#**its a bit self indulgent but I get a kick out of it

[hexarcana]

❁ (any AU)

❁ what moment made them realize they're in love?

—-

For the most part, regardless of what verse Aggie has a very “love at first sight” vibe with Stan. However there are big turning points that are a bit more specific.

⭐️ Canon - Aggie has a hard time nailing it down in the main canon. It was such a gradual thing that grew so steadily that she genuinely can’t recall a time where he wasn’t the number one subject of her affection. From the moment they met to the moment she left him in Jersey it was an ever-growing feeling. The time apart did allow the flame to die down, especially after she went back to Jersey only to find that he wasn’t there. She buried her feelings and tried to forget but she never really could nor did she really want to. She never completely gave up hope, even after nearly 50 years. It was different when they reunited- It was much faster, actually. The embers of the feelings shed had were there and it didn’t take much to bring her back to the point of extreme fondness. It all came back into place after having a few casual meet-ups in town or out at her house or at the shack to catch up. In the shows timeline it happens in the aftermath of NWHS. The thing that seals it though (not the best timing sadly) was during Weirdmageddon. She and Olive ended up separated and Olive spent most of the event with Stan at the shack. Knowing that he went out of his way to look after her made her sure that what she was feeling was very very real, and the devastation of thinking she’d lost him JUST as she got him back with almost too much for her to take. After Weirdmageddon before Stan’s memories started coming back she wouldn’t leave her bedroom and was in deep like??? Near catatonic mourning, as if he’d died. Once he was coming back into himself she restrained the true nature of how intense her feelings for him had become but once the door was nudged open, that was that. Partners in crime and life from then on.

🌀Relativity - This was truly a love at first sight moment. She took ONE look at this goofy boy trying to solve the murder of a wax figure WITH SUCH EARNESTNESS AND DETERMINATION she was instantly very drawn to him. The moment she knew she was good and stuck though was after he started crushing on Carla and she tried to articulate her feelings about it to Mabel who informed her (with much excitement) that she a crush. Aggie had heard of crushes and knew they existed but had never had one. And she never had another one, either.

💰Vegas - Her side of the story is virtually unchanged up until they meet again in Vegas, but when she knew she was good and stuck on him was after one of their earliest performances or even when they were still testing and rehearsing things. He was so excited and happy and he was so much like the boy that she was so taken with back then that she found herself falling love all over again but with the added complexities of navigating these feelings through a business partnership, being a single parent, and wrestling with some self esteem issues… All of those things combined with a heightened physical attraction what hadn’t been present at 13/14.

☢️ Fallout - Similarly to canon they grew up together but it was even more prominent bc there were fewer children for them to interact with and less world to explore. I feel like their attachment in Fallout verse is perhaps one of the more intense attachments that’s possible between them, at least as children. But the dynamic shifts in early adolescence as they started to learn about “grown up stuff” and there is talk about potential marriages and what next generations of vault dwellers could look like. It was after a sort of vault-wide dance for the teenagers in the vault that Aggie’s eyes were opened to just how special her best friend was to her. All spiffed up she basically couldn’t keep her eyes off him. She knew that night that he was gonna be the boy she wanted to marry and gave a family with. Unfortunately the powers that be had other plans.

Later on when they reunite, it’s probably pretty similar to canon in that it happens sort of quickly. They’re so lucky to even be alive so why waste of of their time left denying feelings? We haven’t quite nailed it down for them yet but I feel like it’ll have to do with him interacting with her family or with Junktown, since she has a pattern of falling all over again after he’s nice to her family.

⚠️ 1984 - The exact moment she knew she was falling in love with him (again) was during his first visit to her house in the woods. She’s given him a quick tour and then they were just talking, partially about serious stuff but honestly they were just fill in each other on what’s happened with them since they were teenagers. Bobby was with them, listening and chiming in until he eventually fell asleep. Aggie got up to pick him up and carry him upstairs and Stan (who probably didn’t realize he was offering rhis until it had already been offered) offered to carry Bobby for her (he is getting a little big for her to carry without a little fuss) so he picks her boy up and she leads him to Bobby’s room. Once they were in Bobby’s room Stan put the boy in bed and then (clumsily but endearingly) patted his head before he and Aggie left the room. She knew right then, she was in trouble.

Ooos I did basically all of them ✌🏻

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

Just some thoughts of you and Toji sharing a hotel room with Shiu when you go on a trip. There are two beds, you and Toji share one, and Shiu gets the other one to his mopey self, because his wife won't be there until the next day. He gets to warm the bed up on his own and he hates every minute of it, because one: he's third wheeling you and Toji, and two: you and Toji act as if he's not there when it's time to go to sleep.

"Why aren't you sleeping, pretty girl? Do I need to go down there and put you to sleep or what?" Toji murmurs.

You giggle, quietly. "Maybe. I do get pretty tired after you make me cum."

"Yeah, you do," he says, proudly. "You wet, right now, mama?" Toji asks, already unknotting the drawstrings of your shorts.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" You say, your voice too soft for what you're inviting him to do. Still, Toji bites and leans in to kiss you as his hand slides down the front of your shorts and beneath your panties. His hand meets your pelvis and continues its downward path, until his fingertips reach the messiness of your slick-ridden cunt. He teases you with barely there flicks of his fingers to your clit.

Shiu's eyes widen the slightest bit, before his eyebrows furrow. He swears he just heard a moan coming from the bundle of blankets on the right side of the room.

"Stop touching each other," he says, irritation heavy in his tone. "Jesus," he grumbles. The one time he didn't bring his headphones, the one time his wife isn't there to let him do the same things to her, that Toji is doing to you. And you both just continue to ignore him.

Your hand comes down to palm at the prominent bulge in Toji's boxers. You can feel his clothed cock twitching in your hand after every gentle squeeze you offer to the thick length.

"Fuck, don't tease me like that, doll. Touch it." His body jerks slightly when you slide your hand down his boxers and wrap it around his sticky length. "Shit, your hands are freezing," he whispers, hissing at the coldness that meets his warm skin.

"You want me to keep going or not?" You ask, teasingly, not stopping the movement of your hand as you wait for him to respond.

"Nah, nah, you're getting warmer. Keep going."

You both think you're doing so well at muffling each other's sounds of pleasure with deep kisses, but the sounds of heavier breathing and constantly rustling sheets in the otherwise steady room, are a dead giveaway to your indecent acts. Shiu has to choose between suffering by being uncomfortably hot with the blanket bundled around his head to shut out the sounds, or being comfortable and suffering with the clear sounds of your sexual antics.

"Shh," Toji hushes, when you let out a little whimper. "Just keep kissing me."

Despite how intense the sensations are, you both keep going. Toji's fingers don't stop rubbing your clit, and your hand doesn't stop gliding up and down his cock. You're both treating the act of sharing a bed as you usually do when you're alone, despite the poor man trying to sleep one bed over.

It takes hearing an uncontained high pitched gasp for Shiu to kick off his blanket and jump out of bed with a grumble. He grabs his car keys off the table and puts on his slippers, directing himself towards the door. "Going to the store. You two better be done by the time I come back."

The second the heavy door shuts, clothes are being pulled at through impatient, all consuming kisses. It gets to the point where you actually have to slow down to get them off, because you aren't making any progress, but once it's all discarded of, absolutely no time is wasted. Your legs find refuge hooked over Toji's shoulders, and his hands home to your hips and your waist. You both freely make as much noise as you want as you indulge in each other like you really are home alone. Minutes unknowingly turned into an hour and after four intense orgasms, you've tired each other out. Toji gets out of bed to grab a towel to clean you and himself up, and once the cleanup process is done, both of you fall asleep, soundly.

Shiu comes back half an hour after you both fell asleep. He's empty handed, looking a little more disheveled than when he left the room, because "going to the store" was code for sitting in his car and having phone sex with his wife. He tip toes further into the room to see if you and Toji are sleeping, and when he sees the way Toji is spooning you with his face pressed to the nape of your neck, and the way your hand rests on the arm he has slinged around your waist, he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.

"Rabbits."

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your stressed lover comes home from a long day of work and finds you asleep. he can’t help but wake you up in a rather special way.

wc. 1.6k total

tags. dom!jjk men x sub!female reader (gojo, toji, sukuna). smut. general warnings: dark content — somnophilia (consensual). size difference because im self indulgent ; reader gets referred to as small. ehm they’re kinda depicted as perverts. rest of the warnings are given before each character.

GOJO SATORU; cw. cunnilingus. fingering. he’s a bit whiny. nicknames used ‘princess, sweets’. he cums untouched lol.

“mm, fuck. look at my sweet princess,” satoru sighs under his breath. he’s welcomed home by the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed, your hips lifted a bit as you rest on your stomach.

satoru’s voice is shaky as he mutters something to himself. he carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trembling fingers reaching out to trace the shape of your plump ass. he can’t not touch you—especially when you present yourself so nicely to him.

it isn’t long before his fingers dip under the material of your shorts. satoru gauges your reaction to his advances and notices the corners of your lips twitching. a sign you’re unconsciously feeling his warm touch.

“fuckfuckfuck. ‘m sorry, princess — i have to.”

satoru gives up any self-control that he had left. he doesn’t waste any time pulling down your shorts and panties to your knees. his already erect cock twitches in his pants at the beautiful scene; your wet cunt in all its glory.

he clenches his fists, desperately trying not to do anything. that determination does not last long.

in just a second, satoru’s already lapping up your juices, his hands firmly holding your hips still. his nails dig into your flesh and he moans once he feels your body instinctively pushing back against his mouth.

“mm, s’rry,” the sorcerer whines in a muffled voice. he knows you’re awake by now—judging purely by the increase of your little moans of pleasure. his tongue doesn’t stop moving between your spread folds, tasting you until your thighs are spasming.

you’re confused when you’ve awoken to a tingly sensation between your legs, though you quickly put two and two together. you’re too lazy to comment on satoru’s sudden actions, only babbling a soft ‘welcome home’ between whimpers.

satoru’s breath hitches the moment you tell him those words. those sweet words. like you don’t mind that he’s dragged you out of your slumber this way. it’s such a turn on—your acceptance to what he’s doing.

“yeah? oh god,” satoru’s nose bumps against your slit each time he moves his jaw, lewdly slurping the fluid your pussy produces. he can feel his dick throbbing against his pants, begging to be released, “ngh, can’t—gonna cum, sweets.”

your lover’s desperate whines make your fingers curl around the bedsheets. the sole image of him cumming in his pants just from eating you out pushes you over the edge as well.

you reach your climax at the same time. satoru lolls his tongue out to catch your juices, moaning loudly against your puffy folds as he feels it trickling into his mouth. he can feel a wet spot forming on the fabric of his boxers, “shit.”

the white-haired man removes himself from behind you, licking his lips for any residue. you lazily look over your shoulder at him with glazed over eyes. his big hands are already working on his belt and zipper.

satoru shows you the dark spot in his underwear and pouts, “ah, look what you’ve done to me, princess—made a mess out of my favourite boxers b’cause of you.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI; cw. tiny hint of implied age gap (reader early 20’s, toji early 30’s). p in v -> unprotected. spooning position. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut, whore’. degradation / objectification.

toji kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline towards his bedroom. he’s in a shitty mood after he had met up with a rude client. despite that, his lips curl up into a faint smile the moment he sees you laying on his bed.

“heh, there’s my little girl,” his voice is raspy, hoarse and utterly exhausted. the older man climbs under the covers and wraps his strong arms around your small figure. he nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in the nice smell of your shampoo.

toji wouldn’t be him if his hands didn’t wander all over your skin. his rough palms squeeze everywhere and anywhere—enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh in them. you subconsciously react to his touches by pushing your body back against his.

“. .do not,” toji hisses like you can hear him. he was already half hard on his way home as the thoughts of you clouded his mind, but now that he’s actually with you, he’s fully aroused. especially with your ass pushing back at his aching bulge.

he’s too lazy to get up and get himself off in the shower. thus, he starts off by humping the fat of your ass. the friction isn’t enough for the assassin and therefore he switches to the real thing.

“such a slutty fuckin’ thing. can’t keep my hands off ya,” toji groans into your ear, half hoping you’d hear all the dirty things he’s calling you. your pants are pulled down and your panties are pushed to the side—making way for his fat cock to drill into you.

your impatient lover adjusts your legs so he could have easier access to your tight cunt. the slow strokes inside you make you squirm and tighten up around his throbbing erection. this only riles toji up more.

“hah, y’can feel it even in y’r sleep, can’t you? my cock stretching your tight pussy out—my pussy,” toji corrects himself with a low moan. his warm breath hits the nape of your neck, his hands fondling you whilst he thrusts aggressively.

he doesn’t care if you wake up or not. he’s going to use your delicious body to relieve himself. you gave him the green light when he asked you if he could fuck you in your sleep when he needs it. so, there’s no reason to stop now.

you eventually jolt awake once the continuous stimulation become too much. if it wasn’t for toji’s hand on your mouth, you’d have woken up the neighbours with your loud and lewd moans.

toji scoffs. he keeps a tight grip on your face and thigh, not stopping the rough pounding he’s giving you. he sees your eyes roll back from the unexpected pleasure and he snickers.

his lips connect with yours, muffling your moans that way;

“hah, seems like you needed this as much as i did—waking up ‘n already moaning like a whore. missed me that much, huh?”

SUKUNA RYOMEN; cw. true form!sukuna. has two cocks woops. masturbation (m). turns into blowjob. hairpulling. reader gets called ‘brat’.

sukuna returns to his chambers. finally, after dealing with some sorcerers that’ve had challenged him for a battle. he’s tense, sweaty and obviously in need to blow off some steam. he knows just where to get said relief.

sukuna’s red eyes instantly spot your sleeping form on the middle of his kingsized bed. his favourite little human—resting without a care in the world. the innocent sight is one that sets his loins on fire.

“oi, brat,” the male speaks up as he sits on his side of the bed. the mattress dips to one side due to his huge form, causing your small body to automatically manoeuvre his way. you don’t seem to stir nor wake.

you’ve gotten used to sukuna’s demanding voice to the point that it doesn’t scare you anymore. he smacks his lips in frustration. guess he’ll take care of his problem himself for now.

low grunts fill the spacious room—sukuna’s head lolls back against the headboard whilst two of his hands move swiftly on his now exposed cocks. his sharp eyes are focused on your body, shamelessly checking you out. from the cleavage of your breasts, your clothed cunt to your perfect parted lips; all of you is turning him on.

“fuck, can’t believe this. .” sukuna curses under his breath. he can’t believe how weak he is for you. how his cocks throb and leak drops of pre-cum from just the sight of you sleeping. fully clothed at that.

whilst one set of his hands is busy touching himself, the other reaches out to grope your body. one hand on your chest and one on your ass. of course, sukuna doesn’t pass on the opportunity of smacking the soft flesh.

“i said get up,” sukuna clicks his tongue and tries to wake you again. this time you do actually wake up. a short, inaudible whine leaving your lips. you take a few seconds to process the view in front of you; your lover with both his thick cocks out, pre-cum making the lengths glimmer under the light of the lamp.

it got you horny. immediately. you slowly crawl over between his legs, like you know just what to do. sukuna raises an eyebrow—surprised by your lack of questioning. he’s amused at how fast you took the hint.

“that’s it. you’re learning fast,” sukuna sighs deeply the moment your lips wrap around his upper dick. your small hand jerks off the lower one. both stimulations at once makes the man beneath you grunt in satisfaction.

you still are and look extremely drowsy, though your devotion to sukuna knows no bounds. even in your half-asleep state. the king of curses pats your head—a surprisingly appreciative and loving gesture that he rarely does.

you bob your head carefully, not wanting to gag too much. however, the pace you set is too slow for sukuna who’s waited way too long to fuck you. in any way.

he bucks his hips—thrusting upwards into your hot mouth. his strong hands yank at your hair, keeping you in place as he hears your muffled whimpers of protest. not that he cares; you choking on his fat cock only adds to his pleasure.

“keep it up like that. fuck, where do you want me to cum? in your little mouth? yeahh, you’d like that huh, filthy girl. you’d have to work harder for it if you’re so desperate.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE CREATORS !!

[comatosebunny09]

apt 302 | sylus q.

— summary: at first, your new neighbor was as mysterious as he was handsome. after taking some time to get to know him—or forcing your way into his quiet life—you realize looks can be deceiving. — cw: gn reader, neighbors au, neighbors to friends to lovers, profanity, innuendoes, jealousy, misunderstandings, stalker ex, alcohol use, guns mentioned, self-indulgent, allusions to reincarnation, angst, pet names, sylus being an insufferable gentleman, slice of life — dividers by: @omi-resources — notes: this grew way longer than i expected, soooooo you’re gonna hate me for what comes next. anyways, thank you so much for reading! — now playing: my favorite person now - she was pretty ost — tagging: @alfredosaws, @chuppiechanchan @hao-ming-8 @antonneva @sunsets-and-crows @leighsartworks216 @grabby-smitten @nebulorra @minniestarmj @elysiums-light @saiaise @queenofstresss @beewilko @aetherscribit @libriomancer @world-of-hearts @awkwardnurse @huachengnism

Information Technology isn’t as cushy of a field as you initially thought.

Sure, you have a desk job doing the most mundane of things—working the help desk, troubleshooting devices, re-imaging computers. But your job isn’t without its drawbacks. 

Sometimes, the days are long and arduous. The constant customer interaction doesn’t help matters; you’re a bit of an introvert, requiring five business days to recover from just a few hours of socializing. 

So, forgive you for seeking a little respite in the form of your favorite set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers as you ease into your apartment. 

The weight of the world sloughs off your shoulders when the door leading inside clicks shut behind you. You sigh gratefully, the sound of your keys clattering against your entryway table, intermingling with that of your AC humming to life.

You hang your bag and sweater on the coat rack. Trade your uncomfortable shoes for house slippers, the soreness in your heels slowly retreating. The last vestiges of sunlight creep through the slits of your blinds to bathe your home in its ethereal glow before ducking behind the horizon. 

Your apartment is humble. Has a natural, minimalistic vibe with bits of decor displaying your personality sprinkled throughout. You already pay the price of a kidney and two lungs to stay here. No use investing in posh furniture when your job sometimes requires you to pick up and go at the drop of a hat.

Your stomach growls whilst you draw your curtains shut and turn on some ambient lighting via your phone. You’ll eat soon, you promise. For now, you’re on a mission. 

Quietly, you move through your home in search of your laundry area, thoroughly prepared to slip into your PJs following a shower to jumpstart your weekend. 

Too bad a pile of sopping wet clothes awaits you when you open your dryer door. 

“Goddammit,” said under your breath as you mash the power button. It won’t turn on. Figures. You kick the offending appliance. Stupid thing must be out again. 

You had set your clothes to dry before you left for work. You were looking forward to snuggling up with wine and your favorite show, donned in comfy clothes. Seems your dryer had other plans.

You should’ve replaced it months ago when it first started acting up. You had hoped to salvage it a little longer; appliances don’t come cheap these days. Besides, you’ve had a darling neighbor to fix it each time. To extend its lifespan. 

Speaking of which—

Chewing your lip, you pad over your cold, hardwood floor to snatch your phone from the coffee table. Fall onto your couch cushions with a devious smile twitching your lips. It’s getting late, so you don’t think to badger him into tinkering with your dryer tonight. However, perhaps he’ll let you utilize his. At least until you can use your day off tomorrow to shop for a replacement.

You hover your thumb over his contact, his name flanked by crow emojis. Contemplate calling him, but what if he’s busy? This is usually about the time he’s leaving. Instead, you settle for opening your messaging app, already conjuring an excuse.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): lol (Sylus): good morning to you too. (You): 😒😒😒 dude it’s like 6  (Sylus): 🤷‍♂️ (Sylus): im just now getting up. long day at the office.  (Sylus): whats up? (You): are you busy tonight?? (Sylus): not really. 😏 what did you have in mind ? (You): pause. not like that (Sylus): 😢 (You): my dryer’s out again (Sylus): ah. want me to take a look? (You): nah you already do so much (You): is it cool if i use yours tho? 😬😬😬 (You): i’ll bring you booze (Sylus): lol (Sylus): its fine sweetie. doors unlocked. ill be in the shower. help yourself. (You): 🙏🙏🙏

You take your time gathering your saturated clothes into a basket. On your way out, you snag a bottle of Merlot from your fridge.

No matter how often you’ve been here, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how much more… put together Sylus’ place is compared to yours.

It suits him—the black and red furniture, the stylish accents littering his apartment. It smells delightful inside, a mixture of mahogany and amber enmeshed with remnants of food. Soulful jazz flows from a record player, fitting the sepia-toned glow of floor lamps and candles flickering on every other surface.

You toe the door shut behind you. Feel so small and out of place amid his decor. You’ve only recently started coming here, having spent much of your time together inside your apartment. Regardless, you navigate his space like it’s your second home, finding his washer and dryer set.

After starting your clothes in the dryer, you wander back to the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of your cardigan. You take some time to admire the atmosphere. Fingers skim over the various vinyls organized on a built-in bookcase on the wall.

You snort with a half-smile. You know so little about your neighbor, yet you know just enough to be this comfortable with him.

He’s a music buff; that much is for sure. He’s clearly made of money if the luxurious furniture and his car are anything to go by. You don’t press him about what he does for a living. Figure he values his privacy above all else, unlike you.

You’re an open book. The primary yapper in your acquaintanceship, prattling on about your life and aspirations. And he just sits there, wordlessly nodding with a polite smile behind the rim of his glass. Where you would otherwise be wary of being in someone’s home like this, you feel safe around him in a way that almost terrifies you.

“Admiring the decor,” teases a voice from behind. 

You jolt, spinning around like you’ve been caught stealing. You’re met with a smirk beneath scarlet eyes, twinkling with mischief. Strands of white cling to Sylus’ forehead, damp from the warm spray of his shower. He towels his hair dry, maneuvering around the living set towards you.

“Hey, you,” you greet, trying to play it cool. Like your heart isn’t hammering and heat isn’t branching into your cheeks. You attempt to maintain eye contact. It’s increasingly difficult to do so with his physique peeking through his t-shirt and sweats like that.

“Hey, yourself.” There’s amusement in the deep gravel of his voice. A smile in his eyes as he studies you, draping his towel around his shoulders.

You swallow. Try to divert the subject, motioning to his record collection. “You got some new tunes, I see.”

A chuckle is dredged from the bowels of his chest. You feel it pull in your stomach. “Sure did. Got something you might like.” 

God help you as he reaches around you, the fine hairs littering your body standing on end, your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Unconsciously, you step back, your spine softly thudding against the records display. Your heartbeat’s on a warpath, and you swallow against the dryness of your throat as the veiny, sinewy muscle in his forearm stains your periphery.

He gives you a bemused look before slowly peeling a record from the shelf behind you. Steps back to fish out the vinyl and settle it on the platter, replacing the record that was just playing. 

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Good job playing it cool, dumbass.

“You alright?” Sylus quizzes with a raised brow. “You seem a little on edge tonight, sweetie.”

You sigh, schooling an unconvincing smile onto your face. Try to ignore how the term of endearment glides off his tongue so effortlessly. You wonder how many other people he addresses like that. 

“Work was…rough today. Kicked my ass. I’m tired.” 

A snarling sound invades the space between you, heard over the gentle croon of the new music. Your eyes fall to your stomach. You rub it placatingly. In all your haste to have some dry friggin’ clothes, you forgot to eat. 

“And hungry, too,” you sheepishly add.

You glance up, and Sylus’ gaze tracks from your stomach to your face. He smirks knowingly, motioning with a nod toward his kitchen. 

“Figured you didn’t eat yet. I made carbonara if you’d like some.”

You smile wryly at his back as he pads away, carrying the scent of cedarwood and bergamot with him. Where would you be without such a doting neighbor? 

You track him to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold, you watch him procure a bottle of water from his fridge. It’s so very small, dwarfed by his massive hand.

“I suddenly got called for a Teams meeting five minutes ago.” 

Your heart drops, the smile nearly falling from your face. And here you thought you’d have his company over dinner.

Suddenly, he taps your nose, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed when he got closer, swaddled in the static of your bodies being so close. “Where did you run off to,” he rasps, searching your gaze for something. 

The proximity of your bodies grows stifling, his warm breath glazing over your skin, dizzying. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he steps back, leaving you shell-shocked and utterly confused. 

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” he says, brushing past you with an air of finality. 

You strain your ears for the noise of a distant door shutting before you make your move, rummaging through his cupboards and drawers for a plate and cutlery. After you’ve scooped a decent helping of food onto your plate, you settle onto one of his velvet couches, cross-legged and shoveling food into your maw. 

The fluttering of wings piques your interest. You’ve hardly any time to acknowledge him before a tuft of black, iridescent feathers shines from Sylus’ coffee table. The crow studies you curiously, ingesting you with his beady eyes before he preens himself.

“Me-fith-toe!” you greet around a mouthful of food. 

Said crow ducks away, dodging errant crumbs and spit flying from your mouth, cawing in protest. You give him a rueful look. 

Sylus has a soft spot for animals. You noted it the first time you entered his apartment, greeted by his boisterous companion. Funny; he doesn’t look like the type to have such an eccentric pet. 

But Sylus has found numerous ways of pleasantly surprising you, revealing parts of himself to you bit by agonizing bit.

“Chicken?” you say after finally swallowing, offering a forkful of pasta to the bird. Mephisto scrutinizes the food before resigning himself to pecking at it. You smile fondly, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Mephisto, you cannibal.”

Lulled by the occasional flap of Mephisto’s wings and Sylus’ even tone murmuring things of business somewhere far off in his home, you fall into a familiar rhythm, quietly waiting for your clothes to dry.

You spend the remainder of your evening in your neighbor’s company, drinking Merlot and judging each other’s music tastes, long after your pajamas have dried and settled in the dryer.

“So, have you boned yet?”

You choke on your waffle. Pound on your chest with the heel of your palm to dislodge it. You turn narrowed eyes on the source of the question. She merely shrugs from across the table, sipping her mimosa as if she’s asked the most innocent thing. 

“Bitch.”

“What?” She appears nonplussed, setting her champagne flute down with a definitive clack. All serious when she returns your stare over crossed arms, and you know you’re in for it. 

“You talk about the guy so much I figured you would’ve already, ya know…” The humping gesture she makes under the table is a bit much. 

You blanch. “No, dumbass, I haven’t boned.” Your voice peters towards the end of your sentence. And you peer down at the napkin folded in your lap, heat prickling your face. 

You won’t deny Sylus is good-looking. More like he could be someone modeling Prada on a catwalk. Can’t pretend you haven’t entertained the thought of being a little closer to him, too. More than just the late nights spent talking or him fixing something you broke.

You shake your head. Of all the times you’ve been tucked away in either of your apartments, he’s never made a move on you. Sure, he’s said some pretty suss things. Flirted with you outside of your usual banter. 

And maybe he’s done things to confuse the ever-loving hell out of you—cooked you breakfast when you were drunk off your ass and hungover the next morning. Lended you one of his expensive record players. Shacked up at your place a few times under the guise of “coming to get Mephisto.” But—

Nah. He’s not like that. You’re just neighbors, right? Unofficial friends. Friends hang out all the time, right?

“He’s not like that,” you say brattishly, stuffing more food into your face. At least not with you. 

You don’t miss your coworker’s fox-like grin spreading in your periphery. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, watching you like a smug sibling about to snitch. 

“Sure, sure. If you say so. He’s still a man, though. He might not have tried you yet—”

“Hush,” you interject. The table shakes, cups rattling as you saw into your sausage with your fork and butter knife. You’re done with this conversation.

Try as you might, however, you can’t banish your thoughts revolving around him. Especially with your coworker watching you like that, silently egging you on.

He’s not that kind of guy. 

He’s still a man, though. 

You’ve repeated it like a mantra throughout your day, even as you mindlessly clacked away at your computer. 

Work was a blur. An exhausting blur. Day gave way to the soothing exhale of night, and you were finally nestled in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, on your couch, entertaining yourself with a game of Uno. It wasn’t much fun playing alone, but you needed a distraction from the mess of your mind when your favorite show couldn’t help. 

It’s a quarter past 9 when a shuffling sound in the breezeway outside your apartment catches your attention. It’s accompanied by the echoed rasp of a recognizable voice, chuckling and murmuring indiscernible things. 

You peel yourself from your couch as if on autopilot, nose pressed against the cold metal of your door as you peer through the peephole.

It’s your nightly ritual—waiting like an overzealous puppy to greet or send off your neighbor. You don’t always get the luxury of saying goodnight in person. Sometimes, he’s gone for days—weeks—at a time. You don’t know the semantics of his job, but you make it your mission to help assuage whatever burdens he shoulders whenever you can.

He’s there to help you, after all. Whether with a glass of wine, a warm meal, or his company.

So, forgive you for wanting to be a decent neighbor. And you would be tonight if not for the scene that passes through the fisheye of your peephole.

It’s Sylus, clad in something flattering and expensive. There’s no mistaking his broad back and shoulders. The purl of his voice, the wispy dusting of alabaster hair on his collar. But the smaller frame with him, well—

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

She’s pretty from what you can glean from the limited view of your peephole. Donned in a dress that’s form-fitting, voice high and light. Giggling silly things, fastened to Sylus’ side, held there by a virile arm draped around her middle. She’s drunk if the sloppy lean of her body is anything to go by. Sylus angles himself near her ear to whisper something, ushering in a new set of giggles.

You watch with your breath corked in your esophagus until they slide into his apartment together, their enmeshed voices fading from the stilled walls of the hallway.

Huh. Well, so much for him not being that type of guy. 

You grapple with this new revelation, a furrow between your brows, hands falling listlessly at your sides. Numb as you drag yourself back to your couch, bouncing comically on the cushions.

You don’t even know why you’re upset. He's a grown man with a…life. You think. 

It’s the first time you’ve witnessed him bringing someone to his place other than you, but it’s only natural for a guy like him to have options. He’s far from hideous. Has the gift of gab, for God’s sake. He’s charming and the very definition of masculine. 

It just stings a little, knowing that it’s not…you that he’s touching like that. 

So, you are definitely not flinging Uno cards onto the coffee table. Muttering things to yourself, gripping the stack in your hands so tightly, the plastic squeaks. What’s even got your undies in a bunch? The man’s not yours. You’ve never screwed around. Never really showed signs of wanting to, so it makes sense he would seek pleasures of the flesh elsewhere. His world doesn’t solely revolve around you as much as you would like for it to.

You’re halfway through a third round of angry card-flinging before a soft rap at your door nearly sends you some 30 feet into the air.

Stomping to your entrance, you peek through the peephole, and your heart works overtime when you catch sight of a wash of black and scarlet.

Internally, you scold yourself for how gullible you are. You throw the door open like you weren’t just cursing him and his stupid existence moments ago. Try to act nonplussed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe with a haughty look. 

Of course, he would smell good. Look good, propped against the threshold like that, an amused cant to his lips, his physique devastating beneath the tight cling of his turtleneck.

“Hey,” he greets, the sound breathy and easy like warmed honey. 

“Hey, yourself.”

He studies you for a bit. Eyes flicker over your face, and you tamp down the sparkling rush of warmth that wades over your skin at the attention. Even when you’re mad at him, your attraction still finds an annoying way of creeping through the seams.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange, and feel free to tell me to piss off, but…do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

You stand up straight. Blink owlishly, mouth opening and closing. “Huh?” is all you’re able to muster. 

He chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this side of bashful. “Yeah. It’s a…bit of a long story, sweetie.”

“O-Okay,” you say, rigidly moving aside.

“Thanks.” The charm is back on, turned up to max capacity. He brushes past you into your apartment, falling onto your couch with a huff. Quirks a brow at the mishap on your table, the carnage having spilled onto the floor. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but were you playing Uno by yourself?”

You ignore him, plopping cross-legged on a floor cushion adjacent to him. Bypassing the tick in your brow, you look off to the side, fighting the embarrassment threatening to take hold of your visage. Shouldn’t he be across the hall, entertaining his company?

“Shut up and grab some cards,” you grumble to dispel the green-eyed thoughts stewing in your mind.

“Bossy.” But he doesn’t contest you, gathering the abused cards to shuffle them. 

The remainder of your evening slides by with comfortable quips. With booze and a break to catch up on Love Is Blind—somehow, he’d roped you into watching it. 

You had no idea he was such a sap. Nearly forgotten how miffed you were mere hours ago. 

He assuaged your worries with an explanation as the sun crept over the city. 

The girl in his apartment was an old colleague who’d gotten drunk and convinced herself that she was anything but. 

Being a good samaritan, Sylus brought her to his place to sober up since the apartment complex wasn’t too far from the main strip of bars. He didn’t want any issues when she inevitably woke up. Messing with drunk people wasn’t his thing. 

So that’s how he ended up here, inhabiting your couch like he’d always been a part of the decor. 

He didn’t owe you an explanation. You were just friends. Still, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that twitched your lips after he cleared the air.

At some point in the morning, you both fell asleep. He looked all serene, too big for your sofa, but comfortable. You watched his lashes flutter from your place on the floor, his lips parting with soundless exhales. Even in sleep, he maintained that guarded aura, his arms folded across his chest. 

You were bleary-eyed, gathering yourself from the hardwood to fetch a blanket to drape over him. He shifted, and he was so pretty with the sun bathing him in an angelic glow like that, his hair bright like a halo. 

You were about to retreat to your bedroom when an abrupt knock tore you from your reverie. You glanced at your guest, ensuring he went undisturbed. He needed the rest. He was a night owl, and something about the sun vexed him, so he typically spent his days sleeping when you weren’t impeding on his time.

You moved to the door, foregoing the peephole to open it. Big mistake.

On the other side stood Little Miss Pretty from the night prior, impatiently tapping her foot. Her hair was flattened on one side, and her dress was askew. By the looks of it, sleep hadn’t been kind to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she sighed, schooling her expression into fake politeness. She straightened herself as best she could, but the white patch of dried slob staining her chin did little to help her plight. You bit back a snicker. 

“I’m looking for a friend. He lives across from you. His name’s Skye.”

You quirked a brow at that. Skye? Oh, honey…

You wondered how many other people Sylus had fed a fake alias to. Or if Sylus was even his real name.

“Haven’t seen him,” you chirped over crossed arms. Pulled the door slightly closed behind you, barring the woman from getting a peek at him, nuzzled up so cozily on your couch.

She sighed with slumped shoulders. A childish pout warped her lips. Her voice shifted into something more bratty. “You sure? Tall guy, white hair, red eyes? You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Not ringing a bell, hun. Sorry.”

It was taking all of you to keep up this ruse. You were fighting so hard to tamp down your amusement. This woman reminded you of an antagonist in a Korean drama, the way she was kicking and huffing about. 

“Where the hell did he go,” she groused. You watched her draw her phone from the pocket of her fur coat, your throat growing dry. 

Your blood turned to ice when a familiar ringtone chimed in your apartment behind you. You stiffened comically; mouth hinged open with shock.

The woman’s expression morphed into one of suspicion. She tried to look inside your home, the upbeat ring of Sylus’ phone still flooding the uncomfortable silence.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to assert her way inside. “What the fu—”

“Hey, girlie. Back the hell off before I call the police,” you warned with a hand pushed to her sternum. She insisted on being unruly, so you snatched your taser from the entryway table, the telltale blue sparks and sharp whip of static causing the woman to jolt back with alarm.

“You’re both insane!” she shouted from the hallway, the stomp of her heels reverberating off the walls as she made her way to the stairwell. 

With a relieved sigh deflating your chest, you eased the door shut. Leaned against it, glancing at the man of the hour. He was still fast asleep, his leg dangling off the edge of your sofa. You smirked knowingly, shaking your head as you disappeared into your bedroom. 

You’d let him sleep for as long as he needed. And you’d give him shit when he awoke about his taste in acquaintances. 

(Sylus): hungry? (You): a little. was gonna make some ramen if you want (Sylus): 🤢 (Sylus): that stuffs terrible for your digestion sweetie.  (Sylus): how about i make you dinner instead ? (Sylus): at the supermarket. need anything? (You): 😲😲😲 (You): you keep spoiling me and i might think you like me (Sylus): 😏 (You): nvm. no don’t need anything. lemme know when you’re back (You): i can help with groceries (Sylus): now who likes who? (You): fkdkos (Sylus): ? (You): sorry fat fingers 

You have a nasty habit of not using your peephole as of late.

Your apartment came with one for a reason. Sure, your neighborhood’s been pretty tame since you’ve moved here. But that doesn’t mean the occasional weirdo doesn’t slip past security, roaming the halls and startling the other tenants. 

You’ve found yourself forgoing the use of it a lot lately, given the only person who typically knocks on your door is the guy across the hall. And he usually calls or texts before he bugs you, but that doesn’t stop him from being spontaneous. You suppose today is one of those such cases after he manipulated you with dinner. 

Maybe his hands are full, you muse, unlocking your door. Though you’re doubtful he can’t handle a few bags. You’ve seen him in action at the community gym, thick cords of muscle rippling beneath a tan stretch of skin. 

You draw the door open with a smile, expecting to see a customary thatch of white. What confronts you instead sends a tide of dread washing over your innards. 

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” breathes a voice you haven’t heard in months. A voice that still makes your body stiffen, and your blood run cold. 

When your senses return, you step back into your apartment, thoroughly intending to slam the door in your ex’s face. They’re quicker, however, wedging themselves in the gap before you can shut it. Grabbing for you, a crazed look warping their features.

“Baby, please! Talk to me! I miss you!”

You bat at their hand, trying vainly to crush them, to scare them off. It’s to no avail, and you wonder if they’re coked up, giving you a run for your money as they try to bully their way into your home.

There’s a softball bat propped on the wall, and your fingers brush the base of it in your attempt to grab it. Something to defend yourself since your taser’s out of reach, tucked somewhere in your bag. 

The sounds of your struggle intermingle, your voice strained and panting, please please please, and your ex’s caught between sobs of your name. 

Just a little further. Just—

Suddenly, there’s no more resistance in your door. You stumble against it, a wild look in your eyes. And then, there is the noise of a brief scuffle. Of a back being shoved against a wall, of rusting plastic bags, of “Who the fuck are you?!”

Amid your panicked frenzy, you glance up to see a back to you. Barring you from the view beyond your threshold, and your body’s awash with relief as you register your savior’s form.

“You would do well to piss off,” seethes Sylus, and there’s an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. You feel it furling in your stomach, burning your lungs. And in this moment, you don’t know who to be more afraid of.

Your ex makes a sound of protest, but you imagine the cut of Sylus’ eyes deterring them.

There is the scuffling of shoes across the concrete flooring of the breezeway, and you listen with bated breath until the cacophony fades at the foot of the stairs, willing your heart to ease down.

Scarlet eyes shift to you, brows knit with concern. “Who was that?” Sylus asks, tone cautious as if he doesn’t want to startle you more than you’ve already been.

You right yourself, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes. Finally grab your bat, waving it intimidatingly as you step aside to let your neighbor in.

“My stupid ex. Just know you saved their life. ‘cause I was gonna—” You make swinging gestures, the metal bat swooping in the air. The corners of Sylus’ eyes crinkle. 

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.” He kneels to retrieve the bags he’d tossed down in his haste to intervene. You scurry over to help, gathering up spilled food.

Once you’re both inside, the bags placed haphazardly on the counter, you’re seated on your sofa, nursing the rush of adrenaline still spuming through you like the hot rush of a geyser. 

“You need to get a restraining order,” says Sylus. He emerges from your kitchen with a tense set to his jaws, two bottles of Angry Orchard clasped between his fingers. 

Plopping down beside you, an arm draped over the headrest, he shoves a bottle into your hand, side-eyeing you as he throws his head back for a swig. 

You babysit the cider, the crisp condensation of it serving to ground you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m not asking, sweetie.”

You bristle under the weight of his tone, feeling much like a scolded child. You know this. Should’ve done it long ago the first time your ex took it upon themselves to do surprise pop-ups at your place—at your job.  

“And an alarm system.”

“I know, I know.”

“I can take you right now to look for one—”

“I got it, Sy! Fuck, I-I got it.” You release a weighted sigh, warring with yourself. 

Not only do you feel silly for being so lackadaisical with your life. But now, you feel even worse for the seemingly impenetrable silence that settles between you. You didn’t mean to yell, frustration and adrenaline having burbled to the surface. He was just worried. No need to take your emotions out on him. 

Sylus exhales slowly, an unreadable expression descending onto his face whilst staring at the wall.

“Sorry,” you murmur, unconsciously patting his quad. You don’t miss how he stiffens; don’t miss the tight coiling of tendons in his neck. You retract your hand, instead drumming your fingers along the bottom of your bottle.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time this has happened,” queries Sylus in an attempt to dispel the tense atmosphere.

You shake your head, shrinking into yourself. Stare at your lap, pulling at some frayed threads in your bottoms. 

“How did they even manage to get up here?”

You shrug. The security guards at the gates aren’t always the most attentive. Besides, sometimes, the pin pad leading into the lobby malfunctions, making it easier for anyone to just slip into your complex.

Unprompted, you begin to bare yourself, explaining the possibilities of why your ex showed up.

Sylus listens attentively. Doesn’t interrupt you, watching the subtle shifts of your expressions as you speak. 

You tell him that things weren’t bad in the beginning about two years ago. How your ex said and did all the right things, and they were wonderful. But they wanted something you weren’t ready for. You had some growing up to do, so you broke things off. Moved to another city, started a new job. 

You didn’t bank on them following you. 

The visits were random at first. Occasional run-ins at the park, the bar. Things soon blossomed into something more concerning when your ex found your new address after you relocated to another part of the city to ease the stress of the commute. 

This was their second time making an appearance at your door. You knew you should’ve done something to protect yourself sooner, but you didn’t think much of it then. Figured they would live and let be. Today proved otherwise. 

“You’re grossly naive, sweetie.” 

You snort before gulping down the remnants of your cider. “Way to make me feel better.”

He chuckles, and it’s comforting, your thighs pressing together amid your dinky couch. “It’s what I’m here for. But I could understand how you could drive someone to such extremes.”

You glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” 

Before you know what’s about, he’s panning in, flooding your vision with the scarlet shine of his eyes. With the wispy dance of his lashes until his breath fans over your molten cheeks. Limber fingers sneak beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head back. 

Warmth wades over you. Your breath swells in your chest. Lips purse as a mysterious shade of burgundy leaks over his irises. His voice drops a few octaves, husky, the sound of it pinching in your stomach.

“It means that you’re someone worth fighting for.”

You scoff, shaking yourself away from his hold. Ignore the bashfulness creeping into your face in favor of being a cheeky little shit. 

“All right, Li Shang. Getting a little too serious over there.”

He huffs a laugh in response, popping up to grab another round of ciders from your fridge.

Ingredients sat untouched on the countertop as your evening eased by. You’d settled on a pizza, catching up on shows and talking, long after the moon had pinned itself to the center of the sky. 

Sylus promised to teach you how to use a gun. He had plenty and would carve out time in his schedule to take you to a range. He didn’t press much after, instead letting the weight of your evening melt from your shoulders. 

He was reluctant to leave you, even after sunbeams spilled through your blinds and you snoozed so quietly, cheek propped against his shoulder. 

His hand never left your thigh. Possessive in its touch as he mirrored your affections from before. 

It’s strange.

Today is your birthday. You’re enjoying yourself, filled with enough alcohol to tranquilize a small goat. 

Your co-workers had dragged you out. Surprised you with dinner, a cake. Took you to the strip of bars lining the streets adjacent to your apartment complex. You were all smiles until your cheeks ached, and you’d nearly thrown up from laughing so much. 

Still, you feel…empty. Like something is missing. Or someone. 

You look at your phone for the umpteenth time. Scroll through your messages, reliving the moment in your head. 

Sylus was the first to wish you a happy birthday. It made you swell with overwhelming happiness, knowing he’d woken up so early to be the first to say it. You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder when he sent a voice message of him singing “Happy Birthday.”

God, for everything he was good at, poor baby couldn’t hold a note to dig himself out of a hole. Still, you cherished the gesture, lying in bed for the first hour you’d been awake, replaying said message and rolling around your bed like an enamored teen.

Even now, you replay the voice note, holding the speaker to your ear. It’s hard to hear it amid the live band playing and the merriment around you at the bar. Try as you might to enjoy what remains of your night, you can’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to a certain smug figure clad in black. 

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): hows it going birthday babe? (You): 😭😭😭 (You): u shuld be her e (Sylus) im sorry sweetie. i had some work to catch up on.  (Sylus): you must be having a good time. 😏 (You): fuk wrk 🖕🖕🖕 (You): am not drink ur dronk (Sylus): lol. you sound plastered. (Sylus): do i need to come rescue you? (You): hum (Sylus): ? (You): hone (You): home (Sylus): 🫤 (Sylus): we need to have a serious talk about you enabling autocorrect. (You): r u (You): home (Sylus): about to be. why ?? (Sylus): sweetie?

Somehow, you find yourself staring at the glossy, black numbers embossed on the top center of his door. 302. It’s ingrained in your memory. You’d probably find your way to his apartment with your eyes closed, driven to it by the familiar smell and homeliness it exudes. 

You’re still a little tipsy. Took some time to sober up as best you could before ditching your friends and catching an Uber back to your complex. You had enough sense to gather everything you’d shown up with. Didn’t hitch a ride with any strangers regardless of how many of them tried to pull you into their arms as you stumbled out of the bar. 

You had a one-track mind. Only wanted to spend the rest of your birthday with him.

With a goofy smile plastered on your face, you knock on his door. You’re singing that infectious song you can’t get out of your head when it swings open.

“Apateu-pateu, apateu-pateu,” you chant, shaking your hips from side to side.

He greets you with an omniscient smirk, eyes softening whilst leaning against the doorframe. “Well, hello, birthday babe.”

“Sup!” you return a little too enthusiastically, pitching forward until Sylus steadies you with his hands. You giggle like a drunken fool, peering at him. Hadn’t realized how good his hands felt, searing through the fabric of your top. 

Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed many things about him before. His lips are a pretty shade of pink. Skin textured, nose sharp, cheeks high. Little flecks of amber dwell between the scarlet rinse of his eyes. His hair falls into his face, damp from the shower he probably had before answering the door.

“I take it you had a good night,” he says, gaze painting a steady triangle between your eyes and mouth.

“Almost,” you whisper back, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You lose yourself in the idle stir of his eyes. In the fragility of his smile, and you feel so safe in his hands like this. 

You don’t know what compels you to do it. To conquer the space of hot, dizzying breaths between you. But, you sort of…well…

Your inhibitions hit the floor. With your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, you angle yourself closer to kiss him. You almost pull away when he stiffens. But he seemingly relaxes, and his lips cautiously move against yours as he unconsciously guides you closer.

You cling to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He encircles your waist in his powerful arms, fastening you to the hard press of his body. He kisses you like he’s waited lifetimes to do it, one hand molding around the apple of your cheek. 

When your tongue sloppily prods the barrier of his teeth, he bristles. Draws away from you with a resounding smack, blinking wildly. You’re confused. Your heart sinks. You try again to draw him back in, but he gently pushes you away, shaking his head to dispel the bleariness. To chase away the spell that’s fallen over you. 

“Baby, wait. No. Not…not like this,” he rasps through kiss-swollen lips, holding you by your hips. You’re wounded. A hot flush of embarrassment washes over you, and your brows knit together like those of a confused puppy.

“Wha-what’s wrong? Did I—am I—”

“No, no, you’re…you're perfect,” he soothes with a chuckle, a thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Beautiful, even. I just…I don’t think now is a good time to do this.”

“Oh.” You deflate, a scorching film of tears clouding your vision. “Oh, okay. Um, I’ll just—yeah, I’ll go. I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

You slide out of his arms, too mortified to look back as you fumble with your keys. After he murmurs a hoarse, “good night.” Did you misread him before? Misinterpret his actions, his words? 

You’re numb as you sink into your couch. Sobriety slowly creeps in. Stray tears blister your cheeks, but you don’t full-on sob. Can’t bring yourself to, instead laughing hysterically with your face buried in your hands, swallowed by the bleak loneliness of your apartment.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

I like to draw a lot and lately I've been having a hard time finding references for a new project I'm working on.

I ask you if you wanna come over and let me take some pictures of you to use as reference, we can hang out and it'll be fun. You agree, happy to help your friend and have an excuse to hang out.

You come over and I ask you to do a few simple action poses. Nothing crazy. But then I point out the fact that your clothes are kinda baggy, so it'll be hard for me to understand your anatomy beneath them. I ask if you'd be willing to just wear your binder and boxers, and I promise these photos will only be seen by me. You agree again, because you know I won't share them, and we're both trans guys, so it's alright, right?

The poses get a bit more ... specific. I ask you to get on all fours. To lay on your back and stomach. To sit with your legs spread. Poses that are definitely meant to be provocative.

I finally tell you what the project is for. I'm drawing a lot of self-indulgent trans guy porn and want to make a short comic about it. I say that the most difficult thing to get references for is t guys with their pussy visible. So if you really wanted to be helpful, you could take your boxers off and let me see everything.

You agree. You kick your boxers off, and I continue making you pose in all sorts of ways that now feel outright humiliating. Sit on your ass and hold your legs open with your hands. Get on your hands and knees face down, ass up, and really put your ass up high. Lay like you're about to get fucked missionary style. Press yourself against the wall and spread your legs wide. Let me get a few up close pictures of you spreading your hole as wide as you can.

And despite how embarrassing this is, that I'm just your friend asking for a favor, you're getting wet. Really fucking wet. It only makes you even more embarrassed and you wonder if I notice it, because if I am, I'm not saying anything.

But I absolutely notice it. Its hard not to, when your pussy is literally fucking glistening in the light. I want to touch it so fucking bad its taking every last ounce of self restraint in me to not just start playing with you. I think of any excuse I can make up to touch you.

Finally I get my chance. You're in a pose where you can't reach your pussy very well to spread it open, so I use my fingers to spread it open myself.

"Holy shit, you're really wet right now. Are you wet like this all the time?" I finally ask, my fingers gently rubbing around your hole. It's actually a little shocking to me just how wet it feels.

You shake your head. Obviously, you're probably not gonna constantly be dripping, but I just wanted to make you say it.

"Why are you so wet right now, then? Is it because... of what we're doing?"

Slowly, you nod, feeling more embarrassed than you have this whole time.

"Huh. I didn't know my friend was such an exhibitionist slut." I say, fingers teasing up and down your cunt. Your entire body trembles and you let out a whine, unable to even formulate an answer right now.

I tease my fingers right around your hole. Pressing in just a slight bit. Pressing more and more until two of my fingers finally push inside your cunt, sliding deeper till they’re fully inside. “Sorry, I would’ve asked if I could penetrate you, but… I mean, its pretty obvious that’s what you want.”

My fingers sliding in and out of your hole faster till im fingerfucking you. My other hand coming up to gently pinch and pull at your clit, all thick and fat from T. You whine and grind down against my fingers. I flick your clit a few more time with my fingers before finally rubbing it in earnest like you so clearly need.

“I’ll let you cum, as long as you let me shove a dildo up your cunt later and take pictures of it. I need some good references of a little bitch getting fucked.”

You don’t just agree- you outright beg me to take all the pictures I want, just so you can cum.

“And its good jerk off material for me, too. Hope you don’t get too mad at me if I ‘accidentally’ take a few videos of it too.”

I slap your cunt with my hand, the noise wet and loud and filthy, before going back to rubbing your clit just how you love it being touched. Your entire body trembles at how turned on you are, how good you feel, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing through you, making your hips jerk, cunt clench around my fingers, as all you can do is let it take you. I keep fingerfucking you and rubbing you through your orgasm, not stopping till you seem coherent again.

“That’s a good fucking bitch.” I say, pulling out my fingers and licking them clean. I give your ass a firm slap as you collapse to the ground in exhaustion.

I take a quick picture of you like this, looking sated and well-fucked. “You’re the best model a guy could ask for. Now let me see your hole, I wanna capture the way it looks all stretched out right now.”

[merrybloomwrites]

When You're Lost, Just Look For Me

Summary: You’re not always good at asking for what you need. Luckily your bandmates know when you need a little extra love and are there to support you.

Word Count: 2.5K

CW: mentions of: neglectful family, periods, little bit of online hate

This story is set in the 1D days, and therefore Liam is a main character just like the other boys. Wanted to give a heads up in case anyone wants to avoid stories with him in it.

AN: When the news broke last week I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue writing, and really didn’t know what I would write about if I did. But then Passing Contact doubled in notes so I took that as a hint that it’s what people might want to read right now. So I decided to write a part 2 in hopes that it can help people in any way.

I have a couple other ideas for stories of reader x one direction that would also take place back when they were touring, but if you have any requests please let me know

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It’s a day off in a random hotel room in a random city in the United States. Of that you’re sure. But you're not sure of much else at the moment. 

You’re thinking back to the past few days. You’d messed up your backing vocals on stage, and had to re-record your parts for the next album because you just could not get it right. Numerous rumors were being spread about you being spotted with random boys, leading to renewed comments calling you all kinds of nasty things. 

You’re still in your pajamas, which you realize somehow consist of a pair of Louis’ sweatpants, one of Zayn's t-shirts, and a sweatshirt Liam had given you a week ago that you have yet to return. You think about texting one of them to come hang out, but you don’t want your glum mood to bring them down. Instead you turn on the TV and wrap yourself in all your blankets. 

It’s what you always did as a child when you were sad. Your family was never open with their emotions, and affection made them uncomfortable. From a young age you knew that going to your parents for comfort would end with rejection. So you’d learned how to comfort yourself. 

The blanket nest barely does its job today, and you’re still lost in your thoughts of self doubt when a knock at the door startles you. 

For a second you think about ignoring it, but odds are the person knocking wouldn’t just go away. So you pull yourself up and open the door, seeing Niall there waiting for you. 

“Hey, haven’t heard from you today, wanted to see what you’re up to,” he says. 

You’re hit with a wave of embarrassment, not wanting to admit that you've been wallowing all day. 

“Just taking it easy,” you reply, “Catching up on sleep.” It’s believable enough, none of you sleep too well on the bus and this is your first hotel bed in over a week. 

“I hear ya, think I slept twelve hours straight,” Niall says with a laugh. 

Knowing that he’s hoping for an invitation you step aside and motion your arm, silently asking him to join you in your room. You glance around quickly, glad to see everything is neat except the bed. You hope that he doesn’t judge the mess of blankets, and considering he just kicks off his shoes and climbs into your bed, you assume he’s fine with it. 

“What are we watching?” Is his next question so you sit on the other side of the bed and pass him the remote, allowing him to scroll through the channels until he finds some nature show that looks mildly interesting. 

You stare at the screen but you’re not focusing on it. You’re more focused on Niall just a couple feet away from you. 

During a celebration after the first tour, where you’d all indulged a bit with some drinks, you’d let slip about your family and your reluctance when it comes to physical affection. They listened and then made it a goal to help you be more comfortable with hugs, and hand holding, and all kinds of friendly contact. 

And it was nice. You’d always known that babies could be touch deprived, but you’d learned that adults can be starved for human touch as well. There was no doubt that you fell into this category, so getting random bouts of touch and affection from your band members had been healing in a way.

But lately things have been so crazy that everyone has been focusing on themselves. Plus you’re older now, not the teens that you were when you started the band. As people in your early twenties, the casual physical affection has dwindled. 

The boys seem to be coping with this, as though they haven’t even realized that the group hugs and cuddle piles have stopped. But you’ve noticed. And you’ll be the first to admit that you miss it. 

Now especially, with all this stress and disappointment weighing you down, you can’t help but desire a hug, one so tight that you can just burrow into one of the boys for a little while and feel safe and loved. 

But even though Niall is right there, you can’t bring yourself to ask. You can’t even move closer and get rid of the space between you. Because it was always the boys initiating the contact. You’re nervous to try, terrified that you might get rejected. 

Niall can tell something is going on with you, but he’s not sure what. He’s never been the best at navigating other people’s emotions so he calls in backup by sending a text to Harry who arrives a little bit later. He brings lunch with him, and you’re grateful for that since you’ve barely eaten all day. 

The three of you sit together at the table to eat. The food is good, and you’re grateful that Niall and Harry are talking to each other because you don’t have much to add right now. You don’t realize the way they’re watching you, communicating their worry through pointed looks. 

When lunch is done you all head back to the bed and put on a movie. You’re sitting against the headboard, Niall on your left and Harry on your right. And somehow, they’re still not touching you. At this point you’d take a brush of their arm against yours. Anything to help you feel less alone. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to lean closer to either of them. It’s maddening. 

“Y/N,” Harry says, catching your attention.

“Yea?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, not even sure why you’re lying to him.

“We know something is bothering you,” Niall adds. 

You take a breath before spilling everything that’s been going on. They listen and reassure you and while you do feel better after talking with them, there’s still that part of you that’s so on edge.

“What do you need?” Harry asks.

You think about it for a moment and say, “What I need is for people to stop judging me.”

“That’s a fair point. But I want to know what you need right now. From us.” Harry says.

The thing is, he knows the answer. He’s already aware of what would make you feel better. But he wants you to say it. He wants you to be comfortable to voice your needs with him and the other boys. 

Finally you blurt out, “I just need a hug.”

“That’s not it,” Harry says.

Now you’re confused. It’s what you want. You tapped into all your bravery to even say that. And now he’s telling you that’s not right?

“You want something more than that. Need something more than that,” he adds. 

You think about it for a moment and you realize that he’s right. A little hug isn’t going to cut it.

“I need someone to hold me,” you say quietly. “I need to be held.”

Neither boy hesitates now, and you end up tucking into Harry's side with Niall wrapping around you. They hold you tight, hands gently rubbing your back or arms to soothe you. 

It’s not often that you allow yourself to cry, but you do now. You heave out a sob and feel their arms tighten around you. They stay like that until your sobs turn into tears before finally drying up. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly once you’ve calmed down fully. 

“Of course, YN,” Niall says. “We’re always here for you. Whatever you need.”

“We’re in this together,” Harry adds. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Their kindness, and comfort has you feeling so much better, but you remain in their hold just a bit longer. It feels so nice to have this type of physical contact after so long without it. 

The three of you eventually get cleaned up and join the rest of the boys for dinner. You end the day feeling so much better than you did at the start, and you know it’s thanks to these boys you call family. 

But despite how nice it felt to be held, thoughts of doubt and embarrassment fill your mind in the weeks that follow. When you look back at that afternoon you first think about how good it felt. And then you begin to feel weak that you even needed to be babied in the first place. 

You vow to be stronger in the future and not ask for that again. They have their own things, they don’t need to be taking care of you too. At least, that’s what your parents had always said. 

Tour continues, and one night you all have to stay at the venue for a while after the show. Security said something about it being unsafe to travel just yet, but you were too tired to listen to the details. 

After more than an hour of hanging out backstage you finally get the all clear to head out. But in that time you’d practically fallen asleep on the sofa. You have zero desire to get up so you sleepily raise your arms and look at Liam who’s standing before you and say, “Carry me.”

He chuckles, and a sweet smile appears on his face. Without even saying a word he leans down and slides an arm behind your back, the other under your knees to scoop you up bridal style. You sling one arm around his neck and hold on as he adjusts his grip to make sure you are secure. 

Once back on the bus he tucks you in, straightening your extra blanket and placing your stuffed cat in your arms. He runs a gentle hand through your hair until you fall asleep, once again feeling so safe and loved. 

A couple weeks later your period hits, and for some reason this month is especially bad. It’s day two of non stop cramps, and as much as you try to keep this a secret from the boys, they always know when you’re feeling particularly bad. 

Louis is the one to find you curled up on the couch. He brings chocolate, pain relievers, and some tea that’s supposed to help. You’d never heard of it before, but apparently his sisters swear by it. 

When nothing helps right away he lays down with you. His hand goes to your stomach and begins to rub, somehow soothing more than just the pain. Once your cramps finally go away you turn so that you're facing Louis. You tuck your head under his chin and he puts his arm around your waist to keep you close. 

It should be strange, being so close to him. But it just feels right, just like it does with the other boys. You let yourself enjoy the comfort as Louis’ hand rubs gentle circles on your back. 

Not only are your cramps gone, but the feelings of sadness and anxiety that usually come with your period are gone too, all thanks to Louis’ compassion and gentleness. 

A few days later you're sleeping in your bunk when a nightmare hits. It’s one that you used to get all the time, but now only comes when you’re extra exhausted or stressed. And with it being the last couple weeks of tour, you’re both of those things. 

You wake up gasping, adrenaline coursing through your body. You hoped that you were quiet and didn’t wake anyone else, but a moment later Zayn appears and asks if you’re alright. 

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Just a dream. I’m good now.”

But of course these boys can read you like a book. And Zayn immediately knows you’re not fine. 

“Scooch over,” he says, and you listen. As soon as there’s room he climbs in the bunk with you. He lays on his back and pulls you so your head is resting on his chest. 

You get comfy but you can’t help but feel bad. These bunks are small, uncomfortable for just one person. Definitely cramped with two.  

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine,” you say. 

“Nonsense. No one should be alone when they don’t have to,” he replies. 

You can't argue with that. The two of you hold each other close and fall into a peaceful sleep. He’s still there when you wake up in the morning and you snuggle closer, taking advantage of his comforting touch. 

When tour ends you’re a weird mixture of relieved and sad. It had been exhausting, but so wonderful. 

And you have to admit to yourself that you’re going to miss the boys. It’s only a couple of weeks apart before you come back together, but you’ll be back home with your family during that time. 

And you’re realizing that they’re not really family to you. 

Zayn, Niall, Louis, Liam, and Harry are your family. They care for you in ways your own parents never did. And you’re going to miss that while you’re all back home. 

The boys know how you feel about going to stay with your family. That’s why they plan a night in rather than going out to party. You have some drinks and pizza, and spend the evening reminiscing about the past months you had together. 

The later it gets, the more glum you feel. You know the goodbyes are coming soon, and that puts a damper on your mood. 

Liam’s the first to notice how quiet you’ve gotten. He sits next to you on the couch and gently nudges you with his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. 

You don’t want to bring down the party, but you can’t ignore his pleading eyes so you reply, “I’m just going to miss you guys.”

He nods but continues to look at you, knowing there’s more to it. Sighing you add, “And you guys are so happy and so warm. At home everyone’s cold and distant.”

“What can we do to help?” He asks. A memory pops into your head. Another hotel room when you were feeling down. You know exactly what you need. And you’re no longer scared or embarrassed to ask for it. 

“I need to be held,” you say. 

“I think we can do that,” Liam says before once again picking you up and announcing, “Cuddle party on the bed!”

He gently tosses you onto the plush king bed and in no time you’re surrounded by your boys. That’s how the six of you sleep that night, all snuggled together in one big pile. 

You’ve never before felt so safe, so loved. And you’ll forever be grateful for the opportunity you received that brought you close to these boys. Because they are the ones who taught you what love truly feels like.

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AN: While I was working on this a butterfly landed next to me and stuck around for a while. Brought me a bit of peace.

To my readers, I hope you’re all doing okay, and if you need someone to talk to know that I’m here and willing to talk!

[jenosbigtoe]

brother’s best friend!lee jeno x reader

minors dni

summary: your overprotective big brother's best friend is just too irresistible. too bad you have to keep your relationship a secret from him. established relationship au!

warnings: jeno is a freak lowkey, creampie, breeding kink, possessiveness, unprotected sex, size kink (if you squint), mating press, jeno fat cock, jeno is a simp, squirting, pussy eating, literally just pwp

wordcount: 2.4k

a/n: intentional lowercase (i hate autocaps) and not proofread so if you see any grammar mistakes lmk. IK THIS IS A WORN OUT TROPE BUT IDC BROTHERS BEST FRIEND JENO FTW this is just so self indulgent so if its ass um ☠️

pretty pink lip gloss, fresh set of french tip acrylics, short white mini skirt, strawberry scented lotion, and a pink lacy camisole. you, na y/n, were going to be the death of lee jeno.

"dude stop looking at my little sister like that you freak," jaemin threw a dirty sock laying around at his best friend's face as jeno stared at your plump ass like a piece of meat while you were in the kitchen making yourself a snack.

"shut the fuck up man," jeno grumbled as he proceeded to knock jaemin off course in moo moo meadows in mario kart.

you smirked knowingly with your back turned. you knew exactly what you were doing. it was 10 pm on a friday night, meaning jeno and jaemin were having their weekly guys night and would crash in the living room, playing video games, drinking beer, and eating pizza.

and it also meant you would get to dangle yourself like a piece of meat in front of your boyfriend and oblivious brother as you watch your hungry boyfriend try to behave himself.

"jaem let me have a turn," you whined, inviting yourself into the living room, and sat between the two boys on the verge of beating the shit out of each other over mario kart.

"y/n you know damn well you're shit at these types of games now why would i let you play when im about to rock jeno's shit," jaemin didn't even look over at you and continued to focus on the screen. "FUCKKKK JENO THOSE GODDAMN SHELLS. FUCK YOU DICKFACE”

jeno on the other hand glanced over at you, eyes never looking once at yours and instead focused straight on your plump titties popping right out of your push up bra. and he drove right off course, leaving jaemin to yelp in victory as he finished in 1st place.

"fuck you jaemin. here y/n you can play on my controller," jeno rolled his eyes and passed his controller to you. his character was already pink yoshi, making your heart melt because he knew that was your go to.

“thank you, jeno. at least some people are actually nice and considerate,” you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

"well okay you asked for it. prepare to get your ass kicked like our dear jen over there, y/n," jaemin said with an evil glint in his eyes.

as the game was about to start, you suddenly had an idea and paused the game. "wait jaem, i don't really know how to play. can you go easy on me?"

"hell no. you wanted to play with the big boys so now you gotta face the consequences."

you turned to look at jeno, who was very obviously just staring at your tits the entire time. "jeno, jaemin is being a bitch to me. can you teach me how to play since he doesn't want to go easy on me?" you tilted your head and pouted your lip in a way that you knew he liked.

you knew damn well how to play and beat the shit out of jaemin at mario kart but you also knew how good you looked right now and how this would be the perfect opportunity to tease your sexy boyfriend.

"aw hell no that's cheating, y/n," jaemin whined.

“too bad. it ain’t up to you, sore loser.” you gave jeno a smirk with a knowing look in your eyes.

"well i don't mind. plus you won the last round anyways, jaem," jeno spoke up, shifting around and subtlely fixing his sweatpants. you were teasing him so bad and it was going straight to his cock.

jaemin looked at jeno, then you, then right back at jeno, narrowing his eyes a bit. "hey since when did you two get so chummy?"

"jaemin stop being a bitch and let's just play. i don't even know how to play and jeno helping me isn't going to suddenly make me become a mario kart god."

jaemin rolled his eyes. "whatever man."

jaemin unpaused the game and the race started. you pretended to freak out, not knowing where to go as jaemin left you in the dust.

jaemin started laughing his ass off as he quickly climbed the ranks as you were left in dead last. "kiss my ass, y/n."

jeno leaned over to show you the controls but you took this opportunity to yank him to sit behind you, causing you almost be sitting in his lap as his arms wrapped you. "now show me the controls," you grinned evilly and shifted around so your ass rubbed against his dick.

jeno was stunned. doing this literally right in front of your brother? who forbade you two from ever seeing each other? he could just smell your sweet strawberry perfume, which had him wanting to just gobble you up. and your cute little outfit, god he just wanted to rip it right off of you and mark your body up, claim you as his. and not gonna lie, the thrill of being right next to your brother and his best friend had his heart pumping blood straight to his boner.

you both were lucky jaemin had tunnel vision when it came to video games, his face literally glued to the screen. otherwise he would've seen how your little white skirt rode up your thighs and your panties were literally grinding against his best friend's cock.

you let jeno take the controller and pretended to still be the one playing, occasionally screaming out curses at your brother and let out cheers when you hit him with shells. meanwhile you were really just shifting around on jeno's cock through his sweat pants as you ran your manicured nails up and down his veiny arms that were wrapped around you. his hands just looked so big and meaty on that controller, had you fantasizing about what they would be doing to you tonight.

as you neared the final lap, you in 6th place and jaemin in 2nd, you suddenly grabbed the controller out of jeno's hands and shoved him back beside you. he let out a loud grunt as he fell to the ground. jaemin suddenly took 1st place and finished the round. you were 8th. you gave jeno a fake apologetic look as he glared at you.

“oops,” you whispered, sticking your tongue out.

jaemin looked over at you and gave you a triumphant look. "now what did i tell you?"

you rolled your eyes and stood, your skirt rode up almost all the way and on the verge of exposing the little cream panties with red hearts on them that you knew jeno loved. the way jeno was sitting, you standing up gave him the perfect view of the way your puffy pussy fit in your little panties, making him even harder than before.

"whatever loser i'm heading back to my room. have fun being bitchless on a friday night." jaemin threw a pillow at your turned back. you sauntered back to your room, making careful sure to sway your hips as you knew jeno's eyes were trained straight on your ass.

it was 1 am and you were still up, bored out of your mind and scrolling through your phone. he should've been here by now, you pouted. you got frustrated and started ripping your clothes off, leaving you in just your push-up bra and panties when a voice from behind startled you.

"baby, you already starting without me? i'm hurt," jeno wrapped his arms around you, pressing his body against yours, and whispered softly in your ear, causing you to shiver.

you puffed out your cheeks. "waited for so long. was about to go to sleep because my shithead boyfriend left me needy over here."

jeno started groping at your body, squeezing your juicy tits and lightly grinding his erection against your barely clothed ass. "sorry sweet girl. jaem wouldn't fall asleep because that girl from his econ class finally texted him back, corny ass." he left a trail of kisses down your neck and sucked at a particular spot on your collar bone that had your knees weak.

you smiled to yourself. you couldn't pretend to be mad at him for long, not when you're so whipped for him. you turned around and looked up at him, admiring your sexy boyfriend. he finally listened to you and dyed his hair back to black, leaving it long and messy just how you like it. he was wearing a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants with the simple gold chain you bought him for his birthday. he knew just how you like it. what a fucking manwhore. you were ready to devour him whole.

you smashed your lips on his, messy and hot, tongue everywhere and spit dripping down your connected mouths. suddenly, you pushed him down on your bed and started straddling him, grinding your pussy directly on his cock through his sweatpants, causing him to groan into your mouth. one hand gripped at your hair and the other groped your ass.

"baby i need you. i missed you so much," you whispered, looking into his eyes.

he connected his lips to yours with a renewed fervor. clothes started flying off as you kissed each other passionately. he reached for a condom in your nightstand but you stopped him.

"raw baby. i need you in me right now." you grinned at him.

he cursed, flipped you over on your back and used his weight to press you against the mattress. his thick, muscular body pressing you to the mattress had you breathless and in need for more. "is my baby needy? is my baby needy for this cock?"

he reached down and began to lightly caress your pussy, gathering your leaking juices and spreading it around. his fingers teased your hole, rubbing circles around it and occasionally deciding to stick one in for one pump before going back to rubbing and teasing.

"had me thinking about this pussy all night. fuck. love you so much baby. you're so sexy and you get me so hard. no one does it for me like you. you looked so cute today, just wanted to eat you up. didn't care if that shithead was there, just wanted to love on my girl." he continued to tease your little pussy and alternate between fingering and rubbing you.

then he crawled down until he was facing your wet pussy directly. staring at your pussy like a piece of meat in front of starved lion, he gave one long lick all the way up your cunt and started sucking, making sure to make lewd noises. your legs were shaking with need as you gripped his hair.

"fuck you taste so good. all wet just for me. this pussy is mine," he groaned into your cunt.

at this point, your pussy was gushing so much you felt a puddle beneath you. his fingers and lips felt so so good on your pussy but you were tired of his teasing. you got up and suddenly looked down at him seriously. "jen if your cock isn't in me in the next 5 seconds i'm seriously going to break up with you and fuck haechan or something."

this lit a fire within jeno, whose eyes darkened. he lifted his body and gave his impossibly hard cock a few pumps, rubbing your juices all over his massive cock. he grabbed your thighs, lifted your legs over his shoulders, and shoved his cock into your little pussy with one big thrust.

you both moaned out, your pussy leaking happily as he bottomed out, balls deep. he set out on a fast past immediately, pounding your pussy deeper and harder with each thrust. you could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass.

"yes, jen yes yes yes! oh god more more! love you so much baby," you grabbed at his hair as he pounded your pussy into oblivion. in the deep mating press he had you in, you could feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. his cock was just so so big, you could never get enough of it.

you could see the veins pop out of his neck and his beefy arms were pinning your hips down as his hips were pounding you with each powerful thrust. he looked so so so sexy and he was all yours.

"god baby your pussy was made for me. love you so so much. mine. all mine. everything about you all mine, just for me," jeno kissed you passionately, both moaning into each other mouths.

he used one of his hands to press down on your lower belly, making your pussy leak and throb around him. "you feel that, princess? you feel me deep in your tummy? only i can do that to you, only me."

your mind was blank at this point, body completely numb to everything except the pleasure he was giving you. you could feel yourself about to get sent over the edge, your pussy spasming and clenching hard around every vein on his cock.

"bout to cum baby don't stop don't stop!!" you orgasmed with a loud scream, pussy squirting all over his stomach.

jeno continued fucking you through your orgasm, grunting at the feeling of your little pussy spasming all over his cock. "baby m close too, fuckkk."

fat tears rolled down your face at the overstimulation of pleasure. "jen please cum inside please."

jeno groaned, thrusting every harder and deeper than before. "such a slut. you like that huh? you want your boyfriend to knock you up? you want to have a baby with your brother's best friend? fuck. how about you just get pregnant? he wouldn't be able to disapprove of us when you're already round and waddling around with my baby."

with one loud groan, he bottomed out inside of you and let out his thick load. he collapsed on top of you, cock still balls deep inside, crushing you under all his weight with your face pressed against his sweaty chest.

you stayed like that for a few seconds before you tapped on his back, signaling that you couldn't breathe. still keeping his cock deep inside your leaking pussy, he flipped you over on your side and cuddled your back, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other pushing your hair out of your face. you panted, eyes closed in bliss. jeno drew circles on your arms and left kisses up and down your jaw and neck.

"just saying, you would look sexy as fuck pregnant with our baby." jeno whispered.

you opened your eyes to turn back and swat at his chest but what you saw made your blood run cold in horror.

it was your brother standing right in the open doorway staring at your naked bodies with a look of fury, surprise, horror, and shock that you had never seen before.

the three of you screamed at the sight of each other in unison.

a/n: i intentionally wrote the ending like that because i'm unsure if anyone would even want to continue reading this lmaooo so lmk what you think

[citrustan]

lovefool [drabble 5] (jjk)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

summary: where jungkook shows you how much he likes you. ;) ft. taehyung and yuna :p

wc: 2.8k

note: WELL its here... i smutted. this is a part of the 'lovefool' au. you can also find the main story on my pinned post! this drabble contains smut--- it's mostly smut (kissing, boob stuff, cunnilingus, the tiniest slightest bit of voyeurism, its almost nonexistent). + this takes place way after chapter 6 happens. this is a reupload (sort of) bec i rewrote the thing.

You stretch your legs and point your toes, poking your boyfriend's side.

He then casually grabs your feet, places them on his lap and begins to gently press and massage your heel and toes. He purposely avoids your sole because you’re extremely ticklish.

“My feet are too dry.” You complain. Jungkook glances at your expression and back at your feet.

“Want me to suck on them?” He partially lifts your foot, bringing it closer to his open mouth.

While you resist and playfully kick him, you wonder whether he would actually be into it. You just want him to touch you all over, you want to feel his presence on your entire body and soul.

"Come 'ere." Jungkook grunted with his arms outstretched towards you.

He sat back on his end of the sofa.

Somewhat shy, you comply. You fold your legs back and painstakingly kneel-crawl towards his side on the couch.

Jungkook lovingly engulfs you in a tight hug, disabling any movement for you to make.

"Hi." You coyly smile at him when he pulls back, yet holding you close.

You can smell cologne and cigarette smoke on him. It's so sexy. Smoking is terrible, but you find it really hot when he smells of it. But you'd never tell him that.

Somehow, he already knows. He notices the way you get a lot more nervous around him after he's stepped out for a quick smoke; the way you rub up and down your own arms to self-soothe. You start acting cute, give him stupid, big eyes and look away when he catches you.

You think you're being lowkey but you really aren't. It's funny, but sexy funny.

Jungkook's response is instant, "Hey."

"Wanna kiss." You softly speak, still shy.

"I want to love you." Jungkook whispers as he stares directly into your eyes.

You, however, shy away from his gaze and turn your head to the side, opting to look at the laptop screen instead.

Still somewhat in your kneeling position, you lean forward and put your weight on him, indulging him in another hug.

This time, Jungkook sits up before accepting your hug. You bury your head in his chest.

"Why are you acting shy, hm?" Jungkook mocks. "Let me see your face, red delicious."

You know, like the apples? Because you're blushing. Even if it doesn't show, he knows the blood has rushed to your cheeks now.

You keep your face pressed against his chest.

He was a very patient man.

You deeply sigh before finally gathering the courage to actually turn your words into action.

In one swift movement, you get off his couch and stand before him, urging him to get up as well.

When he does as you wish, you hold his hands and lean in to peck his lips.

You kiss on him once. Then again. And again.

Jungkook smiles and keeps his eyes shut as he allows you to find your vibe.

His jeans begin to tighten around a specific region, but he does his best to ignore the animalistic urge to just grab you and start grinding on you. But, you really liked when he did that. You like it when Jungkook takes charge, but it's important for him to know you're truly comfortable and ready, so he lets you lead first. Consent is sooo sexy.

"Babe..." You pout and look at him through your lashes.

You're acting cute again.

"Uh huh?" He teases, acting as if he doesn't know exactly what you're asking for.

At this, you push yourself towards him and sort of, rest your breasts on him. Your breathing starts to get heavier.

Jungkook looks down at the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. He can feel your nipples harden.

"You should wear more dresses like these..." His voice trails off as you begin rubbing his bicep.

The two of you stare into each other's eyes. You see the lust brewing in his (eyes).

You bring your hands to the collars of his jacket and smoothen them out. Your cold fingertips momentarily graze the naked skin of his neck.

Jungkook lets out a low moan. "Babe."

"Hm." You then run your hands up and down his chest.

Jungkook plays with the hem of your white sundress, lightly brushing against your thigh in the act.

Starting to become somewhat riled up, you suddenly grab his hands and place them on the back of your bare thigh, under your dress.

Instantly, he understood what you wanted him to do.

Jungkook dives in.

He tugs you closer by the thighs and kisses you deeply.

Although you saw it coming, you still moan in surprise. Actually, it's more in delight rather than the former.

Slowly, he inches up to your butt, and then your waist and back.

With your hands now making their way to play with his hair, you slightly open your mouth to allow him to suck on your tongue.

Your thighs are tightly pressed together as if that were to plug your pussy up as his hands grab at and caress your body.

Jungkook kissed and sucked on your lips and tongue. Your teeth knocked against each other's once or twice.

Your eagerness was adorable.

You continue kissing and moaning until you start feeling Jungkook get bigger and harder in his pants, rutting against your stomach.

Slowly and steadily, you pull away from him with only a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths.

There you stood before him--- your lipstick and gloss smeared on your face, pupils dilated with love and ecstasy, lips swollen and ready to be kissed once again, and drool running down your chin.

A little out of breath, you softly smiled at him.

"Wanna show you something." You look down at your chest and start to unbutton your dress.

Jungkook palms his cock through his jeans for a little relief, still breathing heavily, unable to take his eyes off your pretty chest.

After unbuttoning the first four buttons, you gently move the pieces of clothing on either side of your breasts.

You flash him your newly bought lace balconette bra. It's white, decorated with a pink strip of satin tucked in on the lining, with a perfect, little bow perched in the centre, and sheer.

With hitched breath, Jungkook places both his hands on your shoulders and runs his thumb along your collarbone. "So pretty, baby. The prettiest girl in the world. _____."

Flattered, you push your chest out a little more.

"Can you... Do you want to touch them?" You embarrassingly reword your question. He playfully smirks at your shyness.

"Yeah. Will you let me touch them? Can I kiss them? Can I suck on them? Your nipples are begging to be touched, doll." Jungkook’s thumbs now inch towards the top of your breasts.

You blush and coyly, yet eagerly nod.

On your affirmation, he roughly pulls your bra below your breasts and they pop out with a slight bounce.

Suddenly, you squeak and involuntarily cover your chest with both hands. Your eyes were instinctually squeezed shut and trained down at your feet. His hands slid down to your sides.

Jungkook chuckled, “Babe?”

“Sorry…” You smile embarrassingly.

“Nuh uh," Jungkook smiles as if he were to say 'do not apologise for having boundaries.' "Do you still want to?” He caressed your cheek.

Once again, you nod.

At that, your boyfriend firmly pries your hands away from your chest and propels them around his own shoulders. You massage the nape of his neck.

He urges you to look into his eyes, and when you do, he swiftly dives in and attaches his wet mouth to your nipple.

You gasp and throw your head back in pleasure.

You shift your weight back and forth on your feet, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the hot, burning sensation in your belly.

Jungkook groans into your skin and begins to lick your nipples. He drags his tongue on the circumference of your areola and then from one nipple to the other, occasionally thumbing and softly pinching them.

He gives equal attention to both your tits, suckling and squeezing them. Never letting either one go neglected.

Jungkook teases your nipples with his fingers as he kisses up your neck, making you whimper and gasp. Your fingers are buried in his hair, tugging and soothing his scalp.

His fingers circle and rub on your nubs so rapidly and for so long that it begins to overstimulate you. The discomfort of still being on your feet, in Jungkook's hold, and squirming--- you love it. And you're starting to be more vocal, unable to hold back the little moans that threaten to come out.

"Don't stop... please... it's so... so good-" You whine.

He moans in response, as to say 'okay' and continues the pleasurable abuse on your sensitive nipples and neck.

Jungkook briefly raises his head up to lock you in a sweet kiss which you happily accept.

Before he returns to kissing and inadvertently bruising all over your chest, you stop him with a whisper, "JK..."

You seem of breath. And somehow, still so bashful.

Even when you've bared your chest for him, you're so shy.

"Tell me, doll." As Jungkook waits for you, he pecks you in random places. First, on your forehead, then your throat, then your sternum, your right nipple and so on. You lean into the warm, fuzzy feeling the action brings.

A little distracted, you shake your head. You can't begin to explain what you want.

So you simply resort to a - "Jungkook... I want you."

"You have me, _____." He sincerely smiles and kisses your lips.

"Noo..." You cutely exasperated, furrowing your brows. "Ugh."

"Yes?" Now you had Jungkook's full attention. He stops kissing on you to look you in the eyes.

The expression on your face shows that you're using every, little brain cell to get this out of you. Your boyfriend stares on endeared and almost laughs.

"Wantyoutotouchmethere." You blurt out in a single breath and look down at your bodies, resting your forehead on his chest.

"Oh." Jungkook smirked, "That's all?"

You pull back and roll your eyes at him. "Yeah," You mock, "That's all."

Jungkook snorts and immediately returns to lick your nipples just to rile you up a bit more.

The sudden assault makes you roughly push away from him. "JK! I'm- it's like. So-" You groan, a little frustrated and a lot flustered.

What you really want is for him to eat your pussy. Your girl is like yearning to be savoured.

Now, Jungkook laughs out loud. "I know, baby. I just wanted to cherish you." He pouts towards the end.

Shyly smiling again, you sit back on the sofa.

Like a moth to the flame, Jungkook turns to face you and kneels before you.

Ever ready to give you what you indirectly asked for, he taps your limbs. "Open up."

When you hesitantly part your legs a few inches wide, Jungkook lifts your feet off the floor by your knees and then sort of just... folds you. Your thighs were pressed to your chest.

He smiles up at your flushed visage. You stare at him with big eyes, patiently waiting, yet eager for his next move.

Your core is presented to him on a platter as if he were some kind of king waiting to feast.

He rubs you all over your inner thigh, leading to your lips.

Your mismatched white cotton panties with a black bow in the centre hinder his view of your pussy. The underwear somewhat resembles your bra, he thinks it's from the same line, only a different colour. (pink satin lining bra/ black satin lining panties.)

Jungkook's cock is painfully hard, but he chooses to please you first. Although, eating you out going to get him off too.

You tenderly place your hands atop your knees and nibble on your manicured fingers in anticipation.

Jungkook leans down to kiss you through your panties and takes your scent in. His mouth is already watering. He then places one, harsh lick over it making you shiver.

He smirks up at you, and mouths at your swollen lips over the fabric before slowly pulling them to the side. You whimper and jerk and reach down to hold your panties to the side for him.

Jungkook smiles down at you. He's practically drooling.

Your pussy glistens in the sunlight.

He traces your slit with gentle touch making you quiver and clench around nothing.

You clench your toes in order to contain the rush of excitement taking over you.

Jungkook reaches out to hold your free hand which you gladly accept. And you kiss his fingers.

Then, finally, he places a soft kiss on your cunt. And then another one, not as soft. And another one a little harder. Every touch makes you moan a little louder. And finally, he deeply kisses and tongues your pussy, making you yelp in surprise.

He forces your lips open with only his thumb and index finger and dives in. You throw your head back and whine loudly.

Jungkook purposely avoids your clit but eats all around it, over, under, and on the sides. It drives you up the wall. You're wiggling around and Jungkook releases your hand to hold you down forcefully.

Forcing away your hand that holds your panties to the side, he relies on his own face to keep your underwear out of the way.

His tongue occasionally prods at your tight, wet hole. Jungkook groans in satisfaction, hurriedly licking up every bit of your sweet, and sticky essence.

Jungkook then instructs you to play with your tits, and you do as he wishes, pressing down circles on your sensitive nipples. He wishes he had more than two hands to touch you everywhere at once so you can be his pretty little pillow princess.

Your eyes are tightly screwed shut and you don't know what to do with your head. Your squeals and cries are consistently loud. All you know is that you can't stay still. It's too much!

Your boyfriend grabs your thighs, pulls you closer to him, and spreads your legs wider, "Mmhh, JK... Pleeeaseee..." - Mentally, you joyfully thank your younger self for doing all the yoga that made you susceptible to all the stretching, bending, and manhandling Jungkook is subjecting you to.

Running his hands all over your inner thighs, he jeers.

You feel so hazed, and dazed, and overcome with pleasure- "Oh!" You almost sob as your boyfriend suddenly wraps his mouth around your clit. He moans back in response.

At this point, your train of thought is simply nonsensical. "Yes....aarghh, you're so, so... meaan, JK!"

Jungkook rapidly licks your sensitive, little bundle of nerves. He makes your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes point to the heavens. You're near to tears as you cry, "I wan' marry you, JK... I will make you cakes... and I will kiss you and love you... forever and ever and pleaseee... moreee...!" You feel him smile into your cunt.

When you start to grind against his mouth and harshly grope your own body, Jungkook knows you're close. Wanting to prolong this, Jungkook goes back to licking all over your swollen lips when, all of a sudden, you hear a loud cackle.

Immediately following that comes the most annoying screech you've ever heard.

Ok, you know that noise.

Your eyes snap open and you look around to find the source of those sounds: Taehyung AND Yuna.

A little pussy-drunk, Jungkook takes a while to pull away so you had to force his head away from your sensitive princess parts.

He finally looks behind him.

At his door, stood Taehyung, and Yuna who had now covered her eyes. Taehyung, of course, just gawked shamelessly.

He instantly snaps your legs shut, holding them together, and cusses in anger, "Dude, what the fuck?"

You're confused, still quivering, and very horny. Taehyung's sight falls on you. Your hair's a little wild, your mouth slightly agape, your face red, and you're virtually crying tears (of pleasure that now turn into ones of frustration.) He can't seem to look away.

Forcing himself to snap out of it, he plays it off teasingly, "Dudeeee. Don't let us stop you, we're only here for the oven." Taehyung laughs and struts into the room.

"Nice tits, _____." Taehyung directs at you.

Still hazy, you smile sweetly, "Thanks!"

Jungkook and Yuna's heads snap towards you in shock.

Wow... What had he done to the shy _____?

You only sighed dreamily and slumped even deeper into the couch, your orgasm long forgotten.

Jungkook then took it upon himself to re-robe your naked tits.

Soon, Yuna walks into the room and sits diagonal to you, instantly busying herself with her phone. Neither of you acknowledge each other.

Typically, you'd be humiliated and embarrassed about being caught nude, but right now? You're ecstatic even though you didn't get to cum.

You're childishly enjoying Yuna's forced nonchalance and bitter expression, cheesing so hard on the inside that your lips involuntarily start curving upwards.

And as if Jungkook sees right through you, he leans in and kisses you. "Stop that, you little monster." He reprimanded half-heartedly.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hi! Could I be ✨Anon? (Im not sure whats been taken already) I've been on a big Batfam kick these past few days and have a v indulgent request if it interests you.

Could I request something for a (gn) civilian reader who is friends w/ the Batfam, but recently got superpowers that are magical girl-esque? Neither of the parties knowing of the others Alter Egos. Here are some of my thought, but write the post however you'd like.

Reader was accidentally caught up in some commotion that involved stealing specialty cargo. One of them being an alien artifact, and reader uses it in desperation to save themselves. But now they have these sparkely, pretty, and showy powers that they never asked for. (And maybe a magical animal companion that insist they bring light and justice to Gotham)

Reader is reluctant to be a vigilante, but keeps finding themselves in situations to help people anyways.(Maybe its a side effect of being a magical girl) They end up fighting alongside the Batfam at some point, but they feel embarrassed to interact w/ them. Reader feels completely out of place with their colorful and over-the-top powers when next to the cool and brooding batfam.

Sorry if this idea is a bit out there, but ty for letting me be indulgent in your ask box 💕!!

NO CAUSE I FEEL THIS DYNAMIC SO MUCH.

I either have the friendliest vibe or the bitchiest vibe and no in between. Meaning that people either come to me for everything or think I’m a snob/will bite-

and sure non! i don’t really keep track of my anons nowadays so people can be whatever as long as it’s not listed in my pinned

BAT X MAGIC ✨

IN ANY CASE

I’m gonna mix Sailor Moon, Miraculous Ladybug and Onimai for my inspo with this ask if you don’t mind

Magical Girl/Boy/Person! Reader is really close friends with Tim and Damian. If there was one thing all three could agree on it’s that they loved superheroes in manga/comics.

And Reader? Boy did they adore the Batfam. There was just something about their dark, brooding aesthetic that they couldn’t get enough of.

So it was a tad bit ironic that they stumbled upon the most “girly”and “bright” power ever known to Gotham.

It didn’t help that your abilities had to be activated with cutely yelling things like “Sparkle Blast!” or “Smile Hurricane!”

I like to headcannon that you have a familiar or Kwami like creature that in exchange of keeping your identity magically hidden, absolutely bullies you by making the one above a requirement.

I headcannon that Damian has the PHATTEST crush on you. Like even moreso than the stalker, otaku Tim. Like he is just head over heels. You’re strong, you’re capable, you’re adorable?? But that mostly extends to just your magic persona rather than your real self. He’s super obvious about it to anyone but you too (similar to the og miraculous ladybug w/ felix instead of chat).

Tim is more interested on who tf you were. Like yes!!! Magical Person Hero!!! You were basically his childhood crushes incarnate!! But his inquisitive mind really needed to know who you were in order to calm himself down.

Jason is honestly a bit overwhelmed by your whole getup, but grows to love you the most in terms of how kind you are and how you help them even in the most dire of situations (not knowing that you were basically forced to)

He’s very much Tuxedo Mask type wherein he’d be very annoying to you when the disguises are off but an absolute Casanova with em on.

You and Dick are the most close when it comes to patrols and fighting. I feel like you, being the big fan you were, would make him look even more flashy and handsome during battle with sparkles and whatnot. I have a feeling he’d be the first to ask you out or fully romance you, as well as be the first to befriend you/contact you as a vigilante.

Bruce is definitely perplexed by how you always evade him in terms of your secret identity. It frustrates him to no end that whenever he gets close to finding out something either gets in his way or his mind just goes blank.

Once you explain how your magical persona works tho he’s pretty quick on the bandwagon, especially since he sees that his boys love you.

Also cause you look way too adorable to really be heinous.

…Right?

Once you break one of your familiar’s rules though, they do share your identity with the bats and well…

All hell breaks loose.

[berry-potchy]

Indulge Me

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only please) Word Count: 7,072 Summary: You're a Spiderwoman who has ended up pinned underneath Miguel O'Hara in his lab one too many times. You're not sure what you are to him or what to call your relationship. And that would've been fine until your neediness kicked in and made you catch feelings. Surely, Miguel taking you to his room for the first time means something right? In which your lack of understanding of Spanish and denial of the hints Miguel drops are keeping you from realizing you already have what you want. Tags/warnings: pwp, p in v sex, rough sex, praise + light degradation, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, face sitting/riding, breeding kink, soft dom!Miguel, needy reader, recording, mirror sex adjacent, implied chubby reader, undefined relationship but soft feelings sprinkled in there as a treat, no use of y/n so lots of Spanish nicknames to make up for it, reader does not understand Spanish, brief sexy use of spider webs A/N: this is quite literally just a self-indulgent fic with most of my favorite Miguel x reader flavors. Not beta read but I hope you still enjoy it! (Translations are the end!)

Also on AO3

Edit: turns out some parts got messed up while I was posting here on Tumblr D: it's fine on AO3 though which is weird because I copied from this post instead of my doc because this has the correct spacing. Everything should be fixed now.

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Miguel has you standing in front of him between his parted legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. Even in this position, you were barely any much taller than him, only needing to tilt your head a bit to meet his red eyes. He looks at you from your face, down to the swell of your breast where his eyes are joined by a taloned finger on its journey downwards. You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the sharp talon cuts through your spandex suit, fully exposing your soft chest to the cold air of his quarters. He would argue that the stretchy translucent mesh with a spiderweb lace design on your chest area didn’t do shit to cover the fullness of your tits anyway so he didn't understand why you even bothered with it. It was for style obviously but riling up Miguel O’Hara was a great bonus. You let out a shaky breath as he continued further down until he stopped right below your navel.

“Que linda,” he says in that low sexy voice of his, very different from the usual grumpy tone he uses to chastise you. He snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you closer to him and his hands find your plush bottom, giving them a rough squeeze. You are getting so worked up by how much attention you are getting from your usually sulky boss. Your heaving chest is right in front of Miguel’s face and his lustful gaze almost feels like it is burning you. The heat spreads from your chest downwards until it pools in the pit of your stomach and between your legs.

“You ruined my suit,” you pout, not really that upset about it. You think it was hot honestly but you just want to tease him “Am I supposed to go on missions with my whole chest out now? Walk around the HQ flashing everyone?”

“Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. He continues to take in your figure, hands gently kneading soft flesh on your sides “I’m making you a new suit. Should be done very soon. It'll be the same design but it will offer far more protection than this flimsy thing.”

“Making me a suit just like yours? What so you can control it hm? Deactivate it whenever you want to fuck me?” You laugh, wiping the imaginary tear in your eye until you realize Miguel is silent and looks like he’s been caught red-handed. You lightly slap him on his arm, flustered. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Instead of answering you, he brings his head forward to close his lips on a clothed nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive erect bud. Your mouth opens as you let out a soft gasp at the sensation and you can feel the corner of Miguel’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. He teases your nipple alternating between flicking it with the tip of his tongue and giving it an audible suck. He pulls away for a split second only to give the same attention to your other nipple. You weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your tits. Your other hand is holding onto his shoulder for support as you urge him to keep going with your whimpers. His hands haven’t stopped exploring your body. His wide hands warm against your hips, ass, thighs, everywhere he can touch, squeezing your softness, committing every curve to memory.

“Migueeeel,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together to try to relieve the ache between your legs. You appreciate the attention to your nipples but your cunt was throbbing with need. You are so close to ripping the rest of your suit and panties off because the way the fabric is sticking to your wet pussy is becoming too uncomfortable.

“Miguel what, muñeca?” He pulls away, licking his lips. Those red eyes are now looking straight into yours and you feel yourself shiver. You try to look away but Miguel grabs your chin to keep you facing him. “Eyes on me. What do you want? Use your words.”

“Please,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment but Miguel just raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “Stop teasing please.”

“Ah I see okay,” he says, taking his hands off you before standing up and walking to his closet.

“W-wait what are you doing?” you almost trip on your feet, knees feeling weak, as you chase after him. You grab his arm, tugging at it to get his attention as you pathetically look up at him.

“You said stop teasing so I’m getting you a shirt so you can go back to your world and get some rest,” he says as he looks through the neatly folded shirts in his closet. He’s stalling, pretending he was trying to choose one but he’s messing with you. There is no way he would let you go home tonight without getting at least a couple of orgasms wrung out of you. You aren’t leaving until he made sure you were stuffed full and dripping with his cum. You aren’t leaving tonight. Period. He knew you were too far gone with lust to figure that out yourself.

“Miggy, that’s not what I meant please,” you sob, pressing your body against him. Just the thought of being left unsatisfied was painful. “Please, Miggy, I need your mouth. And your cock please”

He finally looks at you and pulls you closer to him by your waist. You run your hands along his still clothed chest, feeling his heart beating with yours. You look up at him with glassy eyes, begging him to finish what he started. He coos at how desperate you were for release.

“You want my mouth and my cock?” he hums, still teasing. He easily lifts you up with one arm supporting your ass to carry you back to his bed. He’s carried you multiple times before but it never ceases to amaze you how he does it so effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hips bucking trying to get some friction against your still unfortunately clothed cunt. “Where do you want them, muñeca? You have to be more specific. Which one do you want first?”

“On my pussy, please. I need your mouth on my pussy. Miggy, I wanna cum on your face” you sobbed against his neck “And then- and then I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up with your cock. Only you can fill me up so good, Miggy. I need it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers right next to your ear, making you shudder “Now, was that so hard to do? Was it hard to tell me what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you bite his shoulder and you feel satisfaction when you hear him break character and snort. He shakes his head, smiling fondly while he sets you down on the bed.

"Qué voy a hacer contigo?" he brings his lips to your temple to whisper more softly "Qué haría sin ti?"

Your heart skips a beat at the gentleness of his tone. You’re not sure what he said but the genuine affection is evident. Intimate moments like this with Miguel are slowly becoming more and more frequent and you decide that you don’t mind it. You even crave it now. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you lean further toward him.

He pulls away but the fond look on his face doesn’t waver. He slaps your thigh, making the soft fat jiggle just how he likes it, as he moves to get settled in his bed.

“Put those lovely hips and thighs to use and ride my face, conejita.” He lies down, anticipating, patting his chest to encourage you to sit down.

You didn't need to be told twice. You rip off the rest of your suit, your heated skin meeting the cold air of his room making your nipples pebble painfully. You quickly take off your panties and toss them aside with your ruined suit. You squeal as you scramble to get on top of him. You position yourself on top of his waiting mouth, straddling his face but just hovering over his face, hands on the headboard to keep yourself steady. The smell of your arousal is almost too much for Miguel to bear at this proximity. The urge to lock you in his room for the next few days and not let you out until you’re thoroughly fucked and bred is getting hard to ignore. His fangs extend as his animalistic urges surface, yearning to bite you and mark you as his.

“Are you trying to tease me now? How can you ride my face if you don’t sit?” Miguel’s tone is deeper than it was just a second ago. There’s a certain roughness to it, a growl in his voice that makes your hole clench around nothing. He grips your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, waiting for you to sit down or he’ll make you. He’s trying to be patient, turning his head a little to mouth at the fat of your inner thigh. He licks a stray trail of your slick up your thigh, stopping just a breath away from where you both want his mouth to be. You feel him sigh, savoring your taste like he just drank the finest nectar, a promise of what’s to come.

“But Miguel–” you yelp when he suddenly pulls you down by your thighs and you immediately feel his tongue lapping at your aching cunt, his nose bumping deliciously against your swollen clit. He wasn’t going to hear your excuses. The only things he wants to hear coming out of your pretty lips are your moans and whines for more. The way Miguel is sucking and devouring your wetness so eagerly makes your head spin and your grip on the headboard tighten to steady yourself for a moment. He teases your hole, licking around the small opening before plunging in as far as he can, feeling you clench around his tongue. He grows impatient at your lack of movement and starts rocking you back and forth on his face by himself. He flattens his tongue for you to grind your pretty folds onto.

“Miggy, feels so good,” you whine, bending over to look at him from under you. He’s so pretty like this, forehead scrunched up from how focused he is eating you out, and when you get a peak of his nose and his cheeks, they’re shiny from being soaked by a combination of your wetness and his own spit. You take one of your shaking hands off the headboard to brush the hair away from Miguel’s forehead only for him to guide your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair, urging you to use it as leverage to ride his face harder. And who are you to say no to that?

You move your hips to try to match the pace he set for you, your thighs burn but you pay it no mind. Not when you feel that familiar delicious knot forming in your core. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes screwed shut as you immerse in the pleasure, grinding your cunt harder on Miguel’s tongue, nose, chin, anywhere you can get some friction, getting desperate to reach your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum, Miggy. Gonn’ cum on your face” you whimper. You take your hand off the headboard and bring it to your tits, squeezing them, pinching at rubbing circles on your pebbled nipples. Miguel doesn’t stop lapping hungrily at your pussy, shaking his head from side to side as much as your grip on his hair allows. He groans as he watches in awe as you chase your own pleasure.

So close.

You’re so close you swear you can almost taste it.

Miguel could tell from how your hips stuttered and your pace growing frantic, rougher. He gives your clit another suck and that finally pushes you over the edge.

You feel the sweet release consume you like wildfire, your body tensing, back arching, toes curling. You can’t even hear yourself scream Miguel’s name, curling into yourself as he continues to suck on your oversensitive, pulsating clit. His hands held your shaking thighs steady, not letting you close them. It’s all too much.

“Miggyyy,” you sob pathetically, pawing at his head and his grip on you. You finally manage to pry an eye open only to see him watching you intently “Too much. I can’t-”

He doesn’t stop. He continues to lick stripes at your puffy folds and flick the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue albeit slower this time. He takes one of his hands away from your thigh and plunges two of his thick fingers knuckle deep inside your needy hole. He manages to find your sweet cushiony spot and puts enough pressure on it to make you see stars. That burning hot coil is back just mere seconds after your climax and if you could think at that moment, you’d think it’s unfair how he seems to know your body too well, knows just where to touch to make you unravel.

He adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you out for his cock, curling them inside you, and hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You know that it’s not enough, that it’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you. No matter how much prep you do it's going to be a tight fit and you can’t wait to be stretched to your limits once more. You stop fighting him, needing to chase after your orgasm, grinding your clit again on his tongue as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slutty hole.

Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm wash over you. You spill over his face, making a mess on his pillows and bedsheets. Your limbs go numb and this time you can’t even form words, just sobbing, babbling nonsense as your body shakes on top of Miguel. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn't for Miguel supporting your back with his free hand. You frantically tap his hand as you hiccup a pathetic “no more.”

Miguel relents and lets you catch your breath for a second. He kisses your puffy cunt one more time before moving you to lie on your back on the bed. He lifts your head to turn over the soiled pillow and fluff it up before getting you settled comfortably. You watch as he catches the dripping wetness from his chin with his equally soaked fingers and sticks them into his mouth, eyes rolling back and moaning at your sweet taste. You feel your cunt throb at the lewd action and you can’t help but let out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. It’s so unfair how much he affects you.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he coos at your flushed face with fat tears running down your cheeks as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between your parted legs. “too much for mi conejita to handle? I know you can take more. Your pussy is so slutty, isn’t she? So needy. I doubt two orgasms is enough.”

He cups your face with one hand, thumb wiping away a tear on your cheek, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, knowing how much you hate the feeling of it sticking to your skin. Your lower lip is jutting out in an adorable pout that he can’t help but kiss, catching your lip between his teeth. You scrunch up your nose and push his face away as you try to steady your breath.

You can see his naked chest rise and fall faster than usual, his mouth open to catch his own breath. You didn’t even notice when he disabled his suit but your eyes are thankful as you drink in the sight of his warm brown skin, stretching across the expanse of his unfairly defined body. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, taking extra care to give him the most perfect proportions. How lucky are you to see this masterpiece up close? It would be a sin to not enjoy the view.

Your eyes trail down from his strong broad shoulders to his massive tits, and even further down to see his cock standing up proudly against his navel, the head dripping beads of precum and smearing it against his abs. Pride blooms in your chest as you realize that he’s just as affected as you are.

Your throat suddenly feels so empty. You lick your lips as you tear your eyes off his cock to look up at his face only to find his hungry gaze meeting yours. His eyes glint with danger as he takes in the sight of you in your post-orgasm haze, seemingly plotting his next move.

You didn’t have to wait long because, of course, he can’t keep his hands away from you.

He moves closer, making you spread your legs further. His hands grab at the back of your thighs to push them towards your torso, your knees almost touching your chest. Your dripping cunt twitches as it’s exposed to the cold air. Your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

“Que rico. Podría acostumbrarme a esto,” he says, his voice deep and rough with lust as his hands rub up and down your thighs, squeezing, feeling you. He drinks up the sight of you, so bare and exposed, all for him to take. “I could watch you like this all day. Maybe take a video of you right now so I can watch your pretty cunt pulsing, crying for me, anytime I want. Or…”

He takes his cock in one hand, running his thumb on the swollen tip to spread the beads of precum around, pumping his shaft with a few languid strokes. You yelp when he slaps his thick, heavy cock against your puffy folds.

“I could tie you up like this and keep you here for my own pleasure.” He starts moving his hips at a torturously slow pace, sliding his length along your wet folds, getting it lubricated by your own slick. He brings his hands back to your thighs and pushes them even further until you’re practically folded in half. “Keep you here to breed. Fill you up with so much cum and you’ll stay like this so it will surely take, yeah?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Miggy” you hiss as the tip of his cock keeps bumping into your throbbing clit “What’s stopping you from doing so huh? You have your web and your little surveillance bots. Put them to good use.”

“Of course, you’d love that, my pretty little slut,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he lines up the tip of his cock with your hole. Your eyelids flutter as you hold your breath in anticipation, waiting for that delicious stretch of being filled by his massive cock.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” he commands and you obey, looking up at him from under your lashes “That’s it, good girl.”

He starts to slowly press his cock into your greedy hole. Inch by inch, he sinks in, knocking the air out of your lungs. Midway, maybe, you can’t tell, there’s just so much of him, you start to feel a little faint, your shoulders tense and your mouth stuck hanging open. You feel so full of him, almost like he’s going to split you apart.

“Breathe for me,” he coos as he slowly presses more of him into you, filling you up more than what should be possible. He drapes your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs as he uses his now free hands to cradle your face. You suck in a breath as he instructed and try to even out your breathing. “There you go. Keep breathing. Relax for me. Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. So good for me.”

You preen at his words, warmth flooding your chest and going straight down to your pussy. His hands stay on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pushes the last few inches in. You put your hands on top of his as you lean into his touch. He starts to grind his hips slowly, gently, getting you used to his size. The coarse dark curls at the base of his cock tickle your sensitive clit and the head of his cock softly probing at your cervix makes you roll your eyes back and whimper from the fullness.

“Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces, cariño,” he leans in to capture your lips into a deep kiss. Soft and gentle until both of you wanted more. One of his hands finds the back of your neck to tilt your head as he pleases as he tries to devour you. His tongue licks into your mouth and his fangs graze your lips with every movement. You hum against his lips as you feel him start to pull his hips back, letting his dick slide halfway out before snapping his hips forward to plunge himself back inside, his balls lewdly smacking against your ass. And he keeps doing it over, and over again making you moan oh so wantonly.

“Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips. The breathlessness and the hint of desperation for release in his voice make you shiver. His pace picks up, thrusts growing rougher with it. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you and skin slapping against skin echo around his room. The only other sounds you can hear are your combined sounds of pleasure, calling out each other’s names.

You pull on the hand that Miguel has on your cheek to lace your fingers together, his large hand easily dwarfing yours, his talons folded back to not hurt you. Your other hand slips between your bodies, travelling downwards to feel where you two are connected. There’s a deep rumble coming from Miguel’s chest and he presses your sweaty foreheads together, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Your tight heat is milking his cock so perfectly and at this rate, he’s not going to last long.

“Miggy,” you whine, keeping your eyes on his. His irises seem a little more brown as he looks at you so tenderly, making you feel like you are going to melt into a puddle of goo. He brings your joined hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles and you think you really just might turn into goo.

His thrusts get messier and more frantic You feel the familiar coil building up in your stomach. You lift your hand from between your legs to press firmly against the area below your navel and the sensation is electrifying. You can feel his cock pistoning in and out of you from where you are touching. You can feel him rearranging your insides, molding your pussy to accommodate him and only him, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía.” he moans into your ear, almost whiney and you know he’s near the edge. He starts peppering kisses on your neck, licking, sucking, grazing the sensitive skin with his fangs but not sinking them in yet. He takes the hand you aren’t holding to rest on your hand on your lower stomach. His thumb reaches further down to stroke your clit earning him a shaky whine from you.

“Cum for me again, hermosa,” he lifts his head to look at your flushed face. You’re sure you look like a mess but to him, you’re more beautiful than the brightest twinkling stars on a clear night sky. “Let me see your pretty face when you cum.”

And with that, you’re gone, pushed over the edge, screaming his name, squirting clear liquid up to his chest. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hold on his hand tightens, and your legs on his shoulders shake and flail from another intense orgasm. There’s ringing in your ears but you faintly hear him cooing at you, whispering sweet words you can’t quite understand.

Miguel is still fucking into you with messy, frantic thrusts and ragged breaths but it doesn’t take long for him to follow, not when your velvety walls are pulsing, contracting on his dick. He puts a large hand on the space beside your head for support, his claws tearing through the pillowcase, as he drives his hips into yours a few more times before spilling inside you with a deep growl. He paints your insides with his cum as he rides his high with a few more shallow thrusts. You clench around him trying to squeeze as much cum out of him with your tight hole and he whimpers your name.

Both of you pant in unison, trying to catch your breath after that life-altering orgasm together. You turn your head to the side to kiss the inside of Miguel's wrist next to your head. Miguel doesn’t want to move. Everything is too perfect at that moment. You’re perfect.

But he has more plans for you tonight.

He takes your legs off his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he adjusts the both of you so he can lay down comfortably on top of you, putting most of his weight on his elbows on the bed. His dick still plugged in your hole, keeping his seed inside and refusing to part with your tight heat.

“Miggy,” you softly call him, looking at his relaxed face resting on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“... pull out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only because I want to,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to pull out. He gets on his knees again so he can at least watch your sloppy hole fluttering as he slowly pulls out. A thick milky ring of your combined fluid sits at the base of his cock. His eyes darken as he sees your cunt trying to clench at air and his cum starts to drip out of you. He can’t have that. He collects the trail of cum with his fingers so he can stuff them back inside of you.

“Miggy, come back here,” you pull at his hand and when he doesn’t budge, you add “You can just cum inside me more later. I need cuddles.”

That gets him to leave your fucked out hole alone. For now. Miguel kisses your stomach up to the valley between your breasts to your neck and lingers on your lips. He goes back to his earlier position on top of you. You drape your arms around his neck as you hum in contentment against the kiss. He smiles and moves to mouth at your sensitive neck, planting soft kisses, licking and sucking as he moans and pants in your ear.

“Miggy, I’m sleepy now,” you turn to look at him. You know what he’s doing. You know that he’s trying to turn you on again. And it’s working.

“You can do one more, mami. One more for me,” he says. He’s almost pouting, almost begging “You said I can cum in you again.”

“I didn’t mean right away. I just came three times already” you whined wrapping your arms around his broad chest. you want to feel him close.

“Mmm, you can cum four times. Maybe more because you’re such a needy little whore,” he murmurs into your neck, not stopping his ministrations. “My cum slut who loves being bred. We’re not going to end the night without your tummy full of cum I promise you that, cariño.”

You roll your eyes at him but you don't push him away and instead start playing with the short curly hairs at the back of his neck, ignoring the way your pussy shivered at his perverted words. You find comfort in his warmth and weight on top of you. You inhale his familiar deep masculine scent and it almost lulls you to sleep until you feel something wet and hard poking at your thigh.

“How are you hard again?” you say in disbelief as you look down and sure enough, Miguel’s dick is erect and ready to go for another round.

“It’s been a while since we had sex and my hand could only do so much to make up for your absence, cariño,” he huffs as gets up on his knees to turn you over and slap your ass. The sound of his palm meeting the sticky wet skin of your ass is undeniably lewd. “And what about needing to get you pregnant does not make sense to you? Get on your hands and knees for me. That baby is not gonna make itself.”

You plant your knees on the mattress and present your ass to him but you don't bother to lift your upper body from the bed. You keep your face down against the softness of his pillows. You didn't want him to see the giddy smile on your face from hearing that he hasn't slept with anyone else. His cum starts dripping out of your hole, coating your clit with creamy white and Miguel almost cums again on the spot.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His large hands grab at your ass, kneading them. His thumbs spread your puffy lips apart so he can watch your cunt try to keep his cum inside. You groan as you force your arms to lift you up. “There’s my good girl.”

He smacks your ass which earned him a yelp from you. His lips curl up as he watches the flesh of your ass jiggle from the impact.

“Get on with it,” you whine, wiggling your ass to entice him to move faster. For someone who wanted to stop at the third round, you sure are impatient to be filled again.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckles as he guides his cock back inside your wet heat. “There you go, mami. Back where it belongs.”

You moan loudly as you feel him grinding his hips, driving his dick as deep as he can reach inside you. Your eyes flutter close, as you savor the stretch of your hole around his fat cock once more. You couldn’t agree more with his words.

You hear Miguel from behind you input a command on a device. It beeps obnoxiously like it’s mocking you. It’s the last thing you want to hear while he is balls deep inside you, his girthy cock stretching you deliciously and filling you up so good. You think to yourself what was so important that Miguel can't put his gizmo down and enjoy the feeling of your warm, tight pussy on his dick? Right after insisting you can go for one more round?

You are about to snap at him for being ungrateful until a hologram appears in front of you. It shows a live video feed of his very own bed and a clear view of your fully naked self on your hands and knees getting ur insides rearranged by your boss. Your hair is a mess and your makeup is all smudged from how he made you cry from all the begging and overstimulation earlier. And he looks so big compared to you, having to bend low to align his hips with yours. You didn't even notice the recording devices planted around the room until now from how your brain was so fogged by lust. There seem to be at least three around the room from different angles. Well, it turns out he wasn’t just bluffing when he said he could record you earlier.

You wonder if he always had those set up. You haven’t really been to his room before. The few “encounters” you had with Miguel happened in his laboratory on his silly little platform, both of you too consumed by lust to think about moving to a more private area. It’s rather unlikely that they’re for actual safety reasons when they all just record the same area. You entertain the idea that him taking you to his room tonight is not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, that he might have all of this set up for tonight for when he has you writhing in pleasure on his bed. How thoughtful, you think. It makes you clench around his dick.

"You really are a pervert," you quip to annoy him. Clearly, the urge to mess with him hasn’t been thoroughly fucked out of you yet. You didn't even get to laugh at your own childish remark when Miguel abruptly starts thrusting his hips without warning, harder this time, dragging out a surprised whimper from you. His tip is bullying your cervix, testing the line between pleasure and pain but you love it. Your eyes meet Miguel's intense red glare on the screen.

"You're still talking," he tuts, his head shaking like he's some kind of pet owner trying to reprimand a disobedient pet "Let me fix that, cariño.”

He brings his large calloused hands back on you – where they belong, you think to yourself, echoing Miguel’s words. His left hand is firm on the flesh of your waist, you are sure they are going to bruise once he’s done with you. His other hand fondles your breasts, the sharp talons on his fingertips lightly grazing your soft skin. You know that when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning you’d look like you barely got away from being mauled by a feral beast, evidence of how Miguel O'Hara had his way with you and how you enjoyed every single second of it.

You cry out his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s so deep inside you that you can almost feel him in your chest, his thrusts fucking the air out of your lungs.

“Miggy, Mi…. Mig– ah, ah Mi– haaaa –guel ahhh”

Your eyes roll back at the continuous assault on your sweet spot and your cervix with every deep thrust. High-pitched whines come out of your throat as your arms give out from under you, making you fall face-first on the soft mattress. It all feels so good but overwhelming. You think you’re going to pass out.

“Que rico, mami,” he pulls your hair so you can face the screens. “Look at yourself. Beautiful. Taking my cock so well. Don’t worry. I have this all recorded if you’re too cock drunk to watch yourself now, cariño.”

You can't say anything back. You try really hard to come up with something but the only word that comes out of your mouth is “please” over and over again becoming progressively needier each time. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, his chest flushed against your back, allowing him to rock you back against his forceful thrusts.

“Gonn’ make sure I put a baby in you tonight, cariño,” he growls in your ear. “I can’t wait to see your tummy swell in a few months. You’ll look divine, I won't be able to take my hands off you even more.”

His eyes are back to a glowing red as they meet yours that are glazed over by tears and lust. His hand tightens his hold on your hair making you tilt your head further, exposing more of your neck for him to suck bruises on. Your tits are bouncing freely at his aggressive pace. Coupled with the high-pitched moans coming out of your mouth, it’s all so pornographic. It makes you feel like liquid fire is running through your veins and pooling into your stomach.

“You’re gonna cum for me? Let go. Come on. cum for me, mami,”Miguel grunts in your ear, his hand on your hair letting go so he can greedily grab at your tits. “I wanna feel your cunt pulsing on my cock. Can you do that for me? Of course, you can. Going to milk me dry.”

And just like that, you throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as another wave of orgasm crashes down on you. Miguel follows closely, filling you up with more cum that drips down your thighs and on the bedsheets. Your body slumps back against his, too tired to keep yourself upright. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes, content with feeling Miguel’s warm body against yours.

“I got you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and moving you to lie down on the bed. You hum in contentment, letting him care for your tired body. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead before he pulls away. You miss his touch already.

A beeping sound lets you know that he turned off the monitors. You feel him taking the soiled bedsheets, getting up from the bed to get fresh ones. You have half the mind to reach out to him and tell him he can clean up later so you can cuddle now. Your mouth, however, doesn’t want to move so instead you groan as you blindly reach your hands out.

Miguel chuckles at your antics, walking back with fresh sheets and a damp towel to wipe off the sticky mess from your body. He sits next to you on the bed and brings the towel to your tear-stained cheeks, gently dabbing the area around your eyes to get rid of the messed up traces of mascara and eyeliner. You take your hand to rest on your chest trying to calm your wildly beating heart.

The comfortable silence, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. You hear the unmistakable voice of Lyla cut through the air.

“Heeeey, bossman! Heeeey, girlie!” she drawls and your eyes snap open as you snatch the sheet from Miguel’s hands to cover yourself.

“Ay, coño! I thought I said no alerts tonight,” Miguel looks pissed, rubbing his face in frustration before moving to turn off his watch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! Sorry to interrupt the big night, Miguel, but it’s an emergency. Trust me you’ll want to fix this now,” Lyla raises her hands in surrender before Miguel presses a button. She turns to you, looking apologetic and asking for help “Then you can go back to babymaking, right, dollface?”

“I–” you flush, choking on your own words. You begrudgingly turn to Miguel, your lower lip caught in between your teeth. You lower your eyes as an ugly feeling crawls up your chest.

“It sounds important. You should go,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up any louder. “I’d say I can be back up but I can hardly move so you’re on your own, big guy.”

Miguel sighs and gets up, telling Lyla to send him the information and that it better be worth his time.

You are already sexually satisfied and tired – that’s what four orgasms could do to you – but you are a little upset and sulky that Miguel has to be called in for work right now. Stupid anomaly or whatever it is. It’s probably important and a universe out there might be in grave danger. But you can't help feeling like shit about it though.

You like how soft Miguel gets when he cleans you up after sex. You like it when he picks up your tired form and whispers soft words to you in Spanish. Plus, you were looking forward to cuddles. What’s the use of having sex in his room on his bed if not to cuddle afterward and wake up next to each other the next day? And then, suddenly, in the early morning light, realize that you’ve been madly in love with each other all along. Okay, you are more than just a little upset.

Miguel notices you pouting and your eyes getting glassy with tears as you try to roll off the bed. He shoots his glowing red web at you, trapping you where you are before going back to readjusting his watch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, walking back to the bed as he makes sure his suit is all good and ready for the mission. He kneels on the bed to drag you to lie on your back.

“What are you doing? I'm going to take a shower,” you sniffle trying to avoid his eyes “I’ll take care of myself. you should go”

He hums as he takes both your wrists in one hand and forces them above your head to secure them together with his webs.

“Miggy?” you look at him and there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. He darts his tongue across his lower lip and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

He doesn’t respond. He only keeps looking at you like he’s going to devour you once more. He brings your legs up to the position he had in before, knees to your chest, cunt fully exposed to him. You blush and your heart starts pounding in your chest. He shoots out more of his web, making sure you’re comfortable and your legs are securely tied in that position.

“Good?” he whispers and you nod in response “Words, cariño.”

“Perfect,” you moan, your chest heaving with need. He smiles at you fondly, caressing your cheek with a curled finger, and plants chaste kisses on your temple, your nose, and the corner of your mouth until he reaches your lips. He hums in contentment as he savors the feel of your lips against his. Then, he pulls away reluctantly and puts on his mask. He sets his watch to the right coordinates opening up a portal to wherever the universe needs saving.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ll make sure that anomaly regrets ever being made for interrupting my plans for our night,” he grumbles and gives you one last kiss through his mask for good luck. “And then it’s going to be all about you for the rest of the night, hm? I promise.”

He walks into the portal backwards so he can look at you until it closes and takes him away. Your heart flutters in your chest, anticipating what’s to come as you feel the webs digging deliciously into your soft flesh.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Translations:

Que linda - how pretty

muñeca - doll

cariño - dear/darling

Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am I going to do with you?

Qué haría sin ti? - What am I going to do without you?

conejita - little rabbit

pobrecita - poor thing

que rico - “[you] look good” (literal: tastes good)

Podría acostumbrarme a esto - I could get used to this

Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces - You're so beautiful. You don't know what you do to me

Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor - You feel so good. You were made for me, my love

Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía. - My beautiful girl, my sweet girl. Mine. All mine.

mami - mommy (as an endearment for a partner)

coño - pussy

A/N: so many thanks to my friend who helped me with translating and giving me tips on some better Spanish terms to use 🙏

[fairysongs]

౨ৎ pretty scary﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: you're having an awful day and your boyfriend is kind of the best person ever.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: reader struggles with bpd, reader has slight mommy issues, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, depictions of overstimulation (NOT the sexy kind), reader has slight mood swings, established relationship, silly fluff, spencer reid is the perfect boyfriend, hurt/comfort KINDA? (reader is upset, spencer soothes her), lowercase writing sorry it's a habit/my preference, Fiona Apple Mention <3

word count: 3.1k

a/n: omg.. hiiii! this is my first silly post on this silly blog and its a very self-indulgent one as someone who has bpd and is told OFTEN how irritable i can get -_- .. im so nervous.com right now bcos ive never posted my writing on here but also excited..? yes yes.. on a huge spencer reid kick so if u liked this and have any requests they are open!! likes/reblogs/any feedback much appreciated :3!

today was just not your day.

the morning started out fine. it was actually kind of perfect. you spent the night at your boyfriend’s place, waking up just in time to see him getting ready for work. there was a smile that crept over your lips as you watched him adjust the tie hanging around his neck. you propped yourself up against the pillows as he caught your eyes in the mirror adjacent to the bed. your heart swelled at the sight of a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” there was a little morning gravel in his voice but his tone was lighthearted enough to make you giggle. you fell back against the pillows, tucking one under your arm as you kept your gaze on him.

“what? i’m not allowed to stare at my boyfriend anymore?” you replied, a yawn falling off your lips. he playfully rolled his eyes in response, walking over to your side of his bed. he sat at the edge, one of his hands brushing some of your hair from your face.

“actually, no. they just passed that law last night while you were sleeping through coraline again.” you bit your lip, vaguely remembering begging spencer to put that movie on only to fall asleep on his shoulder twenty minutes in. you can only assume at some point he carried you from the sofa to his bed. you blushed at the thought, as if he hadn’t done it at least twenty times by now. clearly you weren’t used to the ‘princess treatment’ he liked giving you.

“oh, my fault then. please don’t arrest me, mr. fbi agent.”

“it’s dr. fbi agent, actually.”

“right…” you giggled again, beaming as he smiled down at you. “do you know if you have a case?”

“paperwork day.” his fingers started tracing small shapes against the skin of your arm. “of course if that changes, i’ll let you know. but hopefully it won’t. you can come over again tonight if you want. maybe we’ll finally finish coraline.” his voice was soft, ringing harmonies in your ear as you let your eyes flutter shut in the comfort. “need me to take you to work today?”

you hummed, reaching out to your phone sitting on his bedside table. you quickly rechecked your schedule and shook your head. “no, it’s okay. i go in a little later. it’s close enough to walk.” you tilted your head as you felt him tangle his hand in your hair again. spencer scratched delicately at your scalp.

“okay, my love. i washed the clothes you left here the other day. they should be in the second drawer of my dresser.” you nodded in response as he leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. you caught his jaw in your hands and pulled him downwards, giving him a proper kiss on his lips. he laughed quietly as you both pulled away. “have a good day, angel.”

“you too, baby.”

well to put it simply you did not have a good day. you got ready for your job at a local cafe and made it to work fine. it was when you got there that it started going downhill. you genuinely loved being a barista. you definitely had the personality for it. friendly, outgoing, kind and patient. it’s actually how you met spencer in the first place. but sometimes it was hard. especially with certain needy customers. most of your regulars were chill. you were actually friends with many of them, always asking about the new things in their lives whenever they’d come in. of course, though, there were always a few bad apples.

like this one particular older man. he came in every now and then and ordered the same thing every single time. black decaf coffee with a blueberry scone. he was always in a rather grumpy mood, not even your tender words could help that. so this morning when you gave him a black regular coffee by an honest mistake he made sure to let you know just how stupid and idiotic you were. you stood there at the counter, expression apologetic as he continued to berate you. eventually your boss told you to go in the back for a bit while she took care of things.

you practically ran to the bathroom, locking yourself in the tiny space as you tried to control your breathing. you could already feel the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. you absolutely despised how sensitive you could get. through shaky breaths, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, unlocking it with a small sob. you had a few texts and one missed call from your mother. one of the texts was from spencer, letting you know it was just gonna be a paperwork day and inquiring what you wanted to order for dinner tonight. the other texts were from your mother, reminding you about a family party that was coming up soon. there was another text after her missed call.

- Guess you’re too busy to talk. Just let me know if you can make it.

you closed your eyes, feeling the passive aggressive tone through the message. the best way you could describe your relationship with your mother was that she was both your best friend and your worst critic. she tried to support everything you aspired to do, but also hated the way you did them. it was... complicated but her text was enough to leave you in a sour mood for the remainder of the day.

you felt like you couldn’t catch up. you couldn’t get over that bump setting you back from having a good shift. your head felt like it was elsewhere and no longer attached to your body, your movements becoming monotonous and your words dull. to make things worse, your eighteen year old coworker was coming in for their shift an hour before you were leaving.

and you loved them, you really really did. often times you would joke about them being your work child, taking them under your wing. but they talked. a lot. most days you could keep up no problem but with the way your mind was on a downward spiral today, all you could feel was immense overstimulation as they yapped in your ear about the latest tv show they were binge watching. soon it was all too much for you to handle and you end up snapping at the poor kid.

“dude i’m sorry but i don’t really care. can we just be quiet for, like, five minutes?” you interrupted them mid-sentence, tired eyes looking over with a slight glare. you immediately softened, eyes wide with guilt as they looked towards you like a kicked puppy. you tried your best to stammer out an apology but was met with silent treatment until you clocked out.

they would soon accept your apology in the next coming days and you’d go back to normal because that’s how you guys were, but the guilt would eat at you for quite a bit. when you were a kid, your parents often praised you on how self-sufficient and respectful you were. in your adolescent years, with the help of an untreated personality disorder and your regular teen hormones raging inside your cage of a body, your behaviour would suddenly change. you found yourself more irritable. more prone to overstimulation. you internalized a lot of what you were going through because every time you tried to bring up your feelings, your mother would shut you down and it’d turn into a fight.

you expressed yourself through slammed doors and screaming matches. you bottled things up until they overflowed. it was how you handled the thunderstorms behind your skull. you would eventually get better in time, finally attending therapy and finding solace in little things like journaling. and when you started dating spencer, he helped a lot too. your brain could sometimes make a lot of irrational judgements and spencer would help you see reasoning instead. he was also insanely patient with you. especially in the first two months of you guys dating where you broke up with him upwards of five times. each time because you didn’t believe you deserved him. (you still don’t believe it, but at least now you’ve stopped trying to fight the good coming into your life.)

you would never forget the first time spencer met your parents. the night was going well up until dinner time when your dad decided to pull out your old high school yearbook. at first it was just classic embarrassment as spencer looked at your school photos. but then your mother, after one too many glasses of wine, brought up your old struggles with anger.

“be careful getting on her bad side, spencer!” she had said, waving a finger in the air. “she’s got a scary temper for sure! remember when we had to replace her bathroom mirror because she threw her hairbrush at it?" she spoke like she was a comedian telling her greatest joke in the world as she turned towards your father. "i can’t even remember what made her so upset! but i remember how expensive that fix was…”

“oh i’m sure i’ve dealt with far worse at my job, ma’am. i think i can handle her just fine.” he was quick to reply and the hand pressing on your bouncing knee beneath the table calmed any nerves of him looking at you differently. later that night he’d hold you as you sobbed in his arms, retelling different memories of your past. he made you a promise that he’d never see you as a bad person as long as you promised him you’d talk to him whenever you started to feel like one.

you were finally walking home after this exhausting day and it wasn’t until you were changed into your comfy clothes and curled in bed that you realized you hadn't texted spencer back at all. with your knees pulled to your chest and a low hum of a fiona apple album playing from your record player you reached across your bed for your phone. you had four texts from him and one missed call.

- Hi angel. Haven’t heard from you all day, just checking in. - Hi, you should be clocked out by now. Just wanted to know if you still wanted to come over? We can order from your favorite italian place. - One missed call from spencer ♡. - Are you having a bad day, my love? Or did I do something wrong? - I’m gonna come over. See you soon, angel.

your brows furrowed together at the last text, sent just about ten minutes ago. you could feel your eyes well with frustrated tears. you felt like shit for unintentionally ignoring him. you couldn’t even think of what to say to him, but you had to think fast because soon you heard a gentle knock at your bedroom door. with a sniffle, you stood to your feet and slowly opened it.

you met spencer’s eyes, they were desperately searching your face. trying to figure you out, trying to see what was troubling your mind. you hated it sometimes when he profiled you, but most times you were grateful he could just know when you weren’t doing okay. saved you the shame of having to actually vocalize your feelings. you stepped back as he entered your room.

“your roommate let me in. she said you went straight to your room after work and have been listening to nothing but when the pawn… by fiona apple.” he was still in his work clothes, the same ones you watched him get dressed in just that morning. felt like an eternity ago at this point. before you could even let your face fall to the ground, his hands were holding your jaw, tilting it upwards and keeping it in place. he always held you like you were made of glass. “bad day?”

“you could say that.” you words were short and you didn’t mean for them to be. you were just so exhausted. “sorry i forgot to text you back. it’s just been…” you let your words fall off, waving your hands in the air with an annoyed huff. you pulled away from his touch, slumping back into your mattress. he just watched as you ran your fingers through your hair, eyes shut tight as if you were trying to talk yourself down. he bit his lip, taking a cautious step forward.

“you look like you’re trying to compute a million things at once right now inside that little head.” he shrugged off the sweater draping over his work shirt, tugged off his tie and kicked his shoes off besides your bed. you laughed sarcastically at his words but bit your tongue from replying with a snarky comment. “did you know that one of the brain’s primary functions is to collect and process sensory information? it’s kind of like there’s a little guy in there, sitting at his desk and filing through every bit of information that gets thrown at you throughout the day.” your eyes were still shut but you felt a dip in your bed as his voice grew closer to you.

“when there’s too much sensory input, it can make the brain think there’s danger, sending off signals to the body to escape. that’s when your fight-flight-freeze response gets triggered. aka that little guy’s desk is suddenly on fire and every file has been thrown all over the place and the little guy, well, the little guy is running around screaming for help.” you feel two arms wrap around your waist and maneuver your body until you felt your head resting against the warmness of his chest. soon enough you also felt slender digits running through the locks of your hair.

“you seem to resort to a fight response i’ve noticed. your body feels like you can overpower the danger your brain thinks you’re in. resulting in intense feelings of anger. which can lead to irritability.” you feel him tracing shapes, the same ones he made on your arms earlier that morning, deep into the small of your back. he always did the same movement pattern and you always wondered if that was intentional or just a coincidence. “do you wanna talk about what’s going on in here?” he poked an index finger to the side of your temple. you shook your head. “okay. we don’t have to. but i will ask about it later, is that okay?” you nodded this time.

you didn’t realize it when it was happening, but the combination of spencer pulling you into his arms and his soft voice spewing factual information at you was enough to make your head feel almost empty. your body was melted against his, curled up in his touch. you let out a shaky breath, slowly raising your head, resting your chin on his chest as your eyes opened. “how did you do that?” you whispered, soft hues scanning his face as he just smiled down at you.

“a magician never reveals his secrets, my love.” you rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as his hand lightly brushed your cheek. he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. your lips twitched in thought, a tiny frown suddenly taking over your features. spencer tilted his head. “what is it, baby?”

your eyes fell to focus on his chest, your finger tracing over the fabric of his work shirt. “do you think i’m scary? like… when i get upset?”

“scary?” he repeated, voice in small disbelief that you’d even feel the need to ask. “no, i don’t think you’re scary. i think you’re beautiful. and i think your mind can be pretty mean to you sometimes. but that’s not your fault. hey, look at me please.” you let him guide your head back up, eyes meeting each other again. he smiled at you and it made you feel warm. “why do you think you’re scary?”

your shoulder shrugged with an exasperated sigh. “because it’s what i’ve been told my whole life. when i get too overwhelmed and i just feel nothing but anger i… i feel like i can get mean and i hate feeling that way. like, i always get too snappy and i always say something that’s gonna hurt someone i care about and i…” your breathing hitches. your lashes quickly blink, trying to fight any tears from spilling yet again. “i’m so scared i’m gonna get that way with you and you’re gonna leave me.”

he was shaking his head, thumb swiping underneath your eyes at the few tears that betrayed you and fell down your cheeks. he sighed out your name. “i don’t think you understand just how much i love you. if you think i’d leave you at something so silly like that. you know, i started reading up on borderline personality disorder after that night i met your parents. i wanted to understand it more. i wanted to understand you.” he continued wiping away your tears as they kept falling.

“i can’t even imagine what you go through inside your own head every single day, but i can acknowledge how hard you’re trying to cope with it. i see it all the time. i see it in the kindness you like to spread to strangers. i see it in the way you push yourself to learn new things and the way you stopped beating yourself up if it doesn’t turn out perfect. i see it in the way you love me, and more importantly in the way you’ve allowed yourself to let me love you back. you’re such a beautiful person, my love. it’s okay to have bad days and it’s okay to let yourself be a little mean sometimes.” he laughed quietly, noticing the way your lips were fighting a smile. he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “as long as you just communicate with me when you’re feeling bad. that’s all i ask.”

you sat there for a moment, admiring the way his big brown eyes stared at you. your eyes fell for a moment before picking back up with furrowed brows. “i snapped at my coworker today.”

“the teenager?” you nodded. “ah,” spencer’s hand resumed circling around your back as he hummed. “they’ll forgive you, i’m sure of it.” there was a pause and then a small hum coming from his throat. “are you hungry? hm? let’s order some food.”

he ordered you your favorite pasta dish from your favorite italian restaurant and you fell asleep in his arms in the middle of coraline again. he couldn’t help but admire you resting so peacefully in his arms and continued tracing the words ‘i love you’ over and over again into your back for the rest of the night.

[hypotheticalprose]

Dandadan Finale, or why cutting your season in half is fucking stupid

The end of Dandadan season 1 has rightfully frustrated or turned off some viewers, but I think the way that the story has been framed, especially by the abrupt ending mid-arc, has a lot to do with the reception. This is also a broader meditation on edgier scenes in storytelling and what, if anything, can justify their use.

Spoilers for Dandadan season two, so be warned I guess. Content warning for discussion of sexual assault.

Some people have pointed out that in the manga, Momo’s encounter at the bath is resolved in a single chapter as a point in favor of it being not a big deal. While that’s true, I don’t think that gets to the point of what turns people off from these kinds of things: the feeling of gratuity and lack of necessity. If something is included in a story for seemingly no reason, people are going to assume that the reason was self-indulgence. And it’s very, very reasonable to be creeped out by a story that seemingly self-indulges in that kind of thing.

The question that really matters is, what is the story trying to say with the inclusion of this scene? A clean-cut example of a challenging scene with a purpose is actually the first episode of Dandadan, where Momo’s fight with her shitty, abusive boyfriend is replicated shot-for-shot with her fight against the Serpo. In both cases, she is fighting back, but unlike the first time, when she only wins a moral victory by telling him to fuck off, in the second scene she demolishes the aliens, establishing that she is not a damsel in distress, but rather the protagonist of the story.

Let’s go back to the bathhouse scene and zoom outa a bit. In the manga, it’s established that the men who attack her in the bath are members of the Kito family, who also happen to be Jiji’s landlords and the main antagonists of the arc. At the same time that the men attack her, the Kito family woman barge into Jiji’s home, threaten him with a shotgun, and generally act similarly threatening. It’s also established that the Kito family see themselves as the guardians of their town, but the rest of the town seems to despise them; the men get chased out of the bath after Momo kicks their ass and are only saved by a corrupt cop in their payroll.

So, what is the story trying to say?

The Kito family are utterly entitled. Because they “keep the town safe,” they view any transgression as compensation for their sacrifice. The fact that they don’t actually sacrifice anything themselves is utterly irrelevant to them. Their matriarch even explicitly tells Momo that they “keep the hot springs safe” despite the fact that they do the exact opposite of that. The literal sacrifices that they commit is a mirror to this.

Another thing to consider: there’s a reason every member of the family is depicted as middle-aged or old. They’re a living embodiment of the entitlement of older generations; shitty parents, abusive landlords, creepy older men who twist social norms to their own benefit.

A secondary purpose of the bath scene is that it introduces Turbo-Granny’s luck-based powers that she gained from her new cat form, as well as demonstrating that despite her harsh words, she doesn’t tolerate the abuse of girls around her, including Momo. It’s a moment of camaraderie between the two of them that develops their bond.

So clearly, this is not an instance of gratuitous sexual abuse. It serves a purpose in the story. The problem is that it only serves that purpose as a small part of a longer arc. Making it a cliffhanger is an utterly incomprehensible choice, especially when the next episode doesn’t come out for six months. Holy shit, that’s such a bad idea! Removing the scene from its context makes it gratuitous! Frankly, it would be better not to have it at all if that’s your plan. It didn’t sit right with me, and I knew the context. For anime-only viewers, it feels like it utterly undermines the point made in the first episode. It makes Momo into a victim again instead of the hero. Ending the season like that is a betrayal of the story’s original message.

Science SARU remains one of my favorite animation studios of all time, but this was a missed input of gargantuan proportions. This is also why 12-episode seasons that are actually just half of a season are stupid as fuck.

One last point before I sign off on this: I think it’s very reasonable to not be interested in a story where sexual assault is played for laughs, drama, or horror. Even if it is technically proficient and serves a purpose, it isn’t for everyone. An example is Devilman Crybaby’s reboot, also by Science SARU, as well as Fire Punch and Chainsaw Man by Tatsuki Fujimoto. I wouldn’t just recommend those to anyone without warning them about the challenging elements. It’s no different from extreme non-sexual violence, or explicit consensual sex scenes, really. People have different comfort levels, and that’s totally fine. Lord knows I have my limits. I’ve been watching Ranma 1/2 lately, and I despise Happosai with every fiber of my being and skip every episode he shows up in. I’d kill him with a hammer if I could.

[hyunnie04]

muse

hwang hyunjin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 2.1k

synopsis: you can't decide what to give hyunjin for his birthday. a/n: very self indulgent theme/fic!! i like to draw myself so i thought i'd write about it for his birthday :> i apologize for being a bit late, irl obligations have been kicking my ass lately i'm sorry my hyune but i hope you guys like it! T-T

march was a month full of new beginnings. the year was only starting, january and february flying by like a breeze. remnants of winter still clung in the air and on the branches of the trees, pillowing them with the softness of white snow. it was also getting warmer, the chill no longer having its harsh bite and welcoming the inevitable pinks and greens of spring to come. and for you, new beginnings also meant taking on projects that you never thought you would be able to do. 

hyunjin's birthday was only a few days away, just a little less than a week from now.

you've spent the entire afternoon in a panic after the realization, racking your brain for any ideas, thinking what you could possibly do for his present only to come up empty handed. buying a gift for him is certainly the easier option and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, seeing as hyunjin was the type of person to appreciate whatever you give him, be it big or small, expensive or not. it was just the matter of wanting to surprise him with a gift that he most likely doesn’t already have.   

you sigh and rest your head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. your eyes silently wander towards the painting that hung on the wall of your tiny apartment.

it was painted by hyunjin himself, a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he had given you for your own birthday. you always loved staring at it, earning a place in your favorite corner of the room.

you often stare at it, delving into the intricacies of each brush stroke, how the colors come together in harmony, the symbolism and sentimentality behind it all, and just how much love was poured into making it. hyunjin truly had a talent in capturing the likeness and essence of his subjects, even the simplest ones.

it was almost tradition, how he makes his closest family and friends paintings when it was their birthday or when there was a special occasion. he used his oil paints that you've become familiar with, the dozens of tubes and pots of color messily strewn all across his little studio back at his dorm.

it was a such thoughtful gesture, painting that was. taking his time out of his day to make something out of nothing, showing that he truly cared about the person. whenever you would visit him on his days off, he was always immersed in his craft. adept fingers swiping over charcoal, hands dipping into paint, a sight you always love seeing. you still remember the photo you took secretly of him in his studio, blissfully painting the night away.

you drum your hands on the arm rest, returning to brainstorm for ideas, still in deep thought. and then it all suddenly clicked. 

you have always admired hyunjin and his work, so why not make him one in return? 

he was always giving others gorgeous pieces of art, he certainly deserved to have his own. you were no picasso and certainly no hyunjin, but the act of gift giving has always been your favorite way of showing your love.

you had a basic grasp of how the medium was used, having watched hyunjin more than enough times. the techniques he had taught you during one of your art sessions together might come in handy as well. the one and only problem was that it left you with such little time to finish it. oh well, it was better to start late than never.

the next day, you picked up and gathered the necessary materials from the art supply shop you knew hyunjin frequented, recognizing the different kinds of paints, sizes and types of canvases, and brushes that he likes to use. you laid them out on your living room floor upon arriving home, finally starting on your little project. 

the remainder of the days leading up to his birthday were spent awake during ungodly hours into the night, full of endless trials and errors, scrapped ideas and tons of caffeine. your living room became your makeshift studio, a tarp laid down the center to catch the unavoidable mess you surely would be making. learning a completely different and unfamiliar medium from what you were used to was difficult, but you were determined and your mind was set.

-

hyunjin was getting worried. it had been a few days since he last saw you, nonetheless heard anything. he understood that the two of you were quite busy people, not always finding the time to talk. but after five missed calls and maybe a dozen texts over the span of two days and no reply? he was ill at ease.

maybe he was overreacting, but he knew that you would've at least sent something to acknowledge his texts. he decided to ask his friends about your whereabouts, asking if anyone had contact with you, only earning head shakes in return.

"have you tried going to their place?" chan asks the ravenette, leaning his back on the dance practice room’s mirrored walls. hyunjin huffs, mouth forming into a slight pout, shaking his head no. practice was getting more challenging as the comeback and schedules started to pile up, his attendance becoming crucial.

"you can go later, we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow." his hyung removes his cap, fluffing his curls underneath. hyunjin breathes out a sigh of relief, sending him a quick thank you.

the older of the two nods in understanding, reaching a hand out to hyunjin upon standing on his feet. back to practice they went.

it was the night before his birthday. getting stubborn paint off your brushes was the worst, is what you've learned these past several days of non-stop painting. even with the appropriate solvent, the paint can and is still clinging stubbornly onto its fibers; leaving you in the bathroom sink to scrub them tediously under soap and some warm water.

your hands start to ache with all the scrubbing, perhaps growing tired as well from the painting, but you'd like to think that the momentary pain was worth it. the composition of it was finally starting to come together. the work flow became easier once you figured out a concept and a theme you were happy with, inspiration and motivation coming in effortlessly now. it only needed some last few touches, you could only hope he would like it as much as you ended up liking it too.

after the brushes were cleaned to the best of your abilities, you pat them dry, leaving them on the counter for the time being.

"y/n? are you home?" your hands still at the sound of the front door opening. it was undeniably hyunjin's voice. 

you and hyunjin lived apart despite dating for quite a long while. it was a mutual agreement that it would be more convenient for the two of you to live separately, his job requiring him to live closer to his place of work. you gave him a spare key so he could come by whenever he liked, but you didn’t expect him at all to drop by today.

you originally thought nothing of it for a moment, even brushing it off. but then the panic started to set in. he would see it right away, the canvas sitting right in front of the living room with no cloth to cover it. if you go out now, you might have a chance of covering it up before he finds out.

rushing out of the bathroom after wiping your hands dry, you've quickly noticed how it had suddenly gone quiet. you peak around the corner, seeing him standing idly in the middle of your living room, still unaware of your presence.

it was too late. you see the familiar ebony locks greet you upon arriving. his mouth practically hanging open as he stares at the easel facing him, winter coat slung heavily on his left arm.

"surprise?" you flush upon seeing his head whip towards your figure, leaned against the arch of the doorway. it was also a little embarrassing, not having the time to clean up. 

"is...that me?" he says in quiet disbelief. you can’t quite decipher if his reaction was good or bad but you nod, coming up to stand beside him. he stares at the canvas once more, no doubt taking in the details of it. you start to feel a little anxious under his gaze, silently wondering if he likes it. 

"it's not done yet, that's why it looks a little rough." you pause, hesitation lacing your voice. he would eventually find out, having already seen it. “it was supposed to be your surprise birthday present.” is what you ended up saying, speech meek and low, barely audible. 

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he turns his eyes back to you. a noticeable redness staining his cheeks.

“wow,” he breathes out, tilting his head closer to gaze on the finer details. hyunjin pauses for a moment before replying. “this is beautiful.” his voice light, feathery. his fingertips, slender and lithe, hovering above as if to trace it. relief washed over you hearing him say it, your nerves easing and cheeks warming in return.

“you think so?” you purse your lips before smiling gratefully at him, noting the masking tape still plastered on its borders and small parts of it still unblended but thank him earnestly nonetheless. 

“i figured since you always make people art on their birthday," you took to move to the couch, the ache in your body starting to take its toll. "i thought i'd give back and make you one too." 

hyunjin was, in short- moved. the portrait was of him sitting in his art studio, the sun falling and spilling on his form peaking through the windows. although his elegantly curved back was turned and it was impossible to see his face, it was unmistakable that it was him.

he was truly not expecting anything, he was just happy with the prospect of just being with you on his special day. the thoughtfulness, sentimentality, and affection that came with making gifts with him in mind, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he already did. his eyes are lost in yours, the contours of his handsome face highlighted by the dim lights of your living room.

“i know it's bad but-”

hyunjin doesn’t let you continue, pulling you into a sudden kiss, throwing his coat on the couch haphazardly. your immediate response was to wrap your hands around his neck, hands wandering up and towards his hair. you could feel his smile on his mouth as he kisses you, grabbing the nape of your neck to steady your form. the kiss is intoxicating, feeling the love upon his soft movements, his warmth contrasting the chill from outside.

when he parts from you, he’s giddy, and jumping around like the happiest ferret you’ve ever seen. the wisps of hair fall to his temple, framing his beautiful face. “thank you, darling.”

“even if it’s not done yet- i love it,” he presses another kiss to the side of your mouth. “so much.” you could only laugh in response, completely flustered and enamored by his reaction.

hyunjin pulls you towards his chest, both arms locking around your shoulders. you could smell the perfume he always likes to wear. “is this why you weren’t picking up your phone?”

“my phone?” you pat your pockets in search, only to find it missing. your mind must’ve slid away, not knowing at all where it was but you could search for it later. “oh, yeah. m’ sorry.” the apology is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he hums, his worries fading. you thought he was going to let you go, but he retaliates by resuming to press more kisses into you.

“okay, okay! thank you. i’m glad you like it.” you untangle his long arms from your body in order to stand up while hyunjin watches you do so, curiosity in his eyes. you already miss the warmth he radiated. 

“but, technically-” you start by grabbing the easel and placing it near the wall and out of his view, grabbing the stray tubes of paint off the floor and putting them away in their basket. “it’s still not your birthday.”

his plump lips form into a pout as he continues to watch you clean up. “and i’m not quite done with it yet so you have to wait.” placing a quick ‘boop’ to his nose, you head to the bathroom to freshen up for bed.

hyunjin checks his wrist watch as he follows you suit, his white teeth poking out. his arms catch you once again, wrapping you from behind. "it's 12."

amused by his antics, you let out another laugh before turning around in his hold to face him again, pressing a kiss on his soft lips.”in that case, i’ill finish it as soon as possible and-”

"happy birthday, my dearest."

-

please reblog or leave a comment if you like my work! it motivates me to keep writing ♡ all works are written by hyunnie04, please do not repost on other sites.

[claws-and-quills]

Stay With Me

A/N: This was a little more self-indulgent for me, ngl. Old Man Logan seriously deserves more love and attention.

CW: mentions of blood, old scars, talks of death

Word Count: 1,391

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Everything felt like a blur. Where had the time disappeared over the years? You clenched your teeth, looking at your beaten and bloodied reflection staring back at you in the mirror. Your hands still trembled with shock, pain, and adrenaline. Your stomach churned at the sight. Blood stained your blouse that was now riddled with bullet holes.

“Logan?” You finally work up the courage to call out to him. The back of your throat burned with unspoken emotions. You could hear the soft grunts echoing down the hallway; your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. “Logan?!”

Swallowing thickly, you rush out of the room. How long have you been out? An audible gasp falls from your lips at the sight of him slumped tiredly against the wall. He looked to be in just as bad of shape as you, if not worse. You fall to your knees in front of him, tenderly cupping his cheeks in your hands. His gaze meets yours, a soft grimace at his lips.

“Hey…m’not dead yet. I'm not that easy to kill just yet,” He cups your cheek in his hand. Your stomach tied itself into knots at his words. Time has been so cruel to you, and to especially Logan; the reality felt like a swift kick to your gut.

“Don't say that. I know you're no spring chicken, but….that's something I'd rather not think about…” Your eyes remain focused on his, searching his features, memorizing every scar, every crease, every perfect little imperfection. 

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest; though, he immediately winces at the movement. Life had been so much darker, harder even ever since the X-Men had slowly dwindled and smoldered down to mere foggy memories. You slowly take one of his hands into both of yours and tenderly kiss his knuckles. Tears picked the corners of your eyes. This was never how you imagined life would be; not like this, not living day to day with fear of the unknown. It felt as though it took every ounce of your energy not to let the tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks.

Logan furrows his brows tightly as he watches you. His eyes, though tired and painful, soften at the sight of you. He could smell the fear, the pain, and the relief that radiated from your body. He cups your cheek with his other hand. His fingers were rough and calloused against the tender skin of your cheek, but you didn't mind it one bit. You lean into his touch, savoring how his hand felt on your skin, how his natural scent still held onto the aroma of rustic oak, leather, and a touch of mint.

“Hey…m'just a little banged up. Don't heal like I used to before. It's going to take more than this to keep me down…” His voice was soft, hoarse even as he fought to speak through the pain. You knew he was right, though. You were blessed and cursed to see him over the decades, centuries even,  as time slowly kept its way onto his face and across his body. You nod stiffly, slowly opening your tearful eyes to meet his gaze. “C'mon, don't cry. Hey…I'm still alive now, aren't I? Don't cry, Pretty Girl. Please…”

“Lo…” You croak, your voice shaky and uncertain. Your eyes finally open and rest on his tired face. You slowly get to your feet, tugging at his hand to try to get him to follow. Just as in your younger days, he refused to budge at first. Grunting, he slowly gets to his feet, and the small clink of spent bullets hitting the ground followed him through his movements. “You look a mess…” your voice was hushed, barely a whisper. The expression in your eyes told Logan everything he needed to know and hear. He didn't try to put up a fight, nor did he try to give you a hard time; in a rare moment, he let you lead him away to be properly cared for.

You cover your mouth to keep another gasp at bay after you have worked his bloodied beater up and over his head, revealing the bullets that were still lodged deep within his chest, arms, and abdomen. It was painful for you to watch as he struggled to force the bullets out from the wounds they had left behind within his skin and body. The breath you were holding became stuck in your throat, almost suffocating you as you watched in painful silence.

“Lo…” you say softly and slowly wrap your arms around him from behind. His skin was hot against your cheek as you rested your cheek against his bare back. Hot tears began to roll down your cheeks. You couldn't hold it back any longer; the pain became too much to hold back. You press a tender kiss against his back between his shoulder blades, followed by another over an old scar that had been left behind from what you only imagined had been a sentinel. With every metallic clink that came from the bullets that fell into the sink, you could feel Logan's body tense and relax, forcing the bullets out.

He slowly rests his hands on top of yours; his fingers tenderly caressing your arms. For a second, you could have sworn you heard him exhale a shaky breath before he turned to face you. His eyes were soft and concerned; his gaze tenderly fixed on you. Your eyes finally meet his. He looked tired, pitiful even. It felt as though a thorn bush had wrapped its thorns around your heart, tearing into it with every beat.

“Stay with me…please…” The words fell from your lips without a single thought. He tenderly takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up towards his.

“I'm not going anywhere…hey…I promise, I'll never let go…” He rasps softly against the top of your head. His lips press a tender kiss to the crown of your head as he wraps his arms around you tightly. “How bad is it…did they hurt you…”

You shake your head against his chest. Parts of you were unsure as to how much of the blood that was on you was yours or the agents that had hunted you and Logan down. You didn't care if you were injured; all you knew in that moment was that you didn't want to let go of him. A soft breath catches in your throat at the sensation of his fingers hooking into the bottom of your blouse, tugging it up your body to be gently pulled up over your head and gently dropped onto the floor. Your wounds had healed for the most part, but you still appeared to be in rough shape.

“I'm okay…I…let me help you…please…” You speak softly, to which Logan nods. Standing on your tiptoes, you place a chaste and tender kiss on his lips. His arms snake back around your body, pulling you in close against his chest.

“Only if you let me help you…” He murmured into the kiss. His thumbs rub small circles onto your hips. You finally nod, sniffling as he pressed his forehead against yours.

Once in the shower together, the hot water felt heavenly against your and his sore body. The pain in his eyes faded away as he watched you. His eyes close at how tenderly you caress his chest, pressing a chaste kiss over his heart. A soft, quiet, appreciative moan rumbles deep in his throat near the top of his chest as you start to wash the dried blood away from his chest and arms. It was the small intimate moments like this that made him fall in love with you all over time and time again.

“I'm sorry, Darlin’...” His voice is soft. You lift your gaze to see him watching you with soft, loving eyes. “I'm sorry you have to endure this…all of this…”

His words felt like a hot poker had been stabbed through your heart. You shake your head slowly. “I would rather go through 1,000 hells with you than live in a 1,000 heavens without you…”

He cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you in close for a tender kiss. “I love you…”

“I love you too, Logan. Always and forever…” You whisper softly against his lips.

[inmyloveworld]

i'll look after you (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~1.3k

synposis: "don't think, just do," was a challenging mentality to live by. but bradley quickly finds there is a balance to be had between thinking and doing.

warnings: allusions to anxiety, work abuse, overthinking

a/n: another hurt/comfort, who's surprised? this has been sitting in my drafts with an unfinished smut ending for a month but i’m electing to post without it as i’m not confident in my ~other~ writing abilities yet.. enjoy!

It was rare that the Navy ever let its aviators off early for the day; even more so for the elite members of Top Gun. Yet, with the clock barely stroking past a sunny four, Bradley was reclined on the sofa with a beer in hand. The house was spotless thanks to a shared cleaning spree the day prior. Nothing could have made for a more perfect turn of events.

But Bradley was pondering on the few texts he'd received that day. They were void of any of the color and character he was used to. None of the words exaggerated their spelling, and periods punctuated every short sentence. Everyone had once remarked him as a chronic overthinker both in the air and on the ground. It was easy to dismiss the gnawing he felt in his gut as the remnants of that mentality.

So, he cracked a Heineken and let himself indulge in uncommon solitude. The flat screen played his favorite drama to placate his mind. A subtle hunger led to perusing online menus for takeout ideas. Every little bit of stimulation was a welcome distraction from his pompous presumptions.

And then he heard it: the abrupt slam of a car door. Fumbling footsteps made their way to the front stoop followed by a clamoring of keys against the painted wood. Bradley grinned as he awaited the arrival, even through the slight tug of worry in his chest.

He watched as you stumbled inside without care. Shaking hands hung up tightly gripped keys and those same fumbling feet kicked off their shoes in frustration. Your shoulders rose and fell sharply with every short breath.

Was I overthinking?

Bradley had yet to see your face, had yet to meet those eyes always bright with excitement. Your face remained tucked toward the wall with each passing second. Swallowing his hesitation, Bradley spoke over the TV. "Baby?"

Your body reacted in shock, jolting up as your head whipped around.

I wasn't.

Hot tears were rolling down your cheeks. Said cheeks were splotchy, proof that these tears were far from the first you'd shed that day. The bright eyes he adored were puffy and red. Their brightness now was not out of joy but sorrowful watering.

Bradley's heart clenched tightly. "Oh, angel," he cooed, hurrying to displace his Heineken to a coaster and mute the TV. You had little time and no energy left to fight his comfort. As your boyfriend stood before you with open arms, you crashed into them.

He wasted no time in embracing you. Sobs broke past your wobbling lips and muffled against his shoulder. "I've got you, babe," Bradley soothed. "I've got you, it's okay. Just let it out."

All you had ever wanted was for someone to support you whenever life put you through the wringer. Bradley felt it a great privilege to be that support, knowing you'd do nothing short of the same for him. He almost cursed himself for letting his insecurities derail his intuition for you, but dismissed the old habit of self-deprecation. Nothing mattered more in this moment than helping you get back on your feet.

"I- I didn't know, you'd be ho-home," you blubbered. The comment irked something in him. How long had you been coming home in a similar state, putting yourself together just in time for him to get home? Were there more despondent texts or other warning signals he hadn't picked up on?

Each hypothesis built a greater desire to look after you, and to follow up on any twinge of doubt he felt. He needed not only to think but to take action on what he thought. "Shh, none of that, baby. None of that. You can always let go around me, okay? 'Can always tell me what's bugging you."

The words lifted heaviness off of you little by little. You cried more at the safety you felt in his words. Bradley guided you, leaden-legged, to the couch. He sat first before gently tugging you atop his lap.

Warm palms rubbed against your cheeks to dry them. Warmer brown eyes sunk into yours, unconditional love seeping through every glint of gold. "Do you wanna talk about it now, or later?" Though not wanting to let your feelings fester, Bradley didn't desire to press you for answers.

He watched as you took in a steady breath and nodded slowly. "Work's just.. just been really frustrating." You sniffled before continuing with anecdotes of being overworked and underappreciated.

Bradley continued to rub softly at your skin as you spoke. His lips pressed assuring kisses to your temples at times you got too worked up to continue. He gave every ounce of care and attention he could to your stories as you vented them out.

You slumped forward in his hold as you finished with a heaving sigh. Another soft kiss was pressed to the crown of your head. "Thank you for telling me, baby." His hands took up rubbing up and down your arms to help ease any remaining tension.

Bradley wasn't sure what he could say or do to make any of this better for you, to help resolve your problems in one fell swoop so that you never had to feel this way again. At the same time, he wasn't sure that a fix-it attitude was what you wanted or needed.

Don't think, just do.

"I want you to know that you're amazing. You work your ass off in everything you do without any promise of reward, and that's really admirable." You lifted your head slightly to see him, to see the sincerity dripping from his praises. "But you deserve recognition for it. It's not fair that you're continually overlooked for fuckheads who don't do a fraction of the shit you do. And it's not fair that you're made to feel so much less than you're worth. I'd kick all their asses if I could." His empty threat broke a small giggle from your lips as grateful tears replaced those of frustration.

Bradley returned your smile with one of his own before resuming a serious tone. "You don't ever have to put on a show for me, okay? I want you to know you're safe to come to me with anything, even the littlest complaints that you write off as whining. Do you ever think I'm whining about Jake getting on my nerves? Or Maverick getting too tough with me in the air?"

"Sometimes."

"Okay, that wasn't the best example." You laughed again, louder this time, and Bradley felt his chest swell with pride. He leaned forward to catch your lips against his, softly, allowing you to take the reins. The kiss stayed soft and sweet as you melted against him. Soft breaths filled the space between you as you parted, resting foreheads against one another. "I'll always look after you, angel. Don't forget that." You nodded in agreement before kissing him once more.

"Thank you."

🏷️: @avengersfan25