#{ Oh no it's fine take as much time as you need! }

[moonstruckme]

Mae I have a lil request idea! Can I please get any of the boys with a gf whose inexperienced and she's super stressed about having sex (I just started being open to the idea of dating but I haven't been with anyone in 3+ years and I'm scared/nervous about sex now like what if they hate my body?? Or I suck??)

Thank you for requesting angel <3

cw: smut mdni, body insecurities, reader isn’t a virgin necessarily but is inexperienced

James Potter x afab!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re trying very hard not to think. To get swept up like you’ve heard you’re supposed to, and in fairness James is doing a very fine job of sweeping you. He’s all strong hands and wet mouth moving over the slopes of your face, your neck, your sides. He’s got your shirt off on one side to expose your shoulder, and you think it’s only a matter of time before the rest follows.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles. It’s believable when he sounds like this, almost drunk, like he can’t lift his lips from you for one second to get it out right.

You burrow your fingers in the curls at the back of his head and try to let yourself be swept. Your body reacts in all the right ways. You gasp, you arch, you throb. You feel the muscles of James’ back, let the friction of his knee between your thighs send electric frissions coursing through you. You relish the warmth of every point of contact and tell yourself that all is going perfectly.

It’s not enough. When James undoes your trousers and his fingers brush the fabric of your underwear, your head is all alarm bells.

You try to enjoy yourself through their wailing. It feels nice, the way he’s touching you. But oh god, what if he cares that you didn’t shave? Do adult men want a bare vagina? Or what if James wouldn’t like it bare, but what you have is too much for him? Is there a universally agreed upon pubic hair length you don’t know about?

The rest of your body is a whole other thing. James calls you beautiful, but he hasn’t seen all of you. What if he takes your clothes off and he doesn’t think so anymore? You know he’d never say anything cruel, but he’s still human, he can think it.

You don’t know what you’re doing. There are so many ways this could go wrong. Even if he’s fine with your body, you could still be too boring or try too hard or be too loud or too quiet or not move right. You could break his dick. There’s no way he’ll want to see you again after that. Not even James could be that forgiving. What if you mess all this up because of one stupid night?

Your heart pounds to the beat of what-if, louder and more insistent until you can’t take it.

“James.” You set a hand on his chest.

He makes a low sound, misinterpreting your hesitance as encouragement. His lips part over your shoulder, fingers teasing the elastic of your underwear. Your breath seizes.

“James.” You push a little this time. James takes the hint immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“Hm?” He blinks. You know his vision must be fuzzy, his glasses on the nightstand, but whatever he can see of your face makes his brows pull in and up in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t shave,” you say.

James’ expression relaxes. For a second he looks like he might laugh at you, but presumably your obvious distress keeps him from it. “Okay,” he says, moving his hand a couple inches up from your underwear to run it over your stomach soothingly. “That’s fine, love, I don’t care. I’m a grown-up, I don’t need you to pretend you don’t grow hair.”

This comforts you, but only some.

“I just feel like I need to give you some disclaimers.”

Now James does laugh. It’s just a little one, soft, the way sunlight dapples through the shade of a tree canopy. “You don’t need to disclaim anything.” He kisses you, curved lips against your frowny ones. “But lay it on me, if you want to.”

“I just…” He keeps kissing you, and you speak in between. “Your pasta was really good, but I’m sort of bloated now.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I also don’t have any, like, moves.”

It’s almost a giggle, the thing that vibrates against your lips. “Moves?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly well versed in all this. I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Sweetheart.” James says it all warm and heavy, the sort of tone that usually portends him squishing your face in his hands. This time, he only kisses the tip of your nose with sticky fondness. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to keep going, but none of these are things you need to worry about.”

You touch his wrist, stopping his hand rubbing your stomach. It sits patiently just below your navel.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say, earnest in the way James always manages to draw out of you. “I need a manual. What’s my job?”

“I promise you won’t need a manual,” he says, kissing you again. “Lovely, your only job is to feel good.”

You frown. “That seems sexist.”

“What?” He laughs. “It’s not sexist.”

“It’s not? You have a job and I don’t. Feels sexist to me.”

“I just told you, your job is to feel good. And it’s not sexist.” James’ mouth moves down to your neck. “It’s a beginner’s pass.”

You swallow as he finds a favored spot below your ear. “I just get that this once, then?”

James pauses for a moment. “Well, there’s also the I’m-in-love-with-you pass.”

“Oh?” Your voice is turning breathy. “What’s that one mean?”

“It means you get to do whatever you want, sweetheart.” He kisses that same spot over and over until you think you’ll go mad. “I’ll love it no matter what, because I love you.”

You give in with a soft whimpering sound. James hugs you close like he means to comfort you, and you take your trousers the rest of the way off yourself.

There are no holds barred after that. You let James put his hands or his mouth wherever he likes, and each time he checks in that something is okay you barely have the air to tell him yes. It feels different than you were expecting, different than anyone else in your history or imaginings, hot but gentle and good in a way that transcends what you thought the word to mean before.

James does get your clothes off, eventually, but you’re not alone in that regard. Being vulnerable with him feels more privileged than frightening then. You can’t believe you ever worried that these hands would find fault in you. You’ve never wanted anyone to touch you so badly as you want James to.

“I love you,” you murmur, against his chest, his cheek, into the hollow of his throat.

James says it back a dozen times. When he calls you beautiful, you know he means it.

[dollbrbie]

yoichi isagi ʚ ɞ getting in a fight over you

💌 ; fratboy isagi , mentions of fighting , fluff

♡ fratboy isagi masterlist

‎ ♡

oh, you couldn’t even begin to describe the scolding you were about to give isagi after this.

here you had been, outside the current frat party you and isagi had attended, a crowd of people surrounding your boyfriend and some guy you didn’t know the name of. and to make this humbling encounter worse. fortunately, it didn’t last any longer than it had to be before isagi’s friends intervened.

“what on earth compelled you to do that, isagi?”, you ask your boyfriend with a sigh, who is currently lead against the bathroom counter as you pat a cold flannel on his swollen eye.

“cause.. he was talking ‘bout you.”

“and you think that makes it fine to pick a fight?”, you ask, your brows raising.

“too right. i don’t want some random loser ogling at my girlfriend.”, he replies.

you pause your actions, taking the cold flannel away from his eye, “isagi, please.”

“i’m sorry babe, but i don’t get why you’re mad at me for this.”

“because, what if the police got called? what if the college found out? i don’t want you getting into trouble for me, isagi.”, you explained, putting the flannel down for a moment.

“well they didn’t, so you don’t need to worry so much.”, he says, grabbing your hands with his, “but i’ll be a good boy next time.”, he utters with a playful smile.

“yeah, you better. you need to stop stressing your girlfriend out.”, you reply, a small smile making it’s way onto your face. the smile isagi wanted to see.

“i’ll try my best not to.”, isagi promises, one you know he’ll definitely have problems keeping.

he’s lucky you love him.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Can't Stand It, Backhanded

SSA Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader and Hotch have never gotten along. When they are paired together for a mission, things come unraveled.

CW: SMUT, soft dom!Hotch, flirt!reader, enemies to lovers, hate sex, car sex, degradation, choking, fingering, tit play, p in v, creampie

a/n: ugh, this gif of thomas gets me flustered every single time. i dont care how much older he is than me, i just need one night alone with him and its over

~~~

Silence. Looming heavily over the SUV you rode in. Staring forward, not daring to look over at your driver.

Aaron Hotchner. Your boss. Leader of your Team at the BAU. Stern and meticulous. Not the kind for joking or bending the rules. Doing what has to be done to solve a case.

Needless to say, the two of you did not exactly get along.

From the moment you had been brought onto the team, there was a certain disdain he had for you. Eyes constantly lasered into you. Tending to be short when he spoke to you. Not fond of the way you often flirted with your coworkers. Even though he did not say a word when Penelope and Derek did the same thing back and forth. Refusing to give you the same opportunities to show your worth that he gave the others.

Now here you were. Alone with him in the passenger seat of one of the FBI’s vehicles. Hushed as tension suffocated you. Hiding any noise that your body would normally make from fear of making things more uncomfortable. Being separated from the rest of your Team, placed in ‘strategic groups’ that Rossi had come up with. Neither of you were happy, but you had been the final two left at the end of David’s list.

Finally, you worked up the courage to look over at him. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel, one finger picking at the faux leather. Dark, oaky eyes met your glance. Lips pierced tightly together in annoyance.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you sighed, resting your cheek against your palm. Looking up at the passing stars of the night sky.

Recollecting the first time things had gotten awkward between you.

“I mean… yeah, he’s hot. But does he have to be such a hard ass all the time?” you joked with your hands tucked behind your head, sitting center of the bullpen with all your female teammates.

“Hot?!” Emily snorted out a laugh.

“Yes! He’s got that newly divorced dad look to him. Have you had your eyes checked, Em?”

“I think this one is just you, doll,” Penelope giggled, chewing on the tip of her pen.

All of you had congregated discussing some details of the new case. Derailing into a trivial discussion of fuck, marry, kill with your male teammates being the subjects.

“There has to be a reason he’s divorced, right? Haley wouldn’t have put up with it that long unless the sex was good,” you snickered.

“Oh, Jesus,” J.J. laughed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Look, I get it. Derek’s fine as hell, too. But Hotch is clearly the superior choice,” you gloated until you noticed how silent they all grew. Refusing to look in your general direction. A cold chill ran down your spine. Straightening your posture and turning slowly to look over your shoulder. Coughing as you faced him, cheeks heating up with pure embarrassment.

“Superior choice for what exactly?” His expression was rooted in anger. Knowing deep down he had overheard every single word. Testing you. Simply asking to see if you would slip up. Seeing if you were willing to lie to him. You swallowed the non-existent spit in your mouth.

“Oh! Sup-Superior choice as our Team Leader, of course. Since Strauss has been breathing down your neck and all, I was just saying— y’know that I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, Hotch, sir,” you vomited out your excuse. Realizing how unintentionally condescending you sounded. Having a staring contest with him, taking a smile that hurt your cheeks to maintain.

“Get back to work,” Hotch stated dryly, walking off to his office.

Hotch had never looked at you the same since. Unlike his prior disdain, this one was deeply rooted in him. Making sure you knew it just by the way his eyes expressed when they saw you. Teeth bared anytime you would dare question his plans. Or even give a look that said you did not fully agree with the plan of action. He despised your very being, that’s how it seemed based off how he treated you. So when moments like this came up, you tried your hardest to ignore him and remain as professional as possible.

Your attention was back on him when he took a turn off the path. Going down into some pull-off area for travelers. Abandoned, or at least not properly kept up.

“Wh… What are we doing here?”

Hotch stayed silent, putting the SUV in park. Unbuckling and beginning to exit when you called out of him once again, “Hotch—?

“I have to take a piss. Do you want to come along question me on that too?” he growled at you. Hitting a nerve inside you that had been previously untouched. Slamming the door behind him. The nail in the coffin.

“What is your problem with me?”

Following behind him outside the vehicle. Stoic expression glanced towards you. Jaw locked and nostrils flared. Lips knitted tightly together as his eyes scanned down your figure. Noticing how your arms held onto one another. Knowing this was out of character for you. Willing to questions others, but hating confrontation. Eyes dark when they met yours once again.

“My problem with you?” a hint of mockery under his monotone voice.

“Yes! All I’ve ever wanted was to feel like a part of this team. I want to know why you’re so cold and cruel with me,” you gritted your teeth together, brows furrowed as you begged for an explanation.

“Get back inside.”

“No.”

“I am still your superior—“

“Then why don’t you act like it? You don’t like that I’m flirtatious? Reprimand me. You don’t like something I said? Tell me that. If I’m doing something that is upsetting you this badly, I need you to tell me. So I can fix it. I try so hard to please you, but I need you to tell me what you want. Or… just kick me off the team. Something— Anything—“

Suddenly his hands were wrapped around your wrists. Pinned to the side of the SUV you had arrived in. Arms bent beside your head, Hotch becoming nose-to-nose with you. Eyes flying open as your mouth ran dry. Throat tightening as you scanned his eyes for an answer to what was happening. Shaky breaths falling from you as your body panicked softly. Heart racing against your eardrums.

“You sure do have a funny way of trying to please me. Openly flirting with every single male coworker you have? Joking with your teammates about how much of a ‘hard ass’ I am? Making some stupid joke about my ex-wife? And then, you have the nerve to mock my authority? Sure doesn’t seem like it is one of your priorities,” Hotch breathed down your throat. Bruising strength holding your wrists. Eyebrows arched as he bared his teeth at you with each word.

Your eyebrows upturned as you tried to form a rebuttal.

“You are nothing but a constant buzz in my ear. A reminder that my leadership is nothing but a suggestion in your mind. Undermining me at every convenience. Can you not just accept that I am your boss. Your leader. Someone you are supposed to respect and obey," Hotch closed in on your face. Shoulders heaving with each deep breath he took.

You were frozen. Speechless. Throat tighter than it had ever been before. A soft shake to your hands. Glossy eyes looked around his face. Vein on his head poking out, skin pinched tightly between his brows.

"You were the best agent for the job. That is why I hired you. Perfect scores, perfect performance. Yet, you are nothing like your application would've suggested. More concerned with trivial nonsense. Like some idiotic game where you decide whether or not you would sleep with me. Or if I have some made-up problem with you," Hotch scoffed in your face. His breath hot as it fanned along your skin.

Lying to yourself about the way your insides quivered with his hands on you. Breathing rapidly as you held his gaze. Legs feeling like jelly as arousal pool between them. The smell of his aftershave mixing in not helping. His demanding, deep tone had your face flushed. You swallowed hard, refusing to speak. Scared to upset him further. Scared to disappoint him more than you had. Wanting nothing more than his approval.

"At least I made your list," Hotch smirked, voice sultry as his lips inched closer to yours.

"W-What?"

"That childish game all of you were playing. You said I was your choice, right?"

You shyly nodded. Confused by the sudden change in demeanor. Almost like he was teasing you now. Clearly aware of the effect he had on your body.

And then his lips were on yours. Hungry as they captured you in a feverish kiss. Melting into his front as he pressed his body into yours. Shocked by his straight-forwardness. Trailing his lips down to your throat. Teeth grazing against your pulse. Causing you to shiver with a soft sigh. Feeling how his mouth morphed into a grin. Doeing your eyes at him as he pulled away. Dark locks falling over his forehead.

"Get in the backseat," Hotch commanded. Hands fiddling with his tie as it grew suddenly tight around his throat.

Without hesitation, you obliged. Opening the door and crawling into the spacious backseat. Legs spread awkwardly as you back into the other side up against the door. Watching Hotch roll up his sleeves as his tie hung loosely around his collar. Closing the door behind him as he joined you. Anxiety pooling in your core as he crawled on top of you. Hand coming up to cup your cheek. Lips attaching to yours once more, somehow hungrier than before.

Your arms draped over his shoulders, hands splaying against his broad back. Lapping into your mouth as his hands roamed your body. Pinching your hardening nipple through the fabric on your chest. Aggressively undoing the buttons along your torso to give himself better access. Exploring the soft skin of your belly, creeping their way up to the clasp of your bra.

“Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “I want you to call me Aaron.”

“Aaron,” it sounded sensual coming from you in this situation, “What are we doing?”

Silencing your question with another kiss. Hands guiding your back against the cold leather of the seats. His large chest hovering over you, tie tickling your exposed skin. Cups of your bra loosened when he undid the clasp. Being folded down by Hotch. Smirking at your already hardened nipples.

Your own hands ghosted up his torso. Pinching at the top button. Hotch’s hand quick to grab yours, squeezing tightly to stun it. Squeaking at his surprising strength. Opting to not fight him, liking him controlling the situation more.

“What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to feel you,” you admitted meekly. Trying to keep up your puppy dog eyes.

“Ask.”

“Aaron,” you breathed out, “May I?” Finger tips tapping along his button line. Pushing yourself up to kiss his throat. Featherlight pressure as you decorated him. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. Analyzing you.

Large palm rested against your throat. Pushing you flat against the seat once again. Gagging softly at the pressure. Eyes wide as they looked up at him. Fingers squeezed your pulse, “Go ahead and unbutton my shirt, sweetheart.”

You did as you were told. His hand never leaving your throat as you strained to reach each button. Heart racing against his fingers as you softly struggled to maintain breath. Making sure to play into his game, doing exactly as you were told. His shirt hung loosely at his sides, tie barely in tact as it dangled above you.

Hotch’s thumb grazed over your bottom lip, never leaving your throat. He leaned down and pressed his lips right below your ear, “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” His soft side still deeply intertwined into him. Never wanting to harm you, even when you did disobey.

Having a soft spot for you, hence the constant irritation. Confused and frustrated when your eyes would meet his causing his chest to twist. When you wore a tighter pair of pants or a low cut shirt, his cock would throb between his legs. Wanting to call you into his office and ravage you. He liked you. That was the problem.

You nodded. Realizing this behavior was a tactic to get you submissive. Wanting to dominate and feel like he had full control over you. It turned him on.

“Can I— touch your chest?” you choked.

“See? I knew you would catch on,” Hotch mocked, leaning down and kissing your lips, “You may.”

Your hands flattened against his bare chest. Softly petting the dark hair that danced down his chest. Particularly drawn to the bit of happy trail directly above his belt buckle. Fingertips daring to dip below the waistband. Earning a muffled groan from Hotch.

“Watch it,” he reprimanded, voice husky and dark.

Hotch's hands undid your zipper, lifting your waist and pulling your pants down your legs. Leaning back and releasing one leg fully, fabric pooling at the bottom of your other. Large, muscular hands felt up your thighs. Staring intently at your thin, lacy panties. Noting that the fabric matched your bra. Feeling overtly exposed before your leader. Breasts on full display along with your soaking core being hidden away by the night sky.

Large finger sliding up your clothed slit, brows jumping in surprise. "You're already so wet," Hotch grinned, smugness on his expression, "Do I really turn you on that much, Agent?"

A sharp breath escaped your lungs as his lips hovered over your chest. Words hot as they cascaded down your nudity. Using your title as a way of toying with you. Knowing it would resonate between your legs.

"Mmhmp," you mumbled as his lips attached to your nipple. Licking and sucking the bud, one of his hands circling your entrance. Pushing the soft fabric into your hole, soaking it further with your arousal. Moaning and squirming below him. Knot tightening in your lower stomach. Eyes squinted shut as your nails dug into his back. Muscles tight against your scratches.

Hotch pushed your panties to the side, sliding two fingers into your cunt. You called out to him loudly, walls clinching around him at the sudden entry. Back arching into his touch. Curling his thick digits against your spongy insides. A certain cockiness overtook his brow, perfect teeth reflecting the moonlight through the mostly tinted window.

"Such a whore. Letting me finger fuck you while we're on a case. What would all our friends say?" his voice was barely above a whisper. Taken over by his own lust for you. Breathing heavier when he felt his cock pulse between his legs.

A pathetic whimper was all you could give him in return.

God, he knew how to use his fingers. Coaxing you to your orgasm faster than ever before. Walls sputtering as if asking him permission. The voice in the back of your mind telling you to ask him. Knowing there was a good chance he would be angry if you gave in without him telling you.

"Aaron—"

"You better not. Not until I say you can. You hear me? Be a good girl and wait for me," Hotch growled, quickening his fingers inside you. Thumb circling your clit perfectly. You whined and tried to buck away from his touch. If things kept up, you would not be able to control yourself. Focusing all your efforts into not coming undone. Looking up and catching his eyes, sweat beamed down his brow. Breathing heavily as his fingers caressed your walls.

Your breath quickened. Breasts shaking as your lungs fought for air. Hotch could tell how close you were. Desperately wanting to make you scream his name, but knowing he only had time to get one out of you before the Team would get worried. Needing it to be around his cock.

So he stopped. Removing his fingers from you faster than they had entered. Eliciting a whine of discomfort from you. Unhappy eyes pleading up at him as your mouth hung open. Panting like a dog. Weak hands reaching out for him momentarily, falling flat at your sides. You pouted with glossy eyes.

Hotch palmed himself through his pants as he stared down at your worked body. Swearing he had never seen you so beautiful. Longing for his touch to satisfy you. Quickly undoing his belt and freeing his aching member. Curving up toward his stomach as the tip leaked. Swollen and twitching. Thicker than you had imagined. You gawked at his length. Feeling how your body instinctively wanted to touch it.

You reached forward, Hotch stopped your hand. Brow quirked up as he looked down on you, "What's the rule?"

"Please, Aaron. I need it," you sounded pathetic. Craving his dick shoved deep inside you, but also curious of how it would feel in your hand. Wanting to see Hotch's face as you stroked him.

Your hooded eyes and soft frown broke his heart. Facade of dominance and control faltering for a moment. Never imagining a woman who was so strong in the field would be a whining, begging mess when he would touch her. Happily surprised.

"You want to touch it that bad?"

You shyly nodded.

His mouth curved, "Touch me."

You did as you were told. Wrapping your hand around his length. Biting your lip when it twitched against your touch. Smiling as his pre-cum beaded when you stroked up. Velvety skin bunching with each pump. Hotch's breath came out broken. Not having had someone else's hand on him in some time. Loving how perfectly your fingers gripped him. Not able to wait much longer.

Hotch leaned down to your level, pulling his cock away from your hand. Holding himself by the base and lining it up with your entrance. Pushing just the tip in first. Scanning your face for a reaction. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, "Fuck, Aaron."

"Dirty mouth," he kissed your lips, sheathing himself fully inside you. You huffed and moaned when you felt his balls smack against your skin. Rhythm fast and hard in and out of you. Sloppy sounds filling the SUV.

"Y'r pussy's so tight," his voice came out strained. Calling out his name like a prayer over and over. Hotch took one of your hands in his, intertwining fingers with you above your head. More intimate than you had imagined he would be. Chest fluttering at the action.

A low buzz alerted you.

"A-Aaron," you whimpered, still drunk on his cock, "Your ph-phone."

Hotch glanced over at the middle console. Small screen on his phone illuminating the space. Grabbing it with his free hand. Pressing his finger to his lips before cupping his hand over your mouth. Shoving two fingers deep in your throat. Gagging silently around them.

"Hotch? Where are you guys?" Derek's voice could be heard from the small speaker of the flip-phone in his hand. Hotch rolled his hips into you once more as he spoke, "We blew a tire out on the drive up. Had to stop and get it patched."

Your eyes doed up at him. Gargling around his digits.

"Are you both okay?"

"Yes. We will be there soon, just go ahead and do things according to Rossi's plan," Hotch smirked down at you, his apathetic tone never fading even when he was balls deep inside you. Clicking off the phone and throwing it into the front seat. Pulling his fingers from your mouth. Admiring the way they glistened, placing them on your clit. Circling the aching nub. Coaxing a loud moan from you.

"If I had known you would sound this pretty with my dick in you, I would've fucked you already," Hotch cooed, teasing as he smirked.

"It's so good, Aaron," you whined, drunk on his cock.

"Then cum on it," Hotch's voiced dropped an octave. Eyes dark as they scanned over your body. Watching the way your thighs twitched and shivered. How hard your nipples still were. And how you tried so hard to hold eye contact with him.

You were under his control. Only his. The rest of the world disappeared from you both. High on bliss that both your bodies gave one another. Your stomach tightened. Knot so firm it was going to burst. Walls locking up as you held your breath.

"Aaron, can I?"

He chuckled in response. Cynical and humiliating. Unable to believe you still played by the rules when you were this fucked.

"Yes, sweetheart," Hotch tightened his grip on your hand.

His soft tone pushed you over the edge. Writhing below him as you convulsed around his thick cock. Sucking him further into you. Insides trying to get him to fill you up. You whined and moaned and squeaked. Hotch's name a repetitive gargle of noises. He never ceased his hips as they snapped into yours. Riding and prolonging the waves of orgasm throughout your cunt. Feeling himself approaching his own end.

"Can I cum in you?"

"Please."

A few more thrusts and his hips were flush with yours. Coating your sensitive walls with his seed. Sputtering his hips trying to keep giving you every last drop. Aftershock still present on you as you clinched each time he moved. Hotch remained inside you for a moment. Savoring how you felt now around his softening member. Infatuated by the way your skin shined with sweat.

Hotch pulled himself slowly out. The loss stinging. His lips were tender on yours now, his hand putting your panties back in place. Kissing you more romantically than he had all night. Soft, caring side of him showing now. His hand softly guided through your hair, petting you. His other still laced in your own.

You blinked your eyes open. Jaw still hung as you gasped. Smiling up at Hotch. Unsure of how you got in this situation, but not caring either. Happy to feel his weight on top of you. Musky smell filling the vehicle. He rested his head on your chest. Listening to your rapid heartbeat.

Your own phone buzzing in your pant pocket breaking you both away from your slice of heaven. A final kiss planting itself on your lips as Hotch helped you get redressed. Checking each other out to make sure you both looked the same as you had before. Both your cheeks glowing for one another.

You held Hotch's hand the rest of the silent car ride. Tension no longer in the air.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! Big fan of Hotch fucking on the clock because realistically he never would. BUT IMAGINE IF HE DID. Guess I imagined for us both *wink*. As always, if you want to be tagged in any future works, please let me know! Reblogs and Comments appreciated! //

{tags}

@pastelpinkflowerlife ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @megangovier ~ @bau-tiful ~ @cherriready ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @zaddyhotch ~ @bookworm-in-disguise ~ @sxlverx ~ @upsidedownbunnyy ~ @maesmayhem ~ @risenqueen1521 ~ @bernelflo ~ @i-betyouthink-about-me ~ @itsneverlupus2 ~ @blackgoddessworld ~ @frankiethedarkangel ~ @joywolf56 ~ @midnghtprentiss ~ @1mjustagirl ~ @donttrustlove ~ @queenofvelaris ~ @sweetbearcolorgarden ~

[thewritetofreespeech]

Marc Grayson with 💛

send a heart - 💛 reunion kiss / relief

There was a ringing in his ear. A clear, high-pitched whine as he looked around. Destruction. Smoke and ash filling the air. Fire, and the faint sound of sirens from rescue vehicles in the distance as background noise to the whining.

Mark willed his legs to move as he took in the devastation. “Rex…Zandale….[Y/N]….” He couldn’t see them. They weren’t anywhere around. Mark looked around at the alien and human carcasses on the ground. Looking for his friends but hoping they weren’t there. “Oh God….”

The sound of rubble shifting caught Mark’s attention and he turned around to see a chunk of building open like a door, Rex and [Y/N] stepping out. “Oh thank God!”

Mark flew over to the group as the climbed out of their hole. Scoping [Y/N] up and kissing them fervently. “Hey man, I’m ok too.” Rex chimed in.

“I thought you were dead.” Mark told [Y/N]. Ignoring Rex for the time being as he tried to get his heartbeat to slow down.

“I’m ok. Rex pulled me in just before the building collapsed and avoid most of the rubble.”

“Yeah, it was pretty heroic.” Rex agreed. “Although…I guess [Y/N]’s super strength did help a little. We would have been pancakes if they didn’t hold that retaining fall up.” He and [Y/N] fist bumped signaling that they both did a good job.

“Where’s Bulletproof? He wasn’t with us when the building went down.”

“I…I don’t know…” Mark was ashamed to admit it but, even though he called out for the other hero, his focus had been entirely on [Y/N].

“We have to find him then. Along with survivors.”

“Uggh…can’t we just take like a 10-minute break? Is that too much to ask??”

“You need to get checked out.” Mark insisted. They seemed unscathed but he wanted to make sure they were ok.

“I’m fine.” [Y/N] insisted. Pulling away from Mark’s arms with a serious look. “Civilians come first.”

Before Mark could argue anymore, [Y/N] took off. “Man. It’s gotta suck dating like a genuinely good person all the time.”

“It has it’s moments.” Mark replied to Rex’s comment. “Are you ok man? How’s your favorite finger?”

Rex looked down at his hand, seeming to try and move it. “Aww man! Could this day get any worse for me?!”

[lazysoulwriter]

drunk confessions - lewis hamilton.

requests are still open! check this out and send me something!

----

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when Lewis' phone starts buzzing on his nightstand. He groggily reaches for it, squinting at the screen.

You.

He exhales a quiet chuckle before answering. "Didn’t expect to hear from you at this hour," he teases, his voice deep and raspy from sleep.

"Lewisssss," you drag out his name dramatically. "You have to come get me."

He sits up immediately. "What’s wrong? Where are you?"

"I’m drunk," you announce, as if it’s the most serious emergency in the world. "Like, really drunk. Like… I think my shoes are talking to me. And I hate them."

Lewis bites his lip, suppressing a laugh. "Alright, where are you, trouble?"

You tell him the name of the bar, and without hesitation, he throws on a hoodie and grabs his keys. Casual or not, he’s not about to leave you stranded.

-

The moment you slide into the passenger seat, you sigh dramatically. "I knew you’d come," you say, slumping against the window.

"Course I did," he replies, glancing at you with amusement. "Couldn't leave you out here having existential crises with your shoes."

You frown, suddenly serious. "They deserved it. They were being mean."

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. "Alright, let’s get you home."

"Your home," you correct. "I wanna go to your place."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. "Alright, my place it is."

You hum in approval, then after a beat of silence, you sigh dramatically again. "Lewis."

"Hmm?"

"You’re so… handsome," you say, reaching out to poke his arm like you’re testing if he’s real. "It’s honestly kinda rude."

He smirks. "I’ll be sure to apologize for that later."

-

Getting you inside is one thing. Getting you to sit still? Another challenge entirely. You’re overly affectionate, giggling every time he touches you, and dramatically melting into him when he tries to help you stay upright.

"You need to shower," he says, leading you toward the bathroom.

"I need to kiss you," you counter, poking his chest. "But someone is being difficult."

Lewis chuckles, steadying you by the shoulders. "Shower first, yeah?"

You pout but nod. "Fine. But you have to help me."

He sighs but obliges, turning on the water and carefully helping you out of your dress while keeping his eyes respectfully averted. Not that you make it easy.

"Are you blushing, Sir Lewis Hamilton?" you tease, poking his cheek.

"Behave," he warns, but the grin never leaves his face.

He helps you into the shower, staying outside to hand you shampoo and making sure you don’t accidentally faceplant. Once you’re clean, he wraps you up in one of his hoodies, helping you sit on the bathroom counter while he gently wipes off your makeup.

"You’re so sweet," you mumble, watching him through half-lidded eyes. "Like… disgustingly sweet. It’s unfair."

He smirks. "I’ll be sure to apologize for that, too."

Then, suddenly, you grab his wrist, your eyes wide. "Lewis, listen. This is important."

He raises an eyebrow. "I’m listening."

You take a deep breath. "I want to be your girlfriend."

He blinks. "You do, huh?"

"Yes," you say impatiently. "And I don’t care that you’re so much older than me. Like, whatever. Age is fake."

That makes him laugh—a deep, genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders. "Damn, that’s good to know."

You nod seriously. "I demand to be your girlfriend. Immediately."

Lewis grins, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "We’ll talk about it in the morning, yeah?"

"Ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes. "Fine. But just so you know, I’m serious."

"I can tell," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

-

The first thing you register when you wake up is warmth. Strong arms wrapped around you, the scent of Lewis’ cologne lingering in the sheets.

And then—oh God.

Memories of last night flood in all at once. The drunk call. The declarations. The demand to be his girlfriend.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep forever, he won’t bring it up.

"Morning, trouble," Lewis’ voice rumbles against your ear.

You hum, pretending to still be half-asleep. Maybe if you keep it cool, he won’t—

"So," he says, clearly amused. "You remember what you said last night?"

Damn it.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Unfortunately."

Lewis chuckles, gently prying your hands away. "Good. Because we’re officially dating now."

Your eyes snap open. "Wait—what?"

"You were very persuasive," he teases. "Didn’t think I had much of a choice."

You gape at him. "Lewis, you cannot let drunk me make important life decisions!"

"Why not? She was right." He smirks. "Besides, I think sober you agrees."

You open your mouth to argue, but… you don’t actually want to. Because, really, you do agree.

With a defeated sigh, you bury your face in his chest. "You are so annoying."

He grins, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Yeah, but I’m your annoying now."

----

[wendichester]

hi! A fan here! Can you please do a dean x reader where she's a substitute teacher at the school that makes the supernatural play, she turns out to be a hunter as well and she's on the same case as the Winchesters. Thank you so much!

✮⋆˙ the substitute,

summary. the real winchesters come to join the supernatural musical

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 554

notes. thank you so so much for requesting, lovely 😙

The first time Dean sees you, you’re standing at the front of a high school auditorium, wrangling a bunch of teenagers who clearly couldn’t care less about whatever speech you’re giving.

“…And remember, if you forget your lines, just keep going,” you say, clapping your hands. “The audience doesn’t know you messed up unless you tell them.”

Dean leans toward Sam, who’s sitting beside him in the back row. “I don’t get it. Why the hell are we wasting time at a school play?”

Sam sighs. “Because kids keep disappearing from the drama department. And—” He gestures toward the giant banner above the stage.

Supernatural: The Musical!

Dean groans. “Right. ‘Cause that nightmare needed to make a comeback.”

Before Sam can reply, you spot them. Your gaze flickers over the two men in the back, assessing. Then, with a quick word to the students, you step down from the stage and make a beeline for them.

Dean straightens, expecting some kind of lecture about visitor passes or whatever, but when you reach them, you cross your arms and smirk.

“You must be the Winchesters.”

Dean blinks. “Uh—sorry, what?”

You tilt your head. “You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think. And you definitely don’t look like parents of a student here.”

Sam shoots Dean a See? look.

Dean recovers fast, flashing you his signature grin. “Depends. If we say yes, do we get detention?”

You don’t take the bait. Instead, you gesture toward the exit. “Let’s take this outside.”

Dean exchanges a look with Sam before following you into the hallway.

The second the doors swing shut behind them, you turn on your heel. “So, which one of you is the genius who thought it was a good idea to work a case without checking if another hunter was already on it?”

Dean blinks. “Excuse me?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been here for three weeks investigating these disappearances, and then you two waltz in, stepping all over my toes.”

“You’re a hunter?” Sam asks, surprised.

“Yup.” You pull a small flask from your pocket, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig. “Been tracking this thing since the first kid vanished.”

Dean crosses his arms, studying you. He’s met plenty of hunters in his time, but none quite like you. You seem… comfortable here. Like you actually like the whole teacher thing.

“So, what’s the play?” he asks.

You grin. “Oh, that’s easy. I keep being a responsible adult, and you two try not to traumatize any more students while I figure out where this thing is hiding.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “And what exactly is this thing?”

You hesitate. “Still working on that part.”

Sam frowns. “The bodies—”

“Never found.” You nod. “No sulfur, no EMF, no signs of witchcraft. Just kids vanishing without a trace.”

Dean scratches his jaw, intrigued despite himself. “Alright, teach. You got room for two more on this field trip?”

You smirk. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Your eyes flicker to his. “How well you can follow instructions.”

Dean’s grin is slow and lazy. “Sweetheart, you have no idea how good I am at taking direction.”

Sam groans. “Oh my God.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, Winchester. You’re in.”

And just like that, the case—and whatever this is between you and Dean—just got a whole lot more interesting.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Surprises 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it’s not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You cup your ear as your voice echoes in the stairwell, "no, Mike, today, not tomorrow."

The sigh rolls through you. The one that says I have more important things going on. What's more important that his child? Both of your child? You frown.

"You said the 14th," he snips.

"No, 13th," you insist. "I wrote it on the calendar."

"Babe, you know I got a lot going on. This deposition could be it," he says.

You shrink down. It's always how it goes. He always has something more important. He's always restless. Always busy. Even too busy to put the condom on right.

"I'll find a way there," you mutter. "Good luck with the deposition."

"Babe--"

You hang up. Your eyes sting. You turn and nearly throw your phone at the unexpected figure. It's the last person you expect.

"Mr. Barber," you put your hand on your stomach instinctively. His eyes follow the movement. "I didn't hear you."

"Sorry, I-- the elevator's under maintenance for the hour. I was just..." he points past you.

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry," you move aside, even though the stairs are wide. "I was just... getting back to work."

"Right," he accepts with a sliver of doubt. "So, he must be excited."

"Who?" You ask as he comes parallel to you.

"The father," he suggests.

Your sole slips and you scuff up onto the next level. He catches your elbow. You giggle as your heart flutters.

"Woop," you gasp.

"You alright?" He asks, keeping his hand on you.

"Oh, Mr. Barber, I'm fine, really. I'm clumsy, is all."

"Yeah, but if you fell..." he drags his hand down your sleeve and lets you go.

"Yeah, well..." you shrug and look away. Would Mike even care? You hate to think of what could go wrong but you're already doing it all alone.

"Well, what?" He wonders.

"Nothing, nothing, I just... lots to think about," you make yourself chipper.

"It's not easy. I remember. Laurie was in the hospital back and forth. Every little thing she was sure was this, that, or the other. She was fine, just nervous," he says.

"Right, I... just got an ultrasound," you explain.

"That's fun. He picking you up then? What time?"

"Noon. I'll be done. Think I have some bus tickets left--"

"Bus tickets?" Barber clucks. "You can't-- you're telling me your husband's gonna make you go all by yourself."

"Well, he might meet me there," you lie. You're embarrassed. You said too much.

He opens the door for you and you go through. He sighs as it falls shut behind him, "I'll drive you."

"Mr. Barber?" You look at him, "you can't--"

"I don't have much on the docket, I can do it."

"No, I couldn't-- no way."

"I couldn't imagine if it was my wife or my child. You shouldn't have to go all that way by yourself." He insists. "It's no bother."

"But... it is to me, sir."

"You gotta take care of yourself, your baby, but more importantly, he should be doing the same," he shakes his head.

"That's so... nice, but..."

"I've made up my mind." He says. "Come get me when you're ready, alright?"

"Mr. Barber--"

"Andy," he corrects you. "And sweetie, you make sure you take some breaks. Sit down when you can."

You smile at him. He's so nice. Still, you hate that this pregnancy makes you feel so useless. Mike wouldn't disagree. You're too tired to wake up when he is home. You hear him in the bathroom getting what he needs.

"I will, thank you." You sway slightly, "you know, you don't have to worry about me. I'm just the cleaner."

"Just the cleaner? Don't sell yourself short," he touches your shoulder then backs up. "Just give me a knock, okay?"

He turns and marches off. You watch him. You feel small. He has everything figured out. Not like you. Or Mike.

🍼

It's nerve-wracking just approaching Mr. Barber's door. Usually, it wouldn't affect you. You'd be doing your job. He offered but you still feel as if you're asking a favour.

He opens it, already in his jacket, ready. You hope he wasn't waiting, or even, distracted, by you. You smile sheepishly as your coat swishes with your nervous fidgeting.

"All good?" He asks. You nod.

"Thanks again, Mr. Barber," you say.

"It's Andy and really, it's no problem."

He waves you ahead of him. The elevator is back in service, to the relief of your hips and feet. The ride down makes you dizzy. You come out into the lobby and wring the strap of your bag.

"Nervous?" He asks as he holds the door for you.

"A little. It'll be okay but... I wasn't planning on a baby, you know?"

He follows you out into the damp grey. He points you to the parking lot and directs you around to his white SUV. It's a nice car. Mike just has his beat up Pontiac.

Again, Andy opens the door. He holds your elbow as you haul yourself up. You thank him and reach for the seat belt. He closes the door and goes around the other side.

He turns the engine and glances at you, "what about the dad? Is he ready?"

You stare through the windshield. You don't know but you don't want to admit it out loud.

"He's a lawyer too," you deflect. He's working a really important case right now."

"Ah," he pulls out of the spot, "tough when you're starting out. And a baby won't make it easier. Trust me, I know."

"Yeah, but we'll make it work," your words peak with your anxiety. "It's early."

"Goes fast," he says. "Before you know it, you'll be ready to pop."

You laugh thinly. You're in dread of that. You put your hands on your stomach.

"I could tell because your face. You're glowing," he explains. "Laurie had the one. C-section. Didn't wanna do it again."

"Yeah I'm... just focusing on this one."

"I wanted a girl," he says. "Got Jacob. Good kid. What about you? Girl? Boy?"

"I'll take either. I just hope they have Mike's eyes," you chime.

He smiles, "he's lucky. The baby too. You're going to be a good mother."

"I really hope," you say and pick at the zipper of your bag. "It'll be nice to have someone new to love."

[catboywonu]

11:29 PM

jiung, who looks so good when his tongue is poking the inside of his cheek in concentration, fully immersed in the song he’s been working on for the last few hours. the two of you keep missing each other’s glances, only looking when the other looks away or pretends to be too interested in what’s on the soundboard in front of him, or in your case, your cellphone.

he’s tried to focus on the task at hand, he really, really has, but how can he when you’re laying on the little couch in his studio, jeans hugging your thighs, midriff exposed under your shirt that has risen up?

he’s not usually this easily distracted—a detail about him you know very well. countless times, you’d tried to tempt him to take a break from work and each and every time, your attempts had failed.

“i’ll take care of you when we get home, baby,” he’d insist with a sweet, wet kiss on your lips, “but i have to finish this now.”

even sitting on his lap and rutting against him while you kissed and whimpered into his neck had been useless. technically, not entirely useless, cause you could feel him get worked up beneath you, but even then he didn’t budge—his outstanding and stubborn self-control won every time.

naturally, you decided to give up your fruitless teasing and convincing, but perhaps, the absence of your advances is exactly why he’s so worked up today.

subconsciously, he misses the way your arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, palms smoothing over his chest and fingers trailing paths through his soft hair.

“please, i’m so needy,” he can practically hear the words dripping like honey from your lips, begging for him, needing his attention. and if he tries hard enough, he can feel your breath on his neck when you ask him to touch you, “just for a little.”

but instead, you’re quiet and still, laying back on the couch as you patiently wait for him to finish. and as much as he’d like to get this adjustment to the song over and done with so he can go home and treat you to the pleasure you so rightfully deserve, he can’t, because nothing he’s hearing in his headphones sounds good right now—not when his dick is so hard and swollen inside of his briefs that it physically hurts.

the melody is a mess, the lyrics are senseless, the beat isn’t right, and his head is leaking pre-cum into his underwear.

with a scowl on his features, he yanks the headphones off and spins around to face you.

you don’t look up from the phone, simply humming to acknowledge him as you shift onto your stomach. he swallows back a groan at the view of your pretty ass, now in perfect view.

“honey,” he starts, but you only hum again. “i’m gonna take a break.”

“good,” you mumble, “you’ve been going at it for over two hours. i’m starving.”

“i-“

“what do you wanna eat? i’ll order.”

“baby…” there’s a smidge of vulnerability in his voice, which is what finally makes you look up from the screen and at him. one of his hands is cupping himself over his sweats, the other reaching out for you desperately, “c’mere.”

your eyes widen as you glance down at his bulge and back up at him, the corners of your lips twitching up to form a teasing smile.

"what's wrong?" you play dumb. jiung rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back.

"please?"

"what ever happened to leaving that for when we're home?"

there's a strain on his voice when he answers, "i know, but... i can't. not this time."

"oh, but when i'm the one who's needy, it's fine?" you get up, walking over to him and stopping between his legs. instantly his hands come up to hold your hips.

when you grab his chin and tilt his head up to look at you, his dick twitches in his pants.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, lids heavy and lips drooling as his eyes trail down your figure, following every curve, every bit of exposed skin. "m'sorry," he repeats, speech a bit more slurred this time.

his index fingers hook onto the waistband of your pants, slipping along the hem until they meet in the middle where the button clasps your jeans closed. he tugs at them in a silent plea, and you nod slowly, running a hand though his hair.

jiung groans softly, leaning into your touch and making quick work of the button so he can work your jeans down your legs until you can step out of them.

not a moment later, he's shimmying his own sweats and underwear down until his angry tip is out, flushed and dribbling with clear pre-cum.

"come sit on it," there's a firmness to his voice, hands desperately tugging you closer until you're hovering over his lap. he can tell you're worked up—the way your lips are parted, the way your eyes are hazed. once you're close enough that he can feel the heat radiating between your laps, he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you in place.

as his hand guides his dick through your folds to coat it in your slick, his lips find solace in the crook of your neck where he whines and drools and bites, hiding his flushed face from yours. he's already worked up a sweat from the need to feel you around him.

"mmm.." every time he drags himself up and down your core, your grip on his shoulders tightens, beckoning him closer.

"relax for me okay?"

you quickly nod, bringing your hand over your mouth to muffle the way you gasp as he pushes himself in. he slowly moves to sink you down, his own eyes rolling back, until you're flush against his lap and whimpering softly at the feeling of being so full.

"you're too tight," he groans.

"maybe you're just too big." he chuckles breathlessly at your words though he can't deny the way they make him flush, bringing his palms down to grip your hips. he tries to encourage you to move, but you only whimper, mumbling "hold on, i'm so full, i-"

"fuck, darling, i need you to move." he hisses, feeling the way your walls flutter around him.

after a few seconds, you lift yourself up halfway and sink back down with a moan that he echoes the moment he feels his swollen tip poke at your walls.

he works you to a pace that has your legs trembling, unable to hold you up if it wasn't for his grip that steadies you. you hum, eyes squeezed shut, focusing solely on him, on the way he feels inside you—the way his tongue drags up your neck until he stops at your jaw, ending his trail with an opened mouth kiss.

he moans against your neck, grabbing your face with his hand to turn you so you're looking down and at him.

"that's it," he praises when your eyes flutter open, glossed over and dazed. "there's my girl."

"ji-"

"sweetheart," his voice is tight as you roll your hips into his, chasing your high. the way you cling to him, nails scratching lightly at his shoulders, mouth letting out the most beautiful and addictive breathy whines—it drives him crazy.

you gasp against his lips as he rolls his hips up to meet yours—a slow, deliberate motion that has your fingers tugging on his hair, "jiung—” your breath hitches, the way he moves, the way he grips you, it’s overwhelming.

“i know, baby,” he groans, his lips tracing along your jaw, down to the base of your throat. his hands move, skimming up your sides, sliding under your shirt, palms warm against your flushed skin as he squeezes your boobs.

the tension that’s been building finally snaps, the air filled with breathless moans, whispered pleas, and the sound of skin against skin. the wet sounds coming from where your bodies meet make his head spin, pushing him to fuck you harder as you gasp, walls tightening around him.

he mumbles the sweetest things against your skin as you go limp in his hold, as he sinks so deep into you when he finds his own release.

"fuck," he shudders, head falling back against the chair, arms keeping you in place, tightly tucked against his chest.

for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sounds are the faint hum of the unfinished track looping in his headphones and your synchronized pants as you both come down from your highs. jiung leans forward, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as if he can't seem to pull away.

“you okay?” his voice is hushed, tender. he brushes damp strands of hair away from your face, his other hand tracing mindless patterns on your back.

you nod against him, still catching your breath. “yeah,” you murmur, pressing a kiss against his jaw. “really good."

jiung hums in approval, his arms wrapping around you fully. he leaves a kiss on your head, but before you can get lost in his warmth, he's shifting, adjusting you in his arms. “come on, baby,” he says, his voice still a little hoarse. "let's clean up.”

you groan softly, nuzzling into his neck. “uh-uh. can’t move,” you whine. “you wore me out.”

he chuckles, smoothing your hair back with his hand, mumbling, “i did, huh?” before he sighs. “alright, sit tight.”

before you can protest, he’s gently lifting you off of him, setting you down carefully on the couch. his warmth leaves you, but only for a moment before he’s grabbing a clean towel from the studio's bathroom, using it to wipe the sheen of sweat from your skin and the mess he's left between your legs with soft, delicate touches. his focus is solely on you, unhurried, full of care.

“there we go,” he murmurs, discarding the towel before grabbing the oversized hoodie draped over his chair. "c'mere, baby." he helps your arms through the sleeves and slides your panties back up your legs, fingers ghosting your skin. "all better."

you nod, your heart swelling. “you always take such good care of me.”

jiung grins, cupping your jaw affectionately before tugging on his own pants. “of course. you’re my girl.”

for a moment, he pauses, glancing toward his screen where his unfinished song still sits open. “shit. i was supposed to finish that.”

you giggle, nudging his side as he drops onto the couch beside you, pulling you effortlessly into his lap. “maybe next time don't get so distracted.”

he half-heartedly scoffs, pressing a teasing bite against your shoulder before pulling you into a proper kiss—slow, deep, tongue swiping at your still swollen lips. when he pulls away, he doesn't go too far, nose still brushing yours. “how could I not?” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re my favorite distraction.”

you instantly melt into him, curling against his chest, listening to the thump-thump of his heart as exhaustion begins to creep in.

"i wasn’t expecting you to give in so easily,” you tease after a beat, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his hair.

"yeah, well," he starts, eyes flickering closed as you scratch his scalp, "you were quite convincing." when you sigh contently against him, he whispers “rest for a bit, I’ll finish up later.”

"are you sure?" you mumble, but you're already half-asleep—he can tell.

he just nods softly, squeezing you in reassurance as your breath evens out and you fall asleep, tucked in his embrace.

🫐

[charlotteking23]

Hi! Can I request a batfam x batmom. But batmom's not that quick to catch on, but it comes to a point where all the boys know she's pregnant, they are all treating her different. Damian (#1 momma's boy) is sucking up to her even more. So when she does announce it, everyone's like "Um we've known for a long time now..."

the secrecy

Bruce Wayne x reader

Summary: You're not quick to catch your family's sudden protectiveness. So when emotions run high, you're left with a test.

Warnings: the feeling of sadness... and that's it.

"Hmm, hmmm,hmmmm, mmm"

They watched as you danced around in the kitchen, slowly humming a melody you adored and sang to the kids when they were little.

"It's kinda bittersweet, you know" Dick grinned watching you all happy unaware of your stalkerish kids.

"Yeah, and demon spawn here is no longer going to be the baby of the family," Jason smiled devilishly, seeing Damian frown. "How does it feel?" Jason hinted mockingly before cooing at Damian.

"Stop.. teasing him," Tim bantered hysterically, trying to catch his breath, punching Jason in the arm jokingly. It was as if he didn't want him to stop, but he had to show some type of empathy, even if it was fake.

"Look we can all agree that we need to take care of Mom", Dick interrupted hoping to shift Jason teasing off of Damian. They all collectively agree for the first time ever.

𐙚

It began as a simple task, you know. Helping out more around the house.

Which also included becoming a personal chauffeur and suffering through many hours of shopping, making sure you were okay. Because they would do anything for their mom.

You arrived back at the Manor after the long and intensive grocery shopping. You parked the car inside the garage next to your husband's vast amount of cars he liked to collect. You open the trunk, glancing at the amount of grocery bags there are.

Jason heard the garage opening being so close to check to see if his mother was home. On the walk to the garage, the first person he saw was Tim and like any normal circumstance, he dragged him to the garage without any warning.

"Damn it, Jason, a little warning next time", Tim shouted out before harshly yanking his arm out of Jason's grip.

Both Jason and Tim walked out of the garage towards their mother. "Here Ma, we'll help you",

Jason smiled at you before gently grabbing the bags from your hand and Tim who took more bags from the car.

"Oh umm...thanks", honestly in that moment you didn't know how to react. I mean, your kids were usually busy saving the world or with their own lives, but you were thanktul nonetheless.

𐙚

"gosh, my feet are killing me", you groaned quietly to yourself before sitting down and rubbing your feet. "I should probably do some stretches in the morning", You coaxed on the idea. "Ugh I'm too lazy for that", You whined in the throw pillow next to you.

Dick came down from his room, it was as if he had some supersonic senses whenever you were in assistance of help. Also, he had decided to stay in the manor for an extra couple of weeks and then return to the Teen Titans.

"Here Mom, I will massage it for you", Dick grinned, making your heart melt, at the thoughtfulness of your son.

"Thank you baby, but you don’t have to do that", you assured Dick, not wanting to take so much time out of his busy schedule. But all those thoughts quickly melt away when Dick started massaging your feet…you were in paradise.

As quickly as Bruce entered is as quickly as Bruce mouth agape. His son massaging his wife feet free…what is he playing at?

"Son, why don’t you-"

Bruce began but was quickly shut down by Dick's interruption. "Dad, I am fine", Dick finished with a glare at his father. Bruce watched his wife be completely oblivious to this interaction. What can you do? Bruce sighed before leaving somewhere…anywhere but there.

𐙚

Alfred was already a big help around the manor. There was really no difference except...

As usual, everyone had dinner together as a family, you set the rule so everyone can talk about their day and get some quality time together.

"This was delicious Alfred, thank you", You happily exclaimed at Alfred beside you. He made your favorite food.

"You're welcome Missus Wayne", he politely said as always, refusing to call you by your first name. No matter how much you tried to convince these were the times he would refuse.

Although you had persuaded Alfred to eat with you all because Alfred was family, no doubt about it. But It took a long time to convince Alfred to eat because of his constant refusal. But you were not going to take no for an answer this time.

You saw Alfred getting up so you as well stood up from your seat, hoping to return the favor.

"No Missus Wayne, there is no need to perform such duties", Alfred assured you. But you didn't listen and continued to pick up the dishes and help clean the table.

The kids could not watch you and Alfred do it all by yourselves. "Alfred where do you want these dishes", Jason asked seeing Alfred point in that direction. It became some kind of a family bonding.

Dick and Jason washed and dried the dishes, Tim was moping, Damian decided to you clean the table, and Bruce even helped sweep around.

𐙚

Finally, it was just you, I mean can you blame yourself, your kids had become a whole new level of weird and protective.

The wonderful movie of Cinderella, you absolutely adored the movie ever since you were a little girl, hoping to become a princess. You sighed as your favorite part came into the scene. "Gosh, so beautiful", you breathed as Cinderella twirled around and forged a magnificent dress, that you only dream of wearing,

Nothing can ruin the moment, you can hardly take your eyes off the screen.

"Hello, ummie"

"Holy fuc-", you let a scream of terror, putting a hand on your chest to regulate your breathing. "Damian what...what are you doing here?", you asked in between breaths, "we need to put a bell on you", you muttered, groaning slightly.

"I'm here to give you company", Damian flashed his teeth, sitting next to you on the couch.

"oh baby, I um...you don't have to do that", you assured Damian, hoping he gives you some must needed alone time. You tried to go back to your movie, already missing some scenes, but the piercing gaze watched, calculating your every moment. You found it impossible to pay attention.

"Mother would you ever replace me?", Damian whispered, it hurt even more when he whipped his head around closing his eyes afraid of see your reaction.

You were speechless to think that one of your kids could ever think about getting replaced. You gently grasp Damian's chin, turning it towards you, you can see the pain in his eyes, the same eyes that tried to mask that pain with fierceness.

Why would you ever think that baby", you sobbed, holding his hand while trying to keep the tears at bay. But nothing could ever prepare for this moment. You grasp his body crushing him towards you, you want to bury him in your chest, to comfort him and you.

"Why do you love me?... I am offspring of my father and my other mother", he muttered, the pain of hiding the secret longed to leave his body, but the fear of being true weighted more. He couldn't hold it anymore and let the tears fall, sobbing uncontrollably, it was finally the breaking point. The point where he tried to hide it so hard and be the warrior that was expected of Talia.

"Dami, I have loved you since I first met, and nothing will change that", you tried to stop crying but you couldn't because of the pain he felt, he has been living with and holding the burden of not feeling loved. You held more tightly, the movie left forgotten in the night.

Despite your legs and back pain, you cared for Damian gently through the Manor, stopping by your boy's room, the feeling of pain and defeat, wondering do any of your kids feel this way as well.

You joined Damian in bed, not wanting to leave him after the heartache you went through. You couldn't let down your children, not again.

𐙚

In the morning, you walked towards Bruce with a mission, you were determined to talk to him no matter his busy schedule.

"Come in".

Bruce was on the side of the room next to your vanity, in front of him a long mirror showcasing his body, as he tied his tie. Bruce saw through the mirror your anger radiating through the room, the tie forgotten as he went to you.

"Bruce we need to talk, now", your voice reaches its peak of authority demanding his attention.

Bruce grasped your hand, hoping to comfort you when you needed it. "Honey, what-", you sobbed out interrupting him before pulling your hand away hoping to hide your face from the shame and misery you had encountered yesterday.

Long warm arms embrace your figure drawing you away from the floor and onto the bed. Bruce rubbed your back up and down hoping to ease your sobbes. "Honey, what happened?", once Bruce learned after being married to you, he had to be patient.

Patiency was key between you too. He waited till your cries calmed down, only comforting you with physical touch, no words.

"Damian, felt like he was replaceable", you broke out after gathering your emotions together.

You held Bruce's hand, clenching his hand as tightly as possible, waiting for his reaction. You could feel your tears running down your face slowing, wiping them away before they could drop.

"I never knew he felt", Bruce spoke out in disbelief, his son had felt like for god-knows how long. What kind of father was he?

You both sat silently, knowing the outcome of this situation. Although neither of you spoke, it was almost like a bond was going through you both. You both knew you had to spend more time with the children and understand them. No matter, they had to be there as parents.

You felt your legs carry you to the bathroom, crouching down towards the toilet. You stayed your face stained with tears, as you vomited, trying to surpass these feelings.

Bruce followed you before crouching with you as he held your hair out of your face. His face was enticed with worry, hoping nothing serious was happening. You stop vomiting, and the sound of the toilet being flushed made its way in the bathroom as you grab your tooth brush and started brushing.

Bruce looked under the cabinet hoping to find something to help, his eyes suddenly landed on a pack of tests. Pregnancy tests.

Bruce took out the box inspecting it, before looking at you. He couldn't help but wonder about the signs, he had missed. The vomiting for one, is emotional, and cravings.

You could feel Bruce's stare from a mile away, fearing the box he had in his hand that instigated those stares. "Baby, you don't think...do you?", You were hesitant and all those whirlwind of emotions were coming back.

Bruce took your hand grasping it, assuring you. "Hey just try okay. no harm right", Bruce whispered in your ear before taking your body close to him in an embrace easing the tension.

You only nodded, the words failing to come out. You quickly grab a test before making a beeline to the bathroom. You were anxious, your hands were sweaty, and your nerves were building up as you anxiously waited for the timer to go off.

Bruce held you as much as you would allow him, trying not to show any doubt in his face in fearing of disappointing you. The timer felt slow, a pace so small, 30 seconds left but it felt like the longest 30 seconds of your existence.

Ding

Moment of truth, were you pregnant. As you flip over the test, the breathe you were holding, left upon seeing positive. Positive.

"I am pregnant", You cried out happy tears, sinking to the floor and feeling Bruce try to hold you up. The tears were running wild on your face, as you held the test to your heart.

Bruce could not believe he was going to be a father again. Bruce could not some of his tears following as smiled so happily, his mouth was starting to hurt.

"Oh baby, we have to tell everyone", You were gasping between breaths at the thought of everyone's reactions, especially Damian. Would this make him more angry? More unloved? If you told the news to everyone.

As much as you wanted to question your decision more, Bruce was already calling out to his kids for a family meeting.

Your arms were crossed to your chest as you whipped your head back in forth, annoyed that Bruce couldn't have at least 5 minutes. The only reaction he gave upon seeing the annoyed look was a scratch on his neck before dashing out of the room, like a child.

" A Child", you mumbled to yourself, hearing Bruce laugh from the hallway.

𐙚

All the kids sat in the living room, anxiously waiting why their father to call a family meeting. Which of the kids screw up, who would take the blame, and who would get grounded.

"Alright Jason, you might as well confess", Dick accused Jason. He roughly shoved Jason's shoulder, knocking him off the couch.

In crazy hand gestures, "Why do I always get blamed?!!", Jason yelled out in anger, believing he was being targeted by his brothers again.

"What do you mean...you cause the most trouble", Tim nodded his head at Jason, knowing it was a fact that Jason caused the most fight and stress upon his parents.

"Well...Well, demon-spawn has been silent this whole time, who to say he did not cause this meant", Jason pointed his finger at Damian hoping to divert the attention away from him.

Damian barely acknowledges him, the silence weighted on the situation at hand. The boys were concerned to stay the least, it was unusual for Damian to be so quiet but for him to show this rare emotion of sadness, it was strange...

Before the boys could ask any questions regarding Damian's state, their parents walked.

"The fuck-", Jason spoke out letting out a audible gasp at the sight. His father was...smiling. "Yeah Dad, hate to break to you, but you look really creepy with your smile, so please stop", Jason demanded, covering his face with his hand, it was a sight to see for sure.

The kids were all shocked to see their parents all smiley and happy.

"could have sworn, someone was going to get in trouble", Tim pointed out with his arm crossing over his chest.

Bruce put his hand out in front of him, silencing the kids.

"We have some news", You smiled practically bouncing on your toes. You couldn't wait to see their reactions, You wanted all the kids to be comfortable with this change, especially Damian after the conversation from last night. It was still replaying like a broken CD.

"I AM PREGNANT!!!"

You looked at the kids seeing some mixed reactions. Jason's face was neutral not a single emotion you could hinder on his face. Dick grinned joyfully at the news clapping his hand excitedly. Tim smiled but the look behind his eyes portrayed many emotions including happiness. Damian was the last face you saw, not because he was the youngest or how he sat farther away from everyone else. No, you were petrified of the emotions displaced on his face.

Damian flashed a quick smile, before rushing up from the couch standing, racing towards you in a bone-crushing hug. You wrapped your arms tightly around your youngest never wanting to leave this fleeting moment. The sight of Damian's tears running freely down his face, stung your heart letting out a quiet sob.

You felt many pairs of arms around you and Damian, the arms of your kids and your husband like a protective embrace blocking out the evils that dare to impair you.

But the moment was quickly interrupted, "Ma, I...no we have to tell you something", Jason nervously wiped his hand on his pants hoping to get rid of the sweat that was building on.

Dick felt a pair of eyes on him, he looked around the room and behind the wall was none of them...Alfred. Alfred looked him dead in the eye, signaling him to confess the secret. Dick looked back at you, pretending he didn't just see Alfred side-eye him.

"Mom we-", Dick began but quickly stopped looking for some help.

"Ummi-, Damian began to speak before...

"Mom, um we've known for a long time now...", Tim finished telling the secret for his brother. Can't count on his brothers to spill the secret to their mother, so you have to do it yourself.

"What..how?!", you exclaimed loudly, tearing your arms out of Bruce's embrace. How could the kids have known before you? Is that why they've been acting differently.

Bruce had a struggle to comprehend the boy's secret. How could they have known before him? He is a detective the best..and he couldn't even tell his wife was pregnant before his own kids.

"The fuck", Bruce spoke out, finally having some kind of reaction and then staring at his kids with all these mixed reactions. It was the first time, any of you had seen Bruce portray so many emotions.

"Master Bruce, please mind your language", Alfred stated, coming out from behind the walls, like nothing had happened, and continue to dust the manor.

[wchswift]

Oooh, those look fun! How about 8G𓆣 (maybe with Dean, or whoever you feel like)? 👀

꒰ 8 ꒱ “i’m taking you home, and that’s that.” ꒰ G ꒱ drunkenness ꒰ 𓆣 ꒱ an alleyway behind a dive bar

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: dean comes after you but a drunken argument almost makes you reveal unspoken feelings.

word count: 830

notes: I love this one sm!! It was so fun to write, tysm for sending it :) hope you and everyone else likes it <3

build a fic

You needed a drink.

After the week you’d had—sleepless nights, a hunt that had nearly gone sideways, bruises that still ached beneath your jacket—you deserved one. But, of course, Dean had to have an opinion about that.

"You shouldn’t go alone," he’d said, arms crossed, voice edged with something that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t far from it either.

"Sam’s busy, and you're being annoying by not wanting to go to any dive bar with me," you’d shot back, grabbing your jacket. "I’ll be fine, Dean. It’s not my first time drinking alone."

"That’s not the damn point."

"Then what is the point?"

He hadn’t answered. Just stared at you, jaw tight, looking like he wanted to tell you something and stop you. But when he stayed silent, you scoffed and walked out, slamming the motel door behind you.

Now, a few drinks deep, warmth buzzed under your skin, numbing the exhaustion you’d been carrying for days. The bar was loud and crowded, filled with the kind of people who didn’t ask questions. It was exactly what you needed—somewhere to get lost for a little while.

But the problem with places like this? Some guys didn’t understand boundaries.

"You’re real pretty, you know that?" The man’s breath reeked of beer as he leaned in, one arm braced against the wall beside you. His smile was lazy, the kind that said he thought he had a chance. "How ‘bout one more drink, sweetheart? On me."

You sighed, head tilting back against the alleyway’s brick wall. "Not interested."

"C’mon, don’t be like that," he pressed, his hand settling just above your waist. "Bet you just need the right kind of company."

Before you could snap at him—or worse—he was gone.

A sharp grunt, a blur of movement, and suddenly the guy was staggering back, crashing into a pile of crates.

Dean.

He stood in front of you, shoulders squared, fists clenched, chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. The guy muttered something, but Dean didn’t even look at him. His focus was locked on you.

"Seriously?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in your head. "This is what you call ‘being fine’?"

You rolled your eyes, still feeling the warmth of alcohol buzzing under your skin. "I had it handled, plus I didn’t know I needed you watching me all the time."

Dean let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep his temper in check. "You don’t. But you do need someone watching your back when you decide to get drunk in the shadiest damn bar in town."

Your eyes flicked to him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh, right. Because you never go off alone, drink yourself stupid, and pick fights in places worse than this."

Dean’s jaw clenched. "That’s different."

"How?" You pushed off the wall, wobbling slightly before straightening. "Because you’re Dean Winchester? Because you’re so damn good at taking care of yourself?" You stepped closer, voice lowering. "You’re a hypocrite, Dean."

His expression darkened, but there was something else in his eyes—concern, something deeper that he wouldn’t say out loud.

"I’m taking you home," he said firmly. "And that’s that."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping. "Why do you care so much?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, unfiltered by the whiskey in your veins. "Why do you always act like I’m your damn responsibility?"

Dean didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was struggling with himself. Finally, he muttered, "Because you are."

Your breath hitched. "Dean—"

"I’m always gonna take care of you," he cut in, voice rough. "Even when you make it hard. Even when you run off and drink yourself stupid because you’re too damn stubborn to let me help." His hands hovered at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was holding himself back. "And I don’t—" He exhaled sharply, looking away for half a second before locking eyes with you again. "I don’t wanna do this here. Not when you’re drunk."

The air between you was thick, heavy with all the things neither of you had ever said out loud.

You swayed slightly, still feeling tipsy, and before you could stumble, his hands did move—one gripping your wrist, the other landing on your hip to steady you.

"You wanna argue about this?" he murmured, voice softer now. "Fine. We’ll do it when you’re sober."

You stared up at him, pulse pounding, every nerve in your body hyperaware of his touch. But Dean was already leading you away from the alley, his grip firm, steady.

And for once, you didn’t fight it.

(I hope this is good cause I'm not used to writing something short and without rereading it several times lol)

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @lyarr24 @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

COCKY: CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself.

Preview under the cut!

...

“Be honest,” Han says, adjusting a pair of oversized sunglasses on his nose. “I look hot, don’t I?”

You snort. “I need a drink to find you attractive.”

He gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. Brutal.” Then, his expression turns thoughtful. “Well, bars aren’t open yet… but I do have drinks at my place.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, so that’s your plan? Get me drunk in your apartment?”

Han doesn’t even try to deny it. “Absolutely,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his shamelessness. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Han grins, tossing an arm around your shoulders as he steers you toward his place. “Now this is what I call quality product testing.”

Han’s apartment is surprisingly neat, with a warm and lived-in feel. The shelves are stacked with comic books and figurines, and a collection of vinyl records sits beside a turntable in the living room. You wander over, scanning the titles while Han disappears into the kitchen.

“You actually listen to these, or are they just for decoration to make you seem cool?” you tease with a sly smile, running a finger along the spines of the records.

He returns from the kitchen with two glasses of hard liquor, handing one to you. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of taste,” he says, feigning offense. He picks a record and slides it onto the turntable, the soft crackle of vinyl filling the air before smooth, jazzy notes spill from the speakers.

You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth spread through you as the two of you start moving to the rhythm. Han, being Han, doesn’t keep it simple for long—he breaks into a ridiculous routine, wiggling his arms and shaking his hips like he’s auditioning for a variety show.

You burst out laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

Still chuckling, you play along, mirroring his moves in exaggerated fashion until you’re both breathless from laughter. Then, suddenly, he takes your hand, pulls you close, and spins you into a slow dance.

Your bodies sway together, the mood shifting effortlessly. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes lock onto yours, playful but unreadable. And then, just as easily as he jokes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

It’s light, fleeting—like he’s testing the waters. But the second it happens, an image of Chris flashes through your mind. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at you in his office just the other day. Your body stiffens, your grip on Han’s shirt loosening.

You slowly pull away from Han, your fingers slipping from his shirt as you take a step back. “I—uh, I need a minute,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Bathroom?”

Han blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he nods and gestures toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. First door on the left.”

You don’t waste time, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. Pressing your palms against the cool sink, you take a deep breath, your mind racing. Why did I think of Chris? The kiss had nothing to do with him, yet his face, his touch, his words—all of it came rushing in, uninvited.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Your gaze drifts around the bathroom to find something to distract you, your eyes land on the slightly open drawer beneath the mirror. Idly, you tug it open, rummaging through the contents without much thought—until your fingers brush against something familiar.

The box of condoms you had given Han for testing sits there, three packs still untouched. You pick it up, flipping it over in your hands, your mind now shifting gears. Without thinking too hard about it, you grab the box and head back to the living room.

Han is crouched by the record player, swapping out the vinyl, but when he sees you standing there, he pauses, his brows furrowing in mild concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Instead of answering, you flash him a sly smile and ask, “You know what time is it?”

He smiles but curiosity filled his dark brown eyes. “What?”

You lift the box of condoms slightly, letting it dangle between your fingers as you say, “It’s time for the hands-on research.”

...

Full fic will be released this Friday, March 21. Or you can read it early on my Patreon:

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Ceswest behind the cut; “love is being stupid together”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Superman sighs fondly again. Cat stares blankly at him and has the entirely unprecedented experience of being speechless in a man's presence.

“Uh,” she says. “Congratulations . . .?” 

Superman smiles warmly at her. She wonders if maybe this is an alternate reality and she just, she doesn’t know, somehow didn’t notice? Or maybe she’s hallucinating for some reason. Maybe there’s a gas leak or a psychic supervillain is mind-controlling Superman or maybe Lex Luthor had Superman’s baby. 

“Thank you,” Superman says. Cat pinches herself without bothering to pretend to be discreet about it. She still seems to be conscious, yes. “But I really do have to get going, Ms. Grant. You have a good evening, get home safe.” 

“Sure,” Cat says, as someone who is about five seconds out from doing the exact opposite of going home. “Uh, you too, Superman. Say hi to, uh . . . ‘Kon-El’ for me?” 

“Oh, he won’t care if it comes from me, but I will,” Superman agrees cheerfully, then gives her a little wave and flies off. Cat attempts a little wave of her own as she stares after him and doesn’t even check out his ass as he flies away for . . . possibly the first time ever, actually? Possibly the first time ever, yeah. 

Cat looks down at her phone. Checks her voice recorder app; holds it up to her ear and plays the past three minutes back for herself. 

Then she bolts back into the Daily Planet building and starts repeatedly jabbing the elevator button until the damn thing comes already, because she is not running up all those flights of stairs in stiletto heels. Except then the elevator takes longer than five seconds, so actually she just kicks off her shoes, snatches them up the floor, and tears off for the stairs in her stocking feet without even shoving them in her purse. It’s fine, she’s just going to put them back on in a minute anyway, whenever she gets back to the office and remembers to care about things like shoes. 

Admittedly they are her favorite Jimmy Choos, but even now she’s pretty sure she’s not going to manage to keep them in mind for long. 

Several flights of stairs and the entire distance of the newsroom later, she’s bashing open Perry’s office door and standing in his doorway with her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, Jimmy Choos in hand and purse hanging off her elbow and expression maybe a little bit manic, possibly. Just maybe. Possibly. 

“Perry,” Cat says as calmly as any human being ever possibly could while sweating off half their foundation and gasping for air. “I need space on the front page. Immediately, please.” 

“Grant, we’ve been over this, the Planet is not a gossip rag,” Perry says in exasperation, leaning back in his desk chair. “Whatever you heard this time, we are damn well not putting it on–” 

Cat possibly teleports across his office or something, she doesn’t really know, but she’s already slamming both hands down on his desk hard enough to shake it before he even finishes his sentence and leaning in maybe just a bit too close. But, well–she thinks that’s understandable, personally? She thinks that’s understandable, yeah. 

“Superman just told me that Lex Luthor is his baby mama,” she tells him. 

Perry stares blankly at her. 

Cat pulls her phone back out and hits “play” on the recording. 

Perry stares at her some more. 

“. . . yeah, we’ll move that train derailment to page three,” he says. “Get me the article by eight.” 

“I can do that, yeah,” Cat agrees breathlessly, going to rake her slightly-disarrayed hair back into order and nearly smacking herself in the face with her Jimmy Choos when she tries. Just–it’s fine. She’s fine. Entirely, perfectly fine! 

“. . . be right back, chief,” Lois says, which is when Cat finally notices her standing to the side of the desk with Jimmy, where they were probably talking to Perry about a story and is a testament to exactly how much tunnel vision she is currently experiencing, just as a person. There’s a very strange expression on both of their faces, though Cat is still feeling a bit manic about this story and might be projecting a bit. “I just need to go . . . text somebody real quick.” 

“Yeah, me too, chief,” Jimmy says, wrapping a hand around his watch with a little wince, for some reason. “Uh. Be right back, yeah.” 

“Who in Sam Hill do either of you have to text after hearing that?” Perry demands incredulously. 

“Oh, nobody in particular,” Lois replies dismissively as she pulls out her phone. “By the way, any of you seen Smallville lately?”

“Clark? Isn’t he still on sabbatical?” Cat asks in bewilderment, because she cannot think of a single thing less interesting to think about right now than the most boring and mild-mannered human being who has ever worked in his newsroom. “Why are you worried about your situationship right now?” 

“No reason in particular,” Lois says, already typing something into her phone. Jimmy just winces again. 

Cat does not understand her coworkers’ priorities, but hell with it: she has a story to write. 

elsewhere: Lex: . . . why did the specific horrible chill I get when I didn't get ahead of a story just go up my spine.  Konnox: ‘unno but I drew you a robot. he's red an’ has a cape an’ he flies.  Lex: well that's an incredibly impractical design choice but I do appreciate the dedication to an aesthetic, Lennox. let's see if we can't produce it in a nice stylish emeraude, though, everyone who thinks they're making a statement uses red. Konnox: I wanna put a tornado in ‘im.  Lex: . . . . . . I'm listening. 

[honeyhonest]

minors do not interact, 18+ only

would anyone else have forced themselves into crowley's winter vacation or just me

✧˖°. a few weeks

warnings: gn!reader, reader is (ADULT) yuu, crowley sucks at flirting, oh my god it's awful, not proofread, reader is regretfully attracted to him, thigh fucking, cum?

length: medium. I'm not counting all that

"The answer is no, little Prefect. I simply haven't the time nor the means to keep you and Grim entertained!"

"I'll be fine, and I'll keep Grim entertained,"

"The answer is no!"

This had been going on all afternoon. As soon as your younger friends had vanished in a ripple of light and magic through the Dark Mirror, you had closed in on Crowley.

For all his grandeur (and height), he surely looked pathetic, curled in the corner of the room, waving a broom at you as if you were a pesky bird that had somehow gotten inside.

"Besides, if you come with me, who will tend to the fires? Who will clear the snow from Ramshackle's roof? And your homework? I'm sure I instructed Professor Crewel to give you more than- AH, I mean, to see to your education over the break!"

You roll your eyes. "There are plenty of students staying behind. The ghosts will care for Ramshackle, as they have for hundreds of years. And I can study while with you,"

"I doubt that," he murmurs, and you give him a glare.

"Ahem. It simply cannot be done. The room I've booked does not allow pets, and thus Grim-"

"They don't need to know!"

"The answer is no!"

And it begins again. Crowley, the thin bastard, slips by your side and backs towards the door, babbling about his deposit and pet fees.

"Besides, it will all be boring, dreadfully boring! I have much research and study to attend to, wouldn't you rather stay here, at school?"

"NO!" you shout, loud enough to echo off the walls of the chamber.

"You said this place may have something that could get me home. I want to be there. I'm perfectly capable of studying and researching myself!"

He grimaces. "I did say that, didn't I..."

His eyes, the golden flickers of light in the depths of his mask, vanish. For once, he seems to be giving some thought to you.

"...Very well," Crowley says, opening his eyes again. "I'll send word to Grim of the new arrangements. Be ready to leave promptly, Prefect, I don't like to be kept waiting."

You keep a firm hold on your lumpy suitcase (happened upon in a closet in your derelict dorm), and Crowley keeps a firm hold on you.

The Mirror spits you out somewhere sandy and warm, and your Ramshackle-appropriate attire suddenly feels sweltering. Crowley smiles, apparently pleased by your discomfort.

"I told you to pack for warm weather, my dear. Did I not?"

"I didn't have time to change," you sputter.

It takes but a moment for you to come to your senses, and your stomach drops. What's wrong? It's the feeling you have when you've forgotten something very important, and-

"Where's Grim?"

Crowley snorts, but doesn't answer. He takes a paper map out of his short pockets (ugh) and unfolds it.

You push it aside. "Where's Grim? You said you told him about the new plan!"

"Oh, but I did!" the Headmage chirps. "It's only that the "new plan", as you put it, did not involve him. How very sad! But I have already paid the deposit on my room, and the pet policy is very clear-"

"Crowley," you warn, fingers tightening around the weak edges of the map.

"Oh, relax, Prefect. He's in good hands! In fact, the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia, a perfectly charming and respectable dorm, has offered to care for him! I have also given him your cellular phone. If there are any problems, he knows to contact me,"

You pray that Grim remembers to contact Ace and Deuce.

As much as you want to hit Crowley with a crowbar, you know you don't have much of a choice here. You can't go back to school without him.

And he's-

"Now, where shall we start? Shall I drop you off at the local library, or the room? I have a full afternoon planned, after all,"

You can feel your teeth grinding against each other. Before you can answer (or tell him to take a long walk off a short pier), he chooses for you.

You were too mad to study, anyway.

It's a nice room. Not too flashy, but not too shabby, either. A table, a chair, a view of the parking lot. One bed.

The perfect sensible, moderate, budget room for a man like Crowley.

You're not really sure why you came here, anyway. Were you really going to study? Or were you only trying to prove a point?

Maybe raining on Crowley's parade makes you feel a little better about him flooding yours.

That's a little pathetic.

He left his suitcase in the room. You're almost tempted to go through it. What does a man like him pack for a tropical vacation, anyway? It's hard to picture him as a normal person who brushes his teeth and wears pajamas. He's always been a kind of monster in your imagination.

Well, not a monster.

Not any more of one than you are.

But something inhuman, who didn't quite think or sleep like you did. A judge's gavel, a gilded throne, a statue. Something imposing but immobile all the same. Something you talk to, because it doesn't listen.

Click.

Your fantasies of whatever mundane things are in his belongings close as the door opens.

Crowley comes in, not any less pale than before, but warm and smiley nonetheless, and holding two styrofoam boxes.

"In my bountiful generosity, I have brought you dinner!" he announces, handing a box to you. You take it.

"My, you look like you haven't been out at all. Mirror lag?"

"Sure," you say. What are you doing?

He sits at the edge of the bed and digs in. He either doesn't notice, or doesn't bother to mention, your unenthusiastic picking-about the food.

You're getting really tired of seeing his knees. Why does that bother you?

"Are you feeling tired?" he asks. "Unwell?"

You glare daggers at him, and he huffs.

"Is this about Grim? I made myself very clear! You were fortunate I so graciously allowed you to come! Break is one of the very, very, very, few things I have to look forward to in the year!"

You let him talk himself down, grumbling and griping between bites, until he's pleading.

"I can't possibly solve all of your problems, Prefect. I am trying,"

You glare. He pouts.

"Very well. Tomorrow, I'll be up at first light, and we can peruse the local library together. How is that?"

Better. "It's alright,"

Not really what you want to do.

"Excellent," he says. "And no more of this childish bellyaching! I expect more maturity from someone of your age, Prefect."

Of course. You watch him stand and take off his hat (ridiculous) and his shoes (ridiculous and full of sand). The mask and the gloves remain.

You should claim the bed now, while you still have the chance.

He shoots you a look. "And don't even think about hogging the bed. Might I remind you whom is paying for it?"

"Well, where else am I supposed to sleep?" you ask. You hate that he can tell what you're thinking now.

You've been spending way too much time together.

"I'm only asking you don't kick me out, Prefect," Crowley huffs. "I don't suppose you're tired, though, are you?"

Not really. "I guess not,"

He sits beside you. "Neither I,"

You pray this is not his way of asking if you want to play a game. The very last thing you need right now is to lose to this guy in cards.

He doesn't ask that, though. He doesn't say anything.

Crowley looks at you, he looks at his lap, he looks at you, he looks at his lap. You don't have to watch. You can feel the warmth of his eyes on you.

It's weird that you don't hate this. You're confused as to why you came, but you don't hate this.

Maybe you have heatstroke. But, then, you haven't left the room.

Something cold grazes your thigh. You stiffen, expecting to see cold rice from the takeout meal, or a leak in the ceiling, but it's-

"Crowley," you sigh, more annoyed than anything. "What are you doing."

He jolts, pulling his hand back to his side. "I-I was- I, ah- I was only-"

Man. This sucks.

He rambles incoherently for what feels like a millennia, saying random words like "time" and "bed" and "I thought-" in tandem.

Well, you're already here.

"Isn't this against some rule or something?"

"Ah," that seems to snap him out of it. "It would be, yes. But we're not on school grounds, and therefore, not under the jurisdiction of the school rules. I thought..."

"What?"

He goes quiet, as if rehearing whatever bullshit he's about to say in his head.

"...Perhaps... we may... er, enjoy each other... to pass the time,"

Awful. It's pissing you off how this is kinda turning you on.

"Well," you sigh. "When in... wherever we are, do as the... whoever do."

"What?"

"You can kiss me,"

Crowley understands that, at least.

Still, he takes his sweet time, slowly moving as if he's afraid he'll startle you. He cradles the back of your head, and you feel talons against your neck. His other hand restakes its claim on your thigh, and you both strangely maneuver around the beak of his mask (is he going to keep that on the whole time???) to kiss.

You can both tell that neither of you has gotten any action in a very, very long time.

His mouth moves against yours, awkward and slow, and you have to (annoyingly) moan to motivate him.

It seems to do the trick, though. He pushes you into the mountain of crisp, white pillows and pushes himself between your legs. He's already hard, and you can't even roll your eyes at it. You're turned on, too.

As annoying as he's been, this is the only night you've had without Grim or a teenage boy breathing down your neck. It feels like it's been years.

You should make the most of it. Even if it's with the Headmage.

He pulls away, panting, his mouth smeared plum from the rough kissing. You're sure yours is, too, but you'll deal with that later.

"Please, may I...?" he asks, tugging at your pants. Stupid things have to be drenched in sweat by now, it's so hot and humid here.

Not that Crowley seems to care.

You give him your blessing, and he undresses you, nearly moaning just at the sight of your body beneath him.

He's like, achingly hard at this point. You can feel his cock against your thigh as he sits himself there, sliding his gloved hands over your sides. He strokes your neck, threads his talons through your hair, never squeezing, never tugging, never rough.

He seems to only be enjoying the view, which is... somewhat satisfying.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he whispers, his voice weak.

Ready?? READY?

"Er... not tonight," you say, narrowly avoiding the question. "But, here, let me..."

You unbuckle his (normal, mirror-less) belt, and he moans. You can almost feel him twitching as you work him out of his shorts.

Note: He is not wearing underwear... Alright.

Using the (gratuitous, almost pornographic) amount of precum to slick your thighs, you let him push his cock between them. His entire body shudders, as if it's the greatest thing he's ever felt, and he fucks between them fast, talons dug into the crisp white sheets beside you, his body pressing down against yours with each sloppy thrust, and-

I wish I could say he lasts for more than a few seconds, but by then his cum has already painted your stomach, and he's trembling and panting as if he'd just run a marathon.

You wait for him to at least pull out from between the plush of your thighs.

"That didn't pass much time," you say. A whole six minutes.

Crowley smiles, too cheerful to even feign offense. "Ah-ah, I apologize, my dear. You were simply too beautiful to resist!"

Sigh. He can be charming... sometimes.

He even fetches you a towel himself, offering to clean you, to which you decline (he almost looks disappointed, but says nothing).

"Are you sure you would not like to fornicate-"

"No," you say, "Not tonight."

Crowley lies beside you, his chin in his palm, and he grins. "Ah... so I have something to look forward to tomorrow, then?"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up about tomorrow," you smile back. If only a little.

"We have a few weeks, after all."

[cod-dump]

Letters (part 2)

GazKönig

(part 1 here)

___

He was still alive a week later, so Soap believed that was a sign that Gaz was still processing the fact he knew. They didn't talk outside of meetings or drills, just avoided his each other. Ghost noticed, and when he asked Soap just shrugged and told him he didn't notice.

They needed to talk about it, they couldn't keep dodging each other. Sooner or later Price was going to shove himself into the situation and probably cause things to go nuclear. If he or Ghost knew? It probably wouldn't blow over well.

They needed to talk, and Soap decided he was going to intiate it.

Gaz wasn't outright avoiding him. He avoided looking at him, saying anything to him, acknowledging his existence. But Soap could sit down next to him in the lounge, could snag a seat next to him in the mess. He won’t cause a scene, Soap can rely on that much. As long as he doesn’t royally piss him off.

Considering Gaz wasn’t trying to keep away from him, Soap decided to corner him either in his office or quarters. At worst? Perhaps a punch to the face? Complete lost of trust that can never be won back? Eternal judgmental glaring?

His glares are lethal…

Soap found his opportunity with Gaz staying late in his office, a grim look on his face. Grim because of the situation? Or because Price gave him extra paperwork. Could be either.

"Hey, Gaz!" Might as well just walk in and get it all over with.

Gaz huffed, glaring up at him while still hunched over some paper. His pencil looked extra sharp at the moment, made Soap feel uneasy.

"Get out."

"Uh, no. We have stuff to talk about."

His glare darkened and Soap held up his hands, backing to the door and closing it.

"See? Closed door, locking it. Privacy!"

Gaz stared before sighing, putting down his sharp pencil and shoving the paperwork to the side. He was giving Soap a chance. Good, he still cared.

"Fine. Start talking."

"I am so sorry," Soap immediately started with, Gaz with a unwavered 'done' expression.

"I shouldn't have snooped. You know how I am but trusted I wouldn't do that to you. I broke that trust."

Gaz's eyes narrowed, maybe confused by Soap's blunt acceptance of his fuck up.

"I haven't told anyone."

Gaz smiled slightly, "Shame I can't say that same."

Soap stared in confusion. Who would he have told? Then he remembered the star of the situation: The man on the other side of the letters.

"Fuck... for the record... Your... boyfriend has definitely had a gun pointed at my head at one point."

“Your boyfriend has had a knife to your throat,” Gaz replied dryly.

“That-“ Soap cleared his throat, his face heating up, “-that was… consensual.”

Gaz glared and Soap quickly tried to move on. He bowed his head, trying to hide his red faced as he went on with the apology.

"You're my friend, I shouldn't know about those letters beyond you telling me about them."

"Oh, fancy talk. This from one of your apologies to Price?"

Soap raises his head to say something probably in defense because, yes, a lot of his apologies go off the same structure. But he stopped with seeing Gaz smiling at him.

"I knew you weren't going to tell anyone, Suds. But I'm still fucking mad at you."

"You still told-"

"My boyfriend," He seemed happy to be able to say it, grinning and all.

Soap snickers, "He's older than you."

"Well seasoned."

More laughter, the tension being chased away by it. Soap wondered if Gaz was wanting to tell him about it but couldn’t figure out how to bring it all up. Soap certainly couldn’t wait to tell him about his blooming relationship with Ghost. Though Ghost and fucking König were two different people.

"When did you even even have the time to seduce fucking König?"

"Watch it, we dined first."

"When-?"

Gaz sighs, leaning back. He seemed to take a moment to put together what he wanted to say and how to say it before he leaned back over the desk.

"Remember when Makarov was spotted in Romania? And we needed some extra guns and some more local operators?"

"No," Soap breathed out.

They had plenty of time to run around with KorTac. Learn that they were trigger happy, eager to shoot at Makarov for a quick buck. He can remember getting to know Horangi more than he would like throughout that shit. He, unfortunately, was charming. A lot of KorTac had a charm to them. And Gaz had plenty of time with König to decide he liked that charm.

Makarov eventually ran, they called that a victory with the equipment that they managed to get out of the Ultranationalists' clutches. So they drank, partied somewhat in celebration. Soap remembered the hulking shadow of König leaving to find some peace and not seeing much of Gaz. Though he was too busy trying to out drink an Irish bastard to notice.

Did they really connect throughout that? Did Gaz see enough of König and liked what he saw? Sought him out to connect further?

"He's sweet. Crazy, but sweet."

Oh not the lovesick tone, Soap can't stand it.

"Not bad looking either under the hood."

"Thought he was mangled looking?"

König didn't just show people his face, but that didn't stop people from talking. Gaz seemed offended by his choice of words.

"He's very handsome," he growled out, Soap shrinking some.

"Fine fine. He's a handsome, older man- Gentleman, who dines before fucking."

Gaz snorts and Soap grins.

"I think I need to have a proper introduction."

Gaz stared at him, "I'll think about it..."

___

[darlingdaisyfarm]

˚₊ʚ if you were food, this is what you’d be ɞ₊˚

⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 ⸝⸝

idk why i feel like saying this rn but I LOVE YOU PEOPLE THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING. also i bought carrot cake today. please take this as a little gift to make your day better, mwah!! <3 :3 c: also it's written in their pov!! and sorry my imagination can be poor sometimes

STANLEY

baby, the first thing that comes to my mind is fried mozzarella. hot, soft inside, crispy outside, insanely delicious, and if you don’t eat it in time, the cheese stretches and gets all over everything. that’s exactly what you are, ‘cause it’s never boring with you, but the moment i blink, you’ve already done something crazy!! god, I love that about you, you have no idea!

and, holy moses, you are sunday morning pancakes, dripping with syrup that spills over the edges in slow golden rivers. a little messy, a little too much, but in the best way, sweetheart. something you can’t rush through because it's worth savouring, bite by bite. you’re sweetness and comfort that makes people stay a little longer at the table ;)

i swear ur like a stolen bite of dessert before dinner, like licking sugar off your lips when you think no one’s watching

and you know what else you are to me? you’re like fried potatoes, yeah, yeah. golden crispy crust, a thin layer of salt, that warm, buttery smell, oh goddd. you’re that very first bite that burns my tongue, but i still don’t wait, because how could i wait when it’s THAT good?!

and ohhh, sugar, you ever had a perfectly toasted marshmallow? golden brown, crisp on the outside, but you bite in and it’s all soft, gooey warmth that sticks to your fingertips and your lips. yep, that’s you !!

STANFORD

ah, must I name foods? just that drinks feel more appropriate, but fine. fine. one food then, okay?

fried potatoes. what? Stanley already said this? why? that was my thought! ugh. fine. then. . .

you, my love, you're like an espresso brewed so perfectly it almost doesn’t need sugar, the crema golden and thick, just the way i drank it at night, working in the lab and falling asleep over blueprints. a small cup maybe, but inside a whole universe. bitter, scalding, cutting through to the bone, but that’s the point. that’s its strength. just like you.

and then, unexpectedly, you are mulled wine. not too sweet, with orange zest and cinnamon, with cloves that open up in the warmth. this drink is more than just a taste for me. it warms. it brings people together. i always associated it with long conversations and the scent of books. that’s exactly the feeling you leave behind. that feels like sinking into a warm library chair with a book i’ve read a hundred times but still want to read again. the thing i never realized i needed, until i had it once and knew i could never go back

FIDDLEFORD

you, my darlin', are fresh peaches in the summertime, sun-warmed and dripping with juice that runs down your fingers when you take a bite, sticky-sweet and impossible to resist. that's cuz you're so sunny, with a light taste of summer, so cozy that i can't stop holding you <3

you’re like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, warm, soft, fragrant. gentle rolls that just melt in your mouth, leaving a light aftertaste of vanilla and butter. thats because there’s smth about you that makes the day better, even if it started off rough, trust me on that, sugar!

but ohh you’re also homemade vanilla ice cream, churned slow on a summer evenin’, cold and creamy. that's cuz you're always coolin’ me down when my thoughts start runnin’ too hot :)

but you are also honey-drizzled cornbread, warm from the oven, crumbling at the edges, the sweetness deep and mellow. you remind me of home, of things made with care. meant to be shared but never taken for granted

can i say more though?? thanks sugar!! then lemme think. . . ah, you are homemade vanilla custard, yes!! smooth and rich, thick enough to cling to the spoon, to coat my tongue in warmth. the sweetness that doesn’t rush to reveal itself all at once. the scent of vanilla beans steeping in warm cream and the first bite is somehow never enough. ain’t no rush with you, love <3

BILL

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH BABY, MY UNBELIEVABLY SWEET THING, YOU CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE HOW MANY FLAVORS EXPLODE IN MY HEAD WHEN I LOOK AT YOU!!!!!

first of all, you are, of course, a honey comet!!!! what is that??? I HAVE NO IDEA!!!! JUST IMAGINE, THE SKY ON FIRE, STICKY SWEETNESS, BLAZING CARAMEL MELTING INTO ASH, DRIPPING INTO THE DEPTHS OF SPACE!!! THAT’S YOU!!! I SEE YOU AND I TASTE A COSMIC SWEET APOCALYPSE!!!

AND AND AND A CARAMEL SUN, BURNED OUT TO A BLACK CORE!!! SWEET, HOT, STICKY, DEFYING ALL LAWS OF PHYSICS, JUST LIKE YOU, MY MIRACLE OF IMPOSSIBILITY!!!

I’D DEVOUR YOU, BUT WHY, WHEN I CAN JUST WATCH YOU CONSUME YOURSELF?! IT'LL BE MUCH TASTIER THIS WAY!!!!

what??? stop making things up and fooling around? you're asking me to name your boring human food? oh then. . . hmm, sweetie, you know what? this has to be something that blows your mind. smth fiery so let me think. . . you, my starlight, are like chili pepper shrimp, because IT’S FREAKING GENIUS AND YOU LOVE THE PAIN!!!! HAA

oh wait, i remember!! baby, YOU’RE CARAMELIZED APPLES! crunchy sweetness, shiny, tempting, but if you bite too hard? say goodbye to your lovely cute teeth! perfect combo, isn’t it? the sharpness of cinnamon, the thick, sticky caramel, the tartness of fresh apple. and what if your teeth really fall out? well id be more than happy to keep them, my little star!

[day-dreamed]

eye of the storm

melissa schemmenti x f!reader

summary: when you start to overwork yourself, melissa worries.

tags: food, cuddling, pet names (hon), mel being the best gf in the world and taking care of u <333

word count: 862

author’s note: inspired by real life as i am currently working two part time jobs!!! wish i had mel to take care of me :'(((

“Hon, you need to slow down.” 

You huff as you set your stuff down on the counter. “Mel, I’m fine. I haven’t even worked that many hours this week.” 

She lets out a scoff. “Oh, really? Then why haven’t you had a single day off? And each day you’re gettin’ home at nine o’clock. I’ve barely spent any time with you.”

“You’re overexaggerating things,” you say.

Melissa steps in front of you, cutting off your path to the sink. She sets her hands and your shoulders, her thumbs brushing softly at the skin of your collarbone that’s not covered by your shirt. “Can you look at me?” 

“Melissa—”

“Please, look at me.” 

When you’re finally able to muster up the courage to meet her gaze, you almost break. “I’m fine,” you tell her, voice cracking.

Her eyes narrow, lips curved into a frown. “You’re taking the day off tomorrow,” she says, and you know by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in arguing with her. “And so am I. I’ll cook you all of your favorites.” 

Warmth fills your chest at her words. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whisper. 

“I always forget how much of a sap you are,” Melissa says, chuckling. 

You lean forward and give her a chaste kiss. “Only for you,” you mumble against her lips.

The next morning, you don’t wake up until it’s close to eleven o’clock. Your eyes flutter open to the feeling of Melissa kissing every inch of your face that she can. A giggle bubbles out of you. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask, voice groggy with sleep. 

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” she responds. “C’mere.” 

Her arms open and you snuggle into them, pressing your face into the crook of her shoulder. She presses a gentle kiss to your temple and rests her chin on your forehead, rubbing her hands across your back in soothing circles.

“You hungry for breakfast?” Mel asks softly. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” she says, a smile in her voice. The sound of your stomach growling in response makes her laugh. “So that’s a yes, then.” 

Only when it reaches noon do the two of you begrudgingly get out of bed. The second the cold air hits your bare skin you grab one of Melissa’s oversized sweatshirts and toss it on. Once you’ve brushed your teeth and done the most minimal skin care routine, you pad down the stairs and meet her in the kitchen. You hop onto a stool at the island and admire the way she moves effortlessly, like she could do it with her eyes closed.

“You’re amazing, do you know that?” 

Melissa rolls her eyes playfully, cheeks tinged pink. “Quit it.” 

“No, I’m serious. I feel like I don’t tell you enough. And what you’re doing today… You don’t have to take care of me, like I’m another chore to cross off your list, but—”

She pauses in her movements. “Is that what you think? That I’m doing this ‘cause I have to?”  

Your eyes widen. “No, I—I didn’t mean—”

“Well, I’m not,” Mel huffs.

You sigh. “I know that.” 

Melissa sets a stack of pancakes in front of you, and a comfortable silence settles as the two of you start to eat. Once you finish, you set your utensils down and push the plate away. 

“Mel, I—”

“I know,” she says softly. “Hey, how ‘bout I do the dishes while you sit down and pick a movie we can watch?” 

You frown. “I can help—”

“Nope, nuh-uh,” she shakes her head. “You go sit.” 

You gaze at her fondly for a moment before making your way into the living room. After grabbing a blanket and the remote you settle onto the couch, turning the TV on. You’re still browsing through titles when Melissa walks in and sits next to you, curling into your side and resting her cheek on your shoulder. 

“Pick anything yet?” 

“Nope,” you hum.

She hums. “What about that one you were talkin’ about last week? With what’s-his-name?”

You laugh softly. “Timothée Chalamet? We could, but it still costs like twenty five bucks. I can wait until it’s cheaper—”

“Just get it.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyebrows raised. Melissa nods, and you beam at her. “You’re the best.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she grins.

Two and a half hours later, the credits start to roll. When Mel sits up to stretch out her arms and legs, you frown at the absence of her warmth. “Where’re you going?” 

“To make baked ziti.”

“Have I told you I loved you?” you grin.

She shakes her head in mock exasperation and heads back into the kitchen to start dinner. You get up from your seat to follow her, wrapping your arms around her waist as she stands at the stove. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into her ear, your chin resting on her shoulder. 

“For what?” Mel asks.

You press a kiss to her cheek. “For being you.” 

She leans into you slightly. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” you hum, a smile curving your lips. “I know.”