daring gaze before you leap forward, your hand smearing white across his shirt, the trail of your hand print perfectly centred on his chest. The walls bounce with laughter, rebound and echo with squeals when Eddie comes for you. You dip and weave managing to duck under his arm before twisting on your heel and feeling the collision of your back into the counter, but that wasn’t what caught you off guard.

Somewhere between the push and pull, Eddie had reached across mid duck and when you came back up, cashing in to the counter, Eddie had caught your throat.

It was a obvious mistake, a miss of direction when you twisted the other way but the evident pressure was unmistakable. You whined, a needy gasp that slipped way to quick before you could even try to swallow it back down, the flush of your cheeks burn through the rapid of your heart rate and you lean forward. Against all better fucking judgement, you chase the feeling, you lose yourself in the hallow of boring eyes that look back at you, to far gone in the abyss— Your mind swept in a fog, dragged by your ankles and left you looking from the outside in.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Eddie moves quick, takes three steps backwards, hands raised like a wounded soldier.

“No, no. You’re okay.”

It’s breathy and loose, you mask a laugh behind in desperation to carry the banter, not make it awkward, though you very clearly already had.

He laughs but it’s weak, cautious and when he turns to finish working out the discarded dough, you don’t miss the slight tremor to his movements, the way he swallows thick.

“So, how have you been?”

You pick the vegetables, try to place them back in their respective bowls, busy hands keeps your tone light— Friendly.

“Ah, you know, here there and everywhere. Can never seem to keep my feet planted long enough to enjoy much.”

“Maybe you should settle here. You always seem to drift back.”

You catch him wince slightly and realise maybe it had come across more bitter than intended. You knew Eddie hated it here, ever since high school, or so your dad says.

“I’m sorry, I mean, you just seem—“

“No.” He laughs. “You’re right. It’s like I can’t keep away.”

There’s a playful hint in his smile when hooded eyes glance your way, just for a second. It settles deep in your stomach, the churn that pulls and tightens.

“It’s okay, if you ask me, the town is cursed.”

He laughs at this, it’s deep and throaty when he nudges your shoulder, reaches across and offers the jar of sauce.

“I think you’re on to something there. So, what’s kept you?”

You reach across to spread the sauce on the dough, watching the red seep and blend with the stark white, Eddie steps back, lets you manoeuvre in front of him to reach the sides.

“Dads wanting me to move to collage.”

You hum in response, evening the sauce into the sides, dipping into places you missed.

“And what do you want to do?”

It rumbles like a distant thunderstorm, his breath seeps across your neck from behind you, the warmth pricks bumps along your skin. The slight brush of his chest makes contact with your back, sends your mind deeper into oblivion.

“I, uh, I don’t know yet. Maybe travel.”

“Here.”

Eddie reaches around, leans into you as he guides your hand in smooth circles.

“It’s easier if you cover the whole area in one motion, the sauce will spread more easily.”

His chest moves in perfect waves as he breaths, the pressure pressing into your back with each inhale and it only sends yours into unease. Each lined breath comes short and uneven, it’s a wall that’s compressed against your rib cage, shrinks with every small move, slowly suffocating.

You nod back, willing yourself to pull some kind of composure but when his hand holds yours steady against the wavier of motion, just the view of his hand engulfing yours, sends your hormones in active overdrive.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

It’s over. Your heart shutters to a complete skip, missing several beats as your pussy throbs. It’s a dull ache that nips painfully and if you don’t find a way out now, you weren’t going to be able to stop.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s now leaning over you, his hair fans your shoulders, the angle of his words ring like a perfectly chimed bell through your ears as he runs a pad of his thumb over your knuckles— The task of spreading sauce long forgotten.

You instinctively lean into his touch, your throat catches on dry air, leaving a strangled groan to brush your lips. If it weren’t for Eddie keeping your hand so stable, you’d be a complete fucking wreck.

“Am I reading this wrong?”

No, god no.

“Eddie..”

“Just say the word, I’ll back off.”

No, please. Don’t.

“I don’t—“

“We’ll forget it ever happened. Go back to normal.”

But, I want it too happen.

“No, please. Eddie.”

Your hips sink backwards, finds the dip between his thighs and you grind, it’s slow and pitiful, pulls the most needy whine from your lips. Breath is sucker punched from the hollow of your chest, a tension snapped after it had been so far strung out and the gasp that hinders in your throat when Eddie pushes back has all reason bailed and running for the door.

“Fuck.”

The spoon is long discarded and Eddie’s now got both palm’s following the contour of your waist, his fingers dip in to the curve of your frame, touching and teasing the exposed skin.

It’s a helpless battle of push and pull, your heads rolled so far back it now sits in the dip of Eddie’s shoulder, while his hands play puppet along the underside of your breasts— curious palms test the water, squeeze the soft skin underneath, lengthy fingers creep to come full circle and caress you. The warmth spreads like wildfire through your veins, the pinch of fingers as he toys with your nipples has your mouth gapped and hiccuping gasps of air, it all feels like fire and ice and it makes you strain harder— Your hips arching painfully back in search of friction as his ever present bulge presses harder back, looking for one of the same.

“Jesus Christ.. Fuck.”

Eddie groans into the sparse of your throat, the mumbled words pressed into flesh when he moans around the soft of your throat. Teeth graze, pinch, bite. Sink so deep that the skin threatens to break, it’s a purple stain that bleeds instead.

“Fuck, Eddie. Please.”

It’s a complete fucking disarray when Eddie takes hold of your waist, fingertips bruise when he spins you around and hooks two palms under the back of your thighs, lifting you up like you were nothing. Your ankles meet at the small of his back, your hands graze the definition of muscle along his arms when they link around his neck. Your ass perfectly cupped in strong hands and you can absolutely feel the mess created between your thighs. It’s soft and wet, humming with pressure that begs for release and when Eddie places you on the opposite counter, needy hands drag you to the edge, it’s a collision of lips and teeth.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

A fight for air between heated kisses, Eddie’s forehead rests against yours as his fingers work at unloosing your jeans.

Black eyes bore into yours, it’s a pit of lust and desire, the edges burning with flames when he mutters the sentence, each lingering stare silently asks permission with every pop of button he releases and you simply moan back in response, in approval.

An arm slings around your waist, Eddie hoists you up slightly, enough to get a pull on your jeans and pull he does. The thick material drags down your thighs and gets tossed at his ankles.

Eddie’s taken two steps back, enough room to give way to remove your pants and underwear, now, he’s standing there— All tall and built. He’s not overly muscular, toned, but his presence is big and demanding. In one swift motion, Eddie reaches behind him, grips a handful of material and effortlessly slips it over his shoulders and head, leaves him in low hanging sweats— A curtain of curls follow suit, leaving the strays still damp to cling to the dip of his temples. The display of tattoos is mesmerising, his torso, chest all littered in black and white art, tales of story’s and pictures of moments— It’s absolutely beautiful.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

There’s a dark ring to his tone, it pulls from the back of his throat is a rasp, a growl almost.

You nod your head, all dumb and shy, feels like you’re drunk just from the view.

“Fuck, baby. You can’t do that.”

You whimper, small and needy, watch as his cock twitches beneath his pants.

Eddie does growl this time. It’s predatory and deep, has you white knuckling the edges of the counter when he comes closer. Your whole body is limp on impulse, reacting to the man in front of you. You knew how you must look, all drawn out and needy, not exactly how you expected to play this out but the tables quickly turned when Eddie shown a slight hint of dominance.

“What did I say?”

Eddie’s hand comes to cradle the side of your throat, gentle, holds you there while he nuzzles into the latter side, breathes in the scent. He’s slotted perfectly between your thighs, a puzzle piece meant to be, and his painfully hard bulge presses into where you are most vulnerable.

“You’ll have to remind me. I forgot.”

It’s absolutely dripping in tease, has your confidence spiked and you wanted to test the waters, see how just how far you could sink before you drown.

“Don’t fucking play with me, baby girl.”

“Ah, Eddie!”

Teeth hook into your throat, skin pinches when he releases, slides his hand to cover the front of your throat.

“Mm. A little fight in you, huh?”

The pressure is evident, it’s spreads across your throat where fingers pinch the sides, tips your head back to bring your vision to his and it feels so fucking good. Your body tingles all over, feels like there’s a flood baring through your bloodstream, making everything heightened— sensitive.

Even if you wanted to fight back, you couldn’t. The palm encasing your throat kept its firm hold and the desperate whine that leaves your lips was anything but expected when you felt Eddie’s latter hand smooth up your thigh. It’s a trail that burns, leaves behind a tingling sensation that scorns your skin. Eddie’s fingertips graze the slit of your lips, teases the sensitive flesh and when the pad of his thumb rolls over your clit, so do your eyes, falling helplessly into your head as the wave of euphoria blankets your senses.

“Na uh, baby, look at me.”

Eddie’s fingers dip into your entrance, your slick making it to easy while his thumb stays steady circling your clit. The intrusion has the walls of your pussy fluttering, they clench around the thickness of his fingers, drawing them in to the knuckles.

Your head falls forward, caught by his grip as hooded eyes strain to focus on the man in front of you.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

His eyes swallow you whole, pull you in head first and you had no plans on stopping it. Eddie’s fingers find a pace, pumping in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit. Your entire body trembles from the high, your senses so far on alert that it has you internally screaming. Your stomach washes in waves, the draw of pleasure been brought to the surface, you can feel the bubble, the drop.

“Oh god, Eddie.”

The curl of his fingers has you tipping over the edge, your pussy fights with every draw of his fingers, the heated pressure against your throat sends you further. It’s all a collision of white heat and pleasure, has you babbling and moaning complete chaos.

“Oh fuck, Eddie. I’m going to—“

“Eyes on me, baby. I want to watch you.”

The second your vision locks with his, you’re brought down in crashing waves. Your pussy contracts, leaves your thighs shaking. It’s intense and hard, the release rushes through your system in a whirlwind, boils your blood and leaves your head in a blissed out fog.

Eddie removes his hand from around your throat then his fingers, slowly. Let’s the ride of your orgasm slow before placing the two finger’s between plush lips. His tongue darts out, swirls and sucks the evidence of your cum from his fingers. It’s a fucking sight to see, dark eyes follow your motion before he releases with a soft pop.

You absolutely should be completely fucked out, your body heavy is evidence of it but the need still claws in the pit of your stomach, the hunger that bleeds and screams for more.

You reach out and pull Eddie back in, your ass slipping further to the edge from the slick created when your mouths meet in a tangled mess of lips and breath. You wanted to feel him, taste him. You wanted to explore and trace and Jesus Christ, you just couldn’t get enough. Your hands weave in a knot in his hair, groans vibrate through his chest at the action as you abandon one hand to reach between you both. Finding the hardness that hid beneath his pants, eager hands work through to slip between the barrier of material and skin.

“Ah, Jesus. Oh fuck.”

Eddie moans against your lips and you smile in response. Your hand sinks and wraps around his length, your palm working in slow strokes, doing what you could with how much you had to work with. Eddie was big. Thick and lengthy. You’d be lucky if your fingers could touch around the girth and as Eddie fucks up into your hand, you realise just how much bigger he was.

“Jesus Eddie.”

You hadn’t really need to say it, Eddie knew.

You break from the kiss, slip your other hand out from his hair and tug the left side of his pants down. Eddie chuckles, helps the process by pushing the remainder down, his cock still grasped in your hold and fuck where you right.

Eddie wraps a hand around yours, uses the other to hook a finger under your chin and dips his head into your line of vision.

“You doin’ okay, sweetheart?”

There’s humour in his tone. Your eyes are blown out when you nod, smile. Spreading your legs wider with invitation.

Eddie places both hands to cup your face, presses forward and you feel the gentle nudge of his cock spread your pussy. It slips perfectly, your slick making easy way when he breaks the head in. The stretch burns, it’s subtle but there and when he inches further your throat breaks out in a pitiful cry.

“You’re doing good, baby.”

Eddie’s forehead rests against yours, his gaze holds yours in reassurance when he presses further. It’s unmistakable the width that your pussy is being stretched, its a mix of pain and euphoria, leaving behind the most delicious throb.

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

“Oh, Eddie. Fuck.”

Eddie’s thumbs run the pad of your cheeks when he bottoms out, you whimper against the movement, the pain easing from discomfort to pleasure and it courses through your system like a new high all over again.

Eddie draws out and thrusts back in, his rhythm is steady, slow. Each drag pulls new waves, each one has you moaning for more. The pleasure undeniable, it brings forwards a hunger that seemed to be starved, a pulsating heat that hooks your arms around his neck and has Eddie’s palms resting on your thighs, spreading you further. It’s absolutely filthy the image in front of you. You watch Eddie’s cock disappear in the hollow of your pussy between your legs, fingerprints stain your thighs as Eddie picks up the pace, his hips crashing against yours in a wet collision.

“Jesus H Christ, you’re so tight.”

Eddie’s tattoos flex along with his thrusts, the pictures and words dance across his skin, the black ink shining with sweat.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

“Ah, right there, oh fuck.”

Eddie’s railing you with relentless force, it’s a sticky wet fucking mess, echos of skin and moans bounce around you and his cock feels so fucking good. Your chest hammers against your rib cage, air seems to be long gone with every thrust. His curls stick to the creases of his forehead, his eyes watching you intently, almost possessive.

Your hands weave into the back of his hair and settle just at the nape, knuckles knot around the curls and you pull, Eddie’s head jars back momentarily and when he comes back to eye level there’s a flare of desire that bares straight to your centre, ignites a wildfire.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Eddie grits out between teeth, the rumble in his tone matches the harsh imprints his hands leave upon your thighs, blunt nails scarring the skin.

“Show me, god, please.”

It’s down right fucking pornographic the moan Eddie emits, he wraps his arms around your waist and without falter, without removing himself he lifts you from the counter and lays you out on the floor beneath.

Before you even tried to protest, Eddie has your legs hooked over his shoulders, your knees press to your chest as he fucks into you. It’s deeper, the thrust of his cock hits the soft of your pussy and has you throwing your head back, even the contact with the harsh floor doesn’t register— Just Eddie’s cock sending you into complete fucking meltdown.

“Like this. M’ want you spread wide fucking open.”

He’s not shy, he pounds away with force and perfect precision, dips his head into the curve of your neck and his moans are like the perfect melody, ringing loud and hard.

“Oh fuck, Eddie. Jesus.”

“Let go, baby. Let me fucking feel you.”

Your stomach churns, the warmth bubbling with one last thrust into your soft spot and it has you clenched tight around his cock. Your orgasm baring down like a earthquake, leaving your thighs trembling and your body fucked out.

“Fuck, good girl, you feel so fucking good.”

Your pussy is soaking, Eddie fucks your orgasm right to the very edge, coats his along too. His thrusts wavier, you feel his cock swell and you reach out, grip his waist and urge him deeper.

“Shit, fuck, I’m going to cum baby.”

His eyes search yours in a hasty need, searching, asking.

“I’m covered, fill me up Eddie, please.”

It’s bares more a whine than a moan, the desperation drawn on every word.

“Holy fuck.”

You feel the hot substance coat the inside of your pussy, Eddie’s release seeping into the most intimate parts and it’s has you on cloud fucking nine.

Eddie sinks above you, his weight rests lightly above yours, the air is thick and humid, filled with heavy pants for air and raspy ends of lingering moans. Eddie rolls over, loops an arm and takes you with him, curled up beside him, tangled in arms and legs and it’s absolute bliss.

Eddie chuckles softly, nudges into the crook of your neck.

“Well, fuck.”