consider: Robert who cries during sex sometimes, esp post crash and coma. it's not that he's upset or anything, he just gets a little overwhelmed (both physically and emotionally) and reader is endeared by it. 👀
oh do not even get me started (no wait do)
you know the drill. MDNI
tags - cw pretty nsfw, crying during sex, no physical descriptors for reader
wc - idk writing on the tumblr app. not very long?
It’s unfair.
You already feel envy over the thick lashes framing Robert’s tired doe eyes.
Already feel the curling green vines of jealousy whenever he’s below you, said lashes fluttering and pupils blown wide as he stares up at you in a daze.
So, it’s incredibly fucking rude of him to look so pretty with dewy tears clumping his lower lashes, fattening with each half-baked blink.
His furrowed brows deepen the sweet expression on his flushed face, bite-plump lips parting around each trembling exhale that leaves him.
It’s unfair how the copper of his irises almost glitter in their wetness, especially when his eyes roll and stutter shut when your hips give another slow grind against him.
“Fffuh–ck.” Robert chokes out, fists twisting in the sheets fitfully before they release the fabric to blindly fumble for purchase on your waist, “Sl–ow down.”
The envy continues curling in on itself until it reinvents, blooms into an almost aching adoration as you watch him. The hand you have braced on his chest skims his collarbone on its trajectory to his throat.
Your fingertips make contact with the sweat on his neck before they travel up, up, up to his jaw. They form a cradle against his heated cheek, his head easily tilting back further at your gentle direction.
“Look at me, Robert,” you murmur sweetly, thumb drifting over to press on his bottom lip with light pressure, a soft low sound puffing around it, “Open your eyes.”
He sucks in a stunted breath through his teeth before they peek open, just barely able to focus on your face above him before they’re rolling again when you reward him with another grind.
The resulting wheezing groan that punches from his chest vibrates from his jawbone to your fingertips, the tendons in his neck flexing as his head presses further against the pillow it rests on.
It’s almost sinful—how the tear that falls from his lashes adds so beautifully to his thoroughly debauched demeanor, how his eyes struggling to stay open send another wave of broiling heat to your stomach.
