#So yeah sometime I’ll draw them!

[chloesimaginationthings]

I’m really curious how you would draw the Five Missing Children.

Technically I’ve drawn them! Only the movie versions though, sometime I’ll do the game ones too!

[hizznbyte]

I like how my Kittisaurus/Creamheroes designs were the thing to improve my shape language in art LMAO

If I redrew them I’d make em even more geometrical!! *TT turns into a triangle* ..okay maybe not that geometrical…

[pixlokita]

Why don't you allow them to do dubbing for you?

While a few people have been polite enough to ask and properly credit there’s a quite a few dubs that didn’t get permission, didn’t credit properly if at all… even credited the wrong person on purpose. And don’t get me started on people using AI voices to “dub” comics (also without crediting the source) . At least put in the effort. That’s just reposting art at this point :’> anyway it gets depressing when people say they’ve seen your art but couldn’t even find you because of that. I love the dubs that people were nice about tho 💖 it means a lot that they’d go out of their way to do that sincerely because they just liked the comics or contributed to the ideas somehow but yeah it got pretty overwhelming and bad after a while.

[void-tiger]

You said I’m not a “real musician” because I don’t have an operatic voice. Well fuck you. A different director with more degrees including a doctorate he’ll throw around as clout insists that I am, and a different retired opera singer is pretty disgusted by that attitude of “ONLY Operatic Voices Are Worthy To Study Music” of yours.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[disformer]

ITS BEEN SO LONG!!! Posting what I’ve finished from the Texaid comic I’d been chipping away at in my free time :,)

Atm i’m not sure if id be comfortable finishing this or posting the unfinished pages, and i’ll go into why a bit more under the cut, but for everyone who waited… thank you, you are so patient like the cobra 🥺🫶

Texaid is so beloved and important to me, and i don’t think that’s news to anyone who’s followed me for any length of time. I always come back to them, and even leaving a project like this on hiatus for so long I still felt pretty comfortable leaving this on the burner bc I knew I’d be back.

And with my work sometimes I do have to take fandom hiatus breaks! But I got a slightly confused dm from a friend at one point that said ‘hey man, did you know everyone’s crediting your designs to someone else in the fandom’ and ???? it was true!

And I know how obnoxious it is to see an artist get on their diva shit and claim design elements, but it’s important to know that, at the time, I was one of like three people posting texaid, and the other two were Japanese artists on twitter.

My redesign has my fingerprints all over it; those big circular rotaries on his shoulders? A mistake! I got my references mixed up at one point and just kept rolling with it because it was funny! His pointy teeth and nose and boots and fingers and eyebrows? I’m bad at squares! I was doing everything in my power to avoid drawing squares!

And people have asked if they can use my redesigns in their own au’s in the past, and i’ve always said no (especially in regards to texaid) and that’s because they’re personal to me. My vision of Texaid is something I projected a lot of my own personal romantic past onto, they were my first nsfw art, my first real emotional outlet after getting kicked out of home for being trans and was starving in a flop basement. Vortex’s design was cooked up out of the primordial soup of my brain at a time when I was at my most raw. Texaid doesn’t belong to me, but i redesigned them for a reason, and that was to distinguish the fact I was representing something personal.

So to come back to the fandom and see my boys and the dynamic i drew with the serial numbers filed off, with zero acknowledgement of my influence or even crediting another artist entirely… I feel really bloody hurt. Especially after watching the way this fandom viciously ran off an artist of colour for much less prolific art theft.

It kind of feels like y’all don’t care as long as you like the content. And idk if i want to keep posting in a space like that, where my niche vent art gets repackaged into something more marketable, and I go unacknowledged.

So yeah, might be the last time I post my texaid stuff publicly! If they’re that important to me and I get this upset when theyre cribbed, and if i feel like yall can’t rly be trusted, then Im just gonna keep it in dms with besties. Thanks for hearing me out xoxox

[pearlymel]

A Slow life

ft. sylus. Just comfort in general, they're married, your honor. mention of kids (they have one boy and twin girls mweheheheh) , tiny bit suggestive but fluff. 1.1k words.

It’s late now.

After a long and exhausting day, Sylus made it up for you by drawing a hot bath, full of bubbles and scents you liked (and a few herbs that would help soothe sore muscles according to Mephisto).

Sitting behind you in the tub, Sylus’ large frame pressed against your back. His chin is resting on the top of your shoulder, with his arms wrapped around you as he holds you against his chest.

And you're fairly relaxed. too relaxed until you remember your little troublemakers, “are the kids back?”

“Mm, they’re back,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck, “they’ll be asleep by now, it’s pretty late.”

He’s just quietly holding you, enjoying the feeling of your body in his arms, the warm water surrounding you both, and you grab a flower petal that had been floating around you.

“You alright?”

"Yeah, just making sure the twins looked after them, I should thank them somehow," you hum with a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I’m sure they’d appreciate that,” Sylus muses, his hand gently rubbing your side, “I’m happy to hear you say that, though,” he adds while burying his face into your hair.

A hand snaked back up to his hair, "You're a cute dad, you know?"

“Don’t know about that,” he huffs, but the sound is a little more embarrassed than usual, “you’re a great mom, though,” his lips slowly trails over the slope of your shoulder. “Our kids are lucky to have you.”

You finally turn your head around, twisting your slightly sore body so you would be able to face him, and you're careful not to splash the water or precious petals out of the tub.

Your hands finds his face, then your lips follow.

He makes a low noise of surprise, but it quickly morphs into a pleased hum as your lips meet his. He gives a gentle pull at your waist, guiding you to shift until you're straddling his lap.

His hands smooth over your body, large hands roaming down your waist to settle on your hips, holding you snugly in his lap.

"Hey," it's hard not to smile, especially when you know that Sylus is only like this for you.

Sylus chuckles, “hey back,” he murmurs, he still holds you steady, hands moving to your hips to keep you from wobbling, but he also moves a finger to lazily feel the strands of your hair between his fingertips.

"We were supposed to relax."

“You know how hard it is for me to relax while you’re in my lap?” he drawled.

You squint your eyes, "I can feel that, idiot."

“Oh, can you?” He grins, “mm, my apologies,” he sighs almost dramatically, “Guess I can’t help it, sweetie.”

Your pinch his cheeks playfully in return, "behave. we still might have to bake something for the twins."

Sylus’ lips turned down in an almost sulky look. The pinch actually makes him pout, something he would never admit to (that would take away from his big bad onychinus leader image.)

“I’ll behave.” he grumbles, “for now.”

"Be good. For now." you repeat.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, “I’m usually good,” his arms wraps around your waist again when he notices you leaning closer.

Your husband can be silly sometimes.

Your lips are on his skin, lazily whispering, "you bring me comfort."

He huffs a low laugh. but the way he’s holding you, he knows that you can hear the truth in his voice, even though he’s trying to sound sarcastic and witty. He knows that you could feel everytime he comforted you in a way.

He loves being your comfort. Being your safe place. Your anchor.

"But seriously I..." you rub your cheek against his shoulder, "you're everything."

“Mm,” he hums. likewise, he wanted to whisper.

You blink slowly, and Sylus can already see the telltale signs of your drowsiness, “you’re not allowed to fall asleep in the bath, honey.”

You lift your head up, "would you carry me out if I did?”

“Of course I would. ”

"Dry me? Clothe me comfortably?"

“Clothe you, tuck you into bed,” he hums, leaning back to grab the fluffy, soft towel he had prepared, and he brings it up to gently pat at your skin and hair.

“And get in bed with you,” he adds, his voice turning into a quiet murmur.

"Hold me tight?" you add on sleepily.

“Keep you safe, watch over you,” he carefully tries sitting you up, to carry you out so he could properly dry you.

You yawn, "and the kids..."

“I’d make sure they were okay, too. Then I’d crawl into bed with you, hold you while you slept.”

…

You wake up feeling surprisingly refreshed, and more importantly, well-rested. Sylus made sure you actually did sleep, and he held you through the night, just as he’d promised.

As your senses adjust, you’re first aware of the pleasant warmth seeping into your back. He’s pressed up against you, as close as possible, an arm slung lazily over your waist.

"Sy.." you were about to mumble, but you still listen to how deep in sleep he was, so you let him rest, even sacrificing his arm under your head. what a loving husband.

His breathing is steady and quiet behind you, and every so often—particularly if you start to move—he’ll tighten his hold on your waist, pulling you back snugly against him again.

"Sylus," you whisper, turning around slowly, carefully making sure not to bother him.

That is, until he feels the soft brush of your fingertips against his skin. It’s a barely-there touch, but it’s enough to stir him, he gives a low groan, lips giving a small frown as his half-lidded crimson eyes follow towards your hand.

You giggle quietly, he's so adorable when he frowns in his sleep like that.

“…What are you doing?” He asks with a slight morning rough voice.

"Watching you."

“You know that’s a little weird, right?” He pretends to be annoyed, but if he was fully awake, then you'd see those pink hued cheeks.

"Go back to sleep, honey." you peck his forehead before gently stroking his hair, as if trying to lull him back to sleep.

He’ll deny it, but he loves when you play with his hair.

This is his favorite way to wake up. To open his eyes and find you there, your hand running through his hair, fingers tracing his scalp.

He leans into your touch as he gives another low hum of contentment, the sound vibrating against your neck.

[lazysoulwriter]

sweetest man alive - pedro pascal.

requested! hope u enjoyy.

---

Pedro’s curls are extra fluffy tonight, the result of too much nervous hand-combing in the dressing room. He’s sitting on the iconic couch of The Graham Norton Show, sipping on water even though there’s a fancy cocktail in front of him. There’s a buzz in the studio—part excitement, part anticipation—because everyone knows the topic’s about to shift to her.

They've just wrapped up a chaotic segment with a comedian and a pop star, and Graham leans toward him with a knowing smirk. Pedro already senses it coming.

“So Pedro,” Graham begins, drawing out the syllables, “the internet’s in shambles over you two going official. How’s life treating you now that you’re a proper, public couple?”

The audience oooohs, claps, and Pedro—sweet, soft Pedro—blushes immediately. He tries to hide it behind his glass but he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Oh God,” he says, voice already a few decibels higher, “are we really doing this?”

“Yes, we are,” Graham says smugly. “You posted the photo. There’s no going back.”

Pedro shakes his head, laughing. “I didn’t post it, she did! And I asked for it. I begged for it, actually.” He leans back into the couch, one hand pressed over his chest dramatically. “I saw the picture and said, ‘Please, you have to post this. The world deserves to see how hot we look together.’”

The audience laughs, and Graham raises his brows. “So you’re fully leaning in, huh?”

Pedro nods, then softens instantly. His shoulders relax, the smirk fades into a fond, half-smitten smile.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly now. “I mean, I’ve never felt like this before. It’s just… easy. Like, we’re laughing all the time, she annoys me in the best way, I wake up and she’s there and I’m like, ‘Oh, cool, I get to do life with you.’”

The audience lets out a collective aww, and Pedro looks mildly flustered again, running a hand through his hair.

Graham chuckles. “You’re glowing, man. You’re like—radiating love.”

“I am in love,” Pedro says without hesitation, completely unbothered by the way the crowd reacts. “Like, I’m an actual mess. I hear her voice and I start smiling like a fool. I wait by the door when she’s coming over, like a golden retriever. It’s embarrassing. I’m disgusting.”

More laughter. He leans forward, as if to confide in the whole audience.

“She sent me a video of her dancing in my kitchen the other day,” he says, beaming. “Wearing my hoodie. Just dancing like a weirdo with the cat in her arms. I’ve watched it at least fifty times. I show it to everyone. Even people on set who didn’t ask.”

Graham’s laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. “Pedro, this is honestly the sappiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“Yeah,” Pedro shrugs. “She ruined me. I was a cool, mysterious man before this.”

“No, you weren’t,” the pop star interrupts playfully from the other couch.

Pedro points at them. “Exactly. I wasn’t. And now I’m not even pretending. I just want to brag about my girlfriend and how good she smells and how nice she is to everyone, and how sometimes I catch her making playlists for me and pretending like it’s not the most romantic thing in the world.”

Graham grins. “You’re officially the softest man alive.”

“I’ll take that title proudly,” Pedro says, placing a hand over his heart. “Long live the soft kings.”

The segment ends with the audience clapping, Pedro still smiling like he’s holding onto a secret, one that smells like his hoodie and dances in his kitchen with a cat in her arms.

---

[rumisgf]

YOUR BEST EATER ! - JJK EDITION

summary: jjk characters i think can eat pussy the best and who i think would not. that’s really it, i’m telling yall who the munches are. enjoy some pussy eating headcanons :D !

warnings: explicit obviously, black!reader, discussing f!receiving oral, use of the title daddy (once), cursing, slight crack, slander but i’m kidding kinda

GOJO SATURO - 10/10

✧ he’s sick in the head.

✧ i hate him truly. he gives good head and he knows it.

✧ he loves making it messy, he wants your arousal all over his face

✧ he wants it on the sheets by the time he’s finished

✧ he also likes making you cum multiple times, so don’t expect mercy

✧ he gets a kick out of watching you squirm and writhe under his touch

✧ and not only is his tongue magical, but he knows all the methods to make you scream for him

✧ he uses fingers and all that

✧ he’s definitely made you squirt from head

✧ the type of head he gives will have you soaked before he even fucks you

✧ yk the song that’s like ‘i’m the type of guy that’s gon eat it ‘fore i put it in?”

✧ yeah, that’s gojo

“one more, princess? hm?”

“yesss- please ‘toru!”

“good girl.. want you to make a mess all over my tongue”

GETO SUGURU - 9/10

✧ he’s a good contender for sure

✧ he’ll act like he doesn’t want to at first but it’s all a facade

✧ he can’t let you know he’s a fiend too early of course

✧ but when he finally does, boy are you surprised

✧ toe curling. jaw dropping.

✧ he’ll have you creaming on his fingers while he sucks on your clit like a madman

✧ it hurts so good and you never want him to stop

✧ and he licks your clit so attentively, he looks at each facial expression you make

✧ he draws perfect circles with his tongue

✧ it’s definitely not his strong suit (but shit that’s saying something)

✧ i’ll give him his flowers though for sure

✧ he gives the type of head that has you aching for him to put his dick inside you already

“taste so fuckin’ good. love this pussy, baby- ‘s all mine.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO - 8/10

✧ he’s one of those guys who swears up and down he doesn’t eat pussy

✧ he does.

✧ first time he went between your thighs, you thought you saw god

✧ whenever your hips lift up and you start squirming from all the pleasure, he presses them back into the mattress

✧ and he edges you while giving you head

✧ he’ll have you screaming then stop just to hear you beg for him to let you cum

✧ he’s still a sadist at the end of the day, he can’t let you have too much fun

✧ either that, or he overstimulated you until there’s literal tears streaming down your cheeks

✧ he loves making you cry from head

✧ if he’s not having you gag on his dick as he throat fucks you, this is his other way to see tears stain your pretty face

✧ whenever you squirt from him giving you head, he feels very satisfied with himself

✧ he can never give head for too long tho because the sight of you dripping pussy right in front of his eyes makes him so hard it hurts

“stay fuckin’ still brat. let me taste this pussy.”

SUKUNA RYOMEN - 2/10

✧ he doesn’t eat pussy.

✧ yeah, sorry.

✧ he’s a literal demon idk what else was expected

✧ in all seriousness, he’s not too fond of giving head

✧ but, he does enjoy fingering you though

✧ his fingers are often plunged into your hole while make out sessions and it’s his go-to for foreplay

✧ he’ll have you on his lap and play with your cunt until you’re crying

✧ and if you have toys, he loves overstimulating you with him

✧ this is often how he punishes you (sometimes he just feels like it, though)

✧ but long story short, this man will NOT be your best eater

“ry- fuck! daddy please- can’t take it!”

“nuh uh, this is what you wanted doll. let me take care of ya.”

NANAMI KENTO - 10/10

✧ if gojo’s not your best eater, nanami’s definitely your best eater

✧ he’s got every tongue and finger combo down packed

✧ he gets down. he do NOT play.

✧ he’s definitely a pleasure dom at heart so he believes you deserve good head from him

✧ and he also doesn’t talk at all while giving you head

✧ it’s almost amazing how focused he gets

✧ his form of communication is looking up at your fucked out face, filling his ego

✧ he likes eating you at after he fucks you

✧ that way he can fuck his cum back into you with his tongue and taste your arousal at the same time

✧ it’s also a way to overstimulate you that he can be slick with

✧ whenever you’re in missionary, he always has your legs bent to your ears so he can pull out and lap at your pussy whenever he wants to

✧ it’s a rush getting fucked into oblivion then getting your soul snatched as he slurps up all your juices

✧ he also enjoys how wet he makes you, so you taste so good when he does

✧ he spits on it. that’s all i have to say.

“k-kento.. so good..”

CHOSO KAMO - 11/10

✧ OHHHH LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING

✧ you thought i wouldn’t put him above gojo and nanami? you’re wrong.

✧ this man is a munch. he’s a fiend. it’s pathetic.

✧ he’ll eat pussy on his knees, matter of fact he loves it

✧ he loves when you trap your legs around like yes please don’t let him breathe he might nut right then and there

✧ he whimpers while eating you out.

✧ he won’t say it, but he likes spelling out words in your clit

✧ he mostly just spells his name

✧ and he loves how you taste, so he can eat you out forever

✧ you have to tap out for him to stop because he really has no self control when it comes to eating you out

✧ and please, sit on his face.

✧ and actually sit on it. this man doesn’t wanna be able to breathe

✧ he’ll leaves fingerprint marked bruises on your ass cheeks from gripping them as he works his tongue from under you

✧ him eating you out always has you squirting before he even fucked you yet

✧ he also enjoys tasting the mix of yours and his cum after he fucks you

✧ choso gives head so good you wanna have his kids

“babyyy- ‘m c-cumming!”

“f-fuck, taste so good baby. need you so bad.”

@ rumisgf

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner. 

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I really love your writing so much, could I request something with Spencer (maybe with intern reader) where he is helping her/teaching her something related to the BAU? Like close proximity and they’re all sweet and and awk maybe he’s even trying to be a lil flirty

Thank you!!!

Thanks angel!!

cw: HR violations? But like they're welcomed and really not inappropriate outside a professional context so

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 658 words

Spencer does this thing with his eyes. Usually they’re moving constantly, taking in every detail of your surroundings and analyzing body language and microexpressions while you’re talking to him, but occasionally they’ll lock on you with such focus it's disorienting. His eyes are a soft, warm brown. You don’t know how to handle Spencer Reid’s full attention. 

He’s saying something to you in that quiet voice he gets when you’re alone. Something you should definitely be paying attention to, something about your witness testimony next week. You can’t stop looking at him. 

“...good instincts, you can use them. Hotch wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t think you were ready.” 

“But I,” you swallow, trying to focus, “I shouldn’t go off book, right? I should just review the profile?” 

Spencer’s lips twitch. You get the sense this is something he’s been over already. “You should use the profile,” he says, “but sometimes the defense’s questions go beyond what we talked about. You can draw conclusions based on the profile. We trust you.” 

“Big mistake,” you mumble, half humorously. 

Spencer smiles. You really could sink into his eyes, you think. It would be easy. 

“You’ve trained with us for a long time,” he reassures you. “You study hard. You can do this.”

You rub your lips together anxiously. Emboldened by his faith in you, terrified to lose it. Spencer doesn’t move his gaze. 

You clear your throat, swiveling around in your desk chair. “Could I go over my notes from the case with you? I’m worried I’ll miss something.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You hear his chair roll closer. 

You skim through your files, pretending not to feel the warmth of his body heat against your neck and back. Spencer would never intentionally push the boundaries of professionalism, but you think sometimes your closeness makes him forget them. Your team is a family. Spencer doesn’t really treat you very differently than he would Emily or JJ, can’t know that his hand on your elbow or his knee bumping yours means so much more to you than you imagine it does to them. He rolls his chair as close to yours as it can get to see your screen better, mindless to the way his chin brushes your shoulder as he leans in. 

He hums, the buzz of it so close you shiver. 

“It’s not very organized, sorry…” 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, eyes on the screen. “They’re your notes. You should keep them however works for your brain.” 

He sets a hand on the back of your chair to reach for your mouse, scrolling. You catch yourself holding your breath. 

You force a slow, steady inhale. You can smell him. Laundry detergent and something vaguely coconutty. You wonder if it’s his soap or his shampoo. 

“You don’t have very much on the weapon choice,” says Spencer. “I know it seems obvious to us, but a jury won’t know about what that reveals. You sort of have to spell it out for them.” 

“Oh, thanks.” You reach the keyboard, tingles skittering up your arm where your elbow brushes his. You type in some additional notes. 

Spencer’s looking at you again. “You okay?” 

“Hm?” 

“I know it feels like a lot of pressure.” His voice is gentle, considerate. “But you don’t have to be nervous.” 

You finish typing and turn to face him. You watch his eyes widen momentarily as he realizes how close you are, too. Brown eyes, deep brown, deeper pupils pushing outward. He doesn’t move. 

“I think I’ll probably always be nervous,” you admit. 

Spencer smiles softly. “Maybe. You’ll always be capable, too.” 

You mirror him, your lips curving. “Thanks for thinking I’m good at my job.” 

“You are good at your job.”

“Well, thanks for helping me to be.” 

Spencer’s still smiling when he lowers his chin an inch, letting it rest on your shoulder. You hold your breath. That, you think, has to be intentional. 

“Anytime,” he promises.

[hyruling]

“So. How are you really?”

Buck stares into his mug, thumbs the smooth edge. The ride from the airport had been all stilted conversation; funeral logistics and small talk and updates on Chris, on Maddie and the rest of the 118. Eddie pointed out the Dairy Queen that opened a few miles from the house sometime in the two months he’s been gone. Buck told him about his gym flooding three weeks ago. It got pretty quiet after that, conversation ultimately turning towards the inevitable, and neither of them seemed inclined to break the seal. They made it home in record time by LA’s standards, and Buck pulled into the driveway with an uneasy sort of relief.

Eddie had hugged him, at least, in the middle of the crowded baggage claim. Dropped his duffel and wrapped both his arms around him, held him longer than anticipated. The scruff of his stubble scratched Buck’s neck, and just before pulling away, Eddie ducked his chin and pressed his mouth to Buck’s collarbone for one loaded second. And that had felt — normal. Not normal. Left him wanting more.

Now the coffees been brewed, the bag put away, suit hung safely in the closet. Their knees press together under the table, a grounding point of contact that he leans into. Eddie just looks at him, looking soft and rumpled from travel, and Buck wants to touch him again so badly his fingers ache with it.

“I’m—“ Buck starts. Stops. “I don’t—I don’t know, Eddie.” He scratches idly at his neck, an itchy feeling under his skin that he can’t settle. “I’m just kind of going through the motions, I think.”

It’s the most honest he’s been in weeks. He’s not sure it makes him feel any better.

Eddie nods and sips his coffee. Buck picked up a bottle of his creamer yesterday, and Eddie gives him an appreciative little smile around the lip of the mug.

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to be anything right now.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps saying,” Buck says with a half-hearted laugh that Eddie returns. They each take a drink, and Buck asks, “How are you?”

Eddie sighs and looks towards the window. “I’m… it’s still a little surreal, to me. I haven’t been—I’ve been so removed out in Texas, it’s like—like it’s not real to me yet.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. His phone buzzes with a text from Ravi that he ignores for now. “I kind of feel that too.”

Eddie frowns, mouth twisting in a familiar way he hates.

“I should have been here,” Eddie says, hushed like a confession. He stares at the placemat, tears starting to form in his eyes. Buck’s already shattered heart breaks impossibly more.

“Don’t do that,” Buck tells him. Eddie shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “You can’t go down that road, Eddie. He—he wouldn’t want that.”

“I should have been here sooner,” Eddie clarifies, still avoiding Buck’s eyes. “I know—no one could have known what would happen. No one will ever know if I could have—if I could have changed anything. And I’ll just—I’ll have to live with that. But I should’ve gotten on a plane the second you called, I should have been here with you, I’m—fuck. I’m sorry Buck.”

“Hey, no, come on. Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie ignores him, gone somewhere Buck can’t reach him. His arm is right there, his hand clenched in a ball on the table only inches from Buck’s. He lays it over Eddie’s white-knuckled fist before can think better of it. It works, draws Eddie’s attention back to him, flicking between Buck’s hand and his eyes.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers.

Slowly, Eddie relaxes — he unclenches his fingers, lets them splay out beneath the weight of Buck’s hand. Buck watches, entranced, as he twists his hand around to hold Buck’s hand properly, fits his fingers between Buck’s. Squeezes gently.

He’s always had such beautiful hands. Big and warm and perfectly sized to fit in Buck’s, knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with now that he has it.

“I don’t hold anything against you, Eddie. You have to know that. You were exactly where you needed to be, Chris needs you more than I do. You—I’m not yours to worry about.”

“Yes you are,” Eddie says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s known, a simple fact of the universe. But to Buck, it’s as if the world that had stopped spinning two weeks ago shifts beneath his feet, shudders with the effort to start turning again.

Eddie doesn’t look away, even as his cheeks go pink right as Buck’s do. He doesn’t let go of his hand either, thumbs over Buck’s knuckles in a way that has the potential to ruin him.

“I’m—really glad you’re home,” Buck admits quietly.

Eddie smiles, soft and crooked — and though their world has irrevocably changed, Eddie’s smile still has the power to flood him with warmth.

“Me too.”

[airborneice]

can we talk about how @the-hilda-librarians-wife is just out here writing poetry in the tags like it’s no big deal

@sketchbookweek Day 3 - Sun & Moon / Family

you know I had to bring up my sketchbook kid Mattie for this one. in my mind this is like…impromptu midnight storytime bc someone woke up the entire household and now she’s almost settled no one wants to get up or go back to bed

(Kaisa has become a little more comfortable with openly doing magic by this point, partly because of reconnecting with Tildy in season 2 and partly because no matter how shoddy her spells come out, they never fail to entertain her kids, especially her youngest. Kaisa does the best stories in this house. no child can resist magic floating pictures)

[hoshifighting]

Whai kind of camboys would svt be? What content eo of them would offer?

       seventeen as camboys

WARNINGS: smut, public sex, fingering/handjob, sub/dom, degradation, porn, tantric sex, porn asmr, dirty talk, edging, denial, sex toys, porn filters, amateur, sex partners, masturbation, forced orgasm, hand fetish...

seungcheol dom daddy af pov. full-on bdsm content. he’s got the handcuffs, the restraints.. he’s the type to sit back, shirtless, broad shoulders on full display, he’s telling the audience when they’re allowed to touch themselves, making them wait until he gives them the okay. sometimes he’ll tease by stroking himself, not showing his cock on camera. uses a mask too. and prize draw a fan for him to fuck on the channel's birthdays.

jeonghan edging and denial. always with someone new on cameras, he’ll start his stream fully clothed, just smiling that devilish grin, playing with his hair, “oh? you want me to take it off?” but he’ll drag it out for so long, giving lil’ peeks of skin here and there. sometimes he’ll straight up dip after a tease. he moans all breathy, making eye contact with the camera.

joshua hear me out.. asmr & dirty talk. joshua’s got a voice that’ll melt you, so ofc he’d be doing those long, drawn-out sessions where he’s whispering right into your ear, breathing heavy like he’s right next to you. audio experience—close your eyes, and it’s like he’s fuckin’ you with just his voice. “you want me louder? fuck, i’ll give you loud.”

junhui body worship. there for the visuals, his streams are all about him showing off—slow, oiled-up body shots, flexing, maybe even a lil’ self-praise thrown in. “yeah, you like what you see?” it’s basically softcore porn for your eyes, just… him flexing and jerking off like a fuckin’ greek god. “fuck, i make you so wet, don’t i?”

hoshi messy sex, rough sex & overstimulation. everything with hoshi is physical af, like he’s tryna fuck you through the screen. the type that even gets the camera dirty. absolute chaos. every stream is like a workout, sweat dripping down his body while he’s all breathless, flexing between rounds. “fuck, lemme catch my breath,” he’ll say, grinning at the camera, then he’s back at it, moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors.

wonwoo public sex. wonwoo’s always in public spaces, daring his partner to keep quiet while he fucks them somewhere they could get caught. or just masturbating in public. “don’t make a sound, or we’ll get in trouble.” dirty whispers, his hands everywhere while people walk by, totally unaware. pure adrenaline. all of that with him looking around, and them looking at the camera through his glasses.

woozi hands-only content = fingering&handjob masterclass/tutorial. man’s got skills, and he’s showing them off. finger-fucking a silicone cunt or fisting a dildo, or his cock, while he mutters filth under his breath. it’s like a fuckin’ anatomy lesson. he’s so damn precise with it, it almost feels unfair. you know he could make you cum in record time.

minghao tantric sex & roleplay. minghao’s streams are straight-up sensual. artful af. his streams are like some softcore art film, everything in slow motion, dim lights, silk sheets, slow burn. it’s less about the dirty talk and more about the vibe. but when he does speak, it’s smooth, deep, and straight to the point. “you’ve been waiting for this? let’s make it worth your time.” every moan perfectly timed, like he’s orchestrating the whole experience.

mingyu sub humiliation. big puppy turned sub, tied up, begging for more while he gets humiliated. he will moan pout, getting all flustered when called a good boy. the humiliation only turns him on more—loves begging. the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

seokmin sex toy review. mr. too sweet, all polite, “hi, how was your day?” then he gets into it and fuck, you’re blindsided. he’s got this wholesome look, but once he starts testing the toys, he’s so vocal too. moaning, breathless, almost embarrassed at how into it, because he needs to talk about the whole experience, he gets but also loving every second. the type that reads mostly of the streaming comments. “i hope you have a good night.” he’ll flash that sweet smile, by the end of the stream.

seungkwan mean dom, forced orgasm. this man is cruel in the best way. he’s tying someone to a chair, not letting them cum until they’re crying, pleading with him. “aww, baby, you’re all messed up, huh? too bad, i’m not done.” won’t stop until you’re a wreck. every tear is a turn-on for him.

vernon twitter-porn-style, faceless porn. faceless, purple bedroom lights, and it’s just his giant cock on display, no face, no extra fluff. the vids speak for themselves. slow strokes under fuzzy lighting, letting you focus on just the action. simple but devastating. maybe a low grunt or two if you’re lucky.

chan amateur couple content. chan’s a full boyfriend experience—enthusiastic af, experimenting, maybe even bringing in a partner sometimes. he’s loud, whimpering when he gets close, showing off how excited he is to try new things. you’re in it together, and his moans are infectious.

[beesspacedotorg]

Third Leg?

Summary: after spending time with Minho after exams, you remember something he said in the heat of the moment about your packmate Jeongin. You decide to confront Jeongin about it, because after all, what's the worst that can happen?

Warnings: sex. uh. poly ot8 and reader. more omegaverse. continuation of Dibs but can be read on its own. breeding kink?? manhandling ??? reader is lowkey a brat, uh. Jeongin's dick is huge. I actually don't know what else to add, so let me know if there's another thing I should put in here. reader is an omega but gender and genitals are unspecified as always

notes: I got possesed by a demon when I was writing this. I don't even have a breeding kink. Also if the title is bad, no. this is my first time writing Jeongin, so if it's bad no it isn't. this is his very late birthday present. Happy Birthday, King.

to read: Dibs

In most things, you try to be reasonable. It does not come easy to you, it doesn’t come easy to most people. You wish your pack would be more understanding of this sometimes. You know that’s an unfair thing to say about, to say to, your pack, but you can’t help it. You really don’t want to, you really can’t spend Jeongin’s rut with him. It’s the middle of the semester, you’re still convinced the Luna doesn’t like you, and you’d prefer not to think too hard about your relationship with anyone else. You’re comfortable with Hyunjin and you’re comfortable with Changbin. Everyone else, you think, couldn’t care whether you were around or not.

“That’s unfair to think, dove. Of course they want you around. We want you around.” Hyunjin says, he’s holding your face in his palms in a way that he often does when he talks to you.

“I know, but I really don’t feel comfortable yet, it’s only been a couple months, and it took me so long to get used to being around you.” You huff and you can feel a heat forming behind your nose. “I just really- I don’t want to spend Innie’s rut with him. I can’t.” Hyunjin hums affirmingly and swipes a finger under your eye to cut off a tear, but otherwise makes no comment about your crying.

“You want them to stop pushing,” he says, and you nod at him.

“I want them to stop pushing.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. But, please don’t say we don’t want you around. We do. At the very least, I do. Okay?” You nod at him and smile slightly as he kisses your nose, it turns into a laugh when he gets insistent, peppering kisses all over your face until you’re shoving him off and smiling wide at him.

-

“So.” You have a spoonful of cereal halfway to your mouth when he comes into the kitchen. In all reality, you aren’t supposed to be here. You only stopped by for a quick snack before you went to head into work, but then there was something at the shop so your boss told you to stay home. You’d intended to detour to the campus library instead to catch up on some homework, but between your first and second bowls of cereal you had switched out of your outside clothes to sweats and an old t-shirt, and now you’re standing three feet away from Yang Jeongin.

“So?” You set the bowl down on the counter.

“You don’t want to spend my rut with me.” You draw your shoulders up to your ears defensively. You think something in your scent must turn sour because you see Jeongin wrinkle his nose.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not mad or anything. I just wanted to know if you’d tell  me why.” You pause, picking up your spoon and stirring the milk around the bowl, listening to the clink clink clink of metal on ceramic. Something about his question confuses you.

“If?”

“Yeah, ‘if.’ I don’t want to pressure you for information if you’re not ready to give it. If you’re uncomfortable with spending my rut with me, that’s fine. If you don’t want to tell me you’re uncomfortable, that’s also fine.”

“I don’t want to tell you why.” He shrugs. You’re surprised at how easy that was.

“That’s fine. I have another question though.”

��Hmm?”

“Could we hangout, or something? Before you steer clear of the house for a week and a half, I want to spend time with you. Unfortunately,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ve come to enjoy your company and if I don’t spend some time with you I might do something drastic.” He’s slowly approaching you now, crowding you against the counter. He’s given you plenty of time to walk away or move, but you haven’t, so he continues.

“Drastic, you say.” He hums, taking your bowl and putting it in the sink, not bothering to rinse it out.

“Drastic like breaking every single door that separates the two of us just to make sure you’re safe.” He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder, nose against your neck. His hair smells like baby powder, like his shampoo that you and Hyunjin sometimes steal. You can feel him shake with laughter when your scent changes with arousal as he gets in your space.

“You’re easy.” You hit his back slightly.

“You’re mean.”

“Will you hangout with me, though? I was mostly serious.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll hangout with you.”

“Great,” he says, and you let out a small shriek as he drags you in the direction of his room. The door is halfway closed when he yells across the house.

“I call dibs until my rut starts!” You can hear the groans and complaints through his now shut door.

-

So, you spend time with him, both before and after his rut, and nobody comments on how annoying it is that you’re monopolizing his time like you thought they would. There’s a point where Hyunjin interrupts you because he wants Jeongin’s dick in his mouth, and when you move to leave, they both start complaining. (You left anyway, not being ready for that just yet, but the idea made you feel warm regardless.) 

You don’t get to spend much time with him after that though, because then you have Minho and exams flooding your vision and your senses, and while one of those things is enjoyable, the other isn’t and for two seconds you’d like your brain to be off. Just for two. That time comes and it’s as you’re waking up from your post-fuck nap with Minho that it hits you.

“You said Innie was talking about me during rut?”

“What? Sweetheart, we just woke up.” Minho is rubbing his eyes, smacking his mouth, and blinking cutely. You feel the urge to pinch his cheek but worry that would land you in hot water so you just poke it instead.

“Yes, I know, I know, but. You said Jeongin was talking about me during his rut.”

“Yes? Why do you sound so surprised? You’re our Omega after all.” You flush again at his casual claim on you, he keeps catching you off guard with it.

“He never mentioned it to me.” Minho yawns and slings his arm over your waist.

“You were busy, of course he didn’t mention it to you. Besides, you seemed so … hesitant to spend his rut with him in the first place that he probably didn’t want to mention it at all.” You frown, brows furrowing as you think about it. You move to get out of bed when Minho stops you.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To talk to Jeongin.”

“It’s too early for one, and for two. I have some things planned for us.” His hand wanders up your shirt.

“But-”

“I thought you had learned enough to stop arguing with me? Does your mommy need to teach you a lesson?” He says this, but he’s not holding you back. If you wanted to, you could leave this bed and camp outside of Jeongin’s door until he woke up. But you don’t. You don’t even know what you want to say to him, and Minho is tracing soft circles on your skin and you’re struck with undeniable want. You ease yourself back into bed.

“That’s my pretty Omega. So good for me, hmm?”

-

You don’t get to talk to Jeongin until several days later. You’re too busy sleeping like the dead for a day and a half, then Chan steals you away for a celebratory dinner date, then when you finally get the chance to talk to him, you walk into his room and find him and Yongbok making out, so you’ve had to curb the conversation for later, until now.

“Innie!” He’s slipping his shoes on.

“Yeah?” He never ties them, you notice, ties them once and then slips them on and off over and over again.

“Where are you going?”

“On a walk.”

“Great.” You walk over to him and shove his jacket off his shoulders, then kick at his feet until he takes his shoes back off, and start dragging him to his room.

“What.” He’s confused despite the fact that he’s the one who let it get this far.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Okay?” He sits down on his bed, patting the spot next to him so you can sit too.

“Minho mentioned that you talked about me during your rut.” It comes out of you in a rush. Jeongin’s face flushes red. He covers his face with his hands, his huge hands with their stupidly long fingers.

“Ah. Yes. I did. Are you upset?”

“Am I up- Am I upset?” You’re incredulous. “One of the hottest men I’ve ever seen and one of my Alphas wanted me during his rut and you think I’m upset?”

“Okay, to be fair. You didn’t seem too thrilled about the idea of my rut to begin with.”

“I was new to the pack!”

“You’d been with us for three months!”

“Like I said, new!” He huffs and knocks you onto your back, laying across you in the way you’ve seen the others do to him.

“Why did you come to talk to me about it?” You flush at his question and you can hear his little chuckle. The members joke that he learned how to be mischievous from Minho and Seungmin, and you’ve never seen it more than right now.

“Oh? I see.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“Minho hyung says you like when people are mean.”

“Minho said what?!”

“I’m kidding, he refused to tell us what you two got up to, but now I know that I’m not too far off.” You grab a pillow from behind your head and smack him with it. He moves himself until your noses are touching and smiles at you. You smile back and poke around his face until your finger lands in a dimple.

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?” His voice is soft, low, because of how close he is to your face and he smirks when your scent fills the room. 

“You do?” You nod at him and he tuts.

“Minho’s taught you better than that.” You huff and pout at him. He laughs and kisses you.

“I’ll let you get away with it because you’re cute.” You beam at him and he smiles back.

He starts with kissing you, because of course he does. It’s soft and sweet and a little hesitant and it’s similar to the way you’ve seen him kiss Yongbok, but different from the way you’ve seen him kiss Seungmin and you’re struck with the realization that he sees you as something soft and precious. That he’ll hold you with the same amount of delicacy he uses to hold Felix and your heart stutters in your chest for a minute.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” He’s pulling away, looking at you with wide eyes as your scent changes. “Did I hurt you?” You shake your head at him, pulling him close for a hug for a minute as you calm yourself down.

You’ve never had a pack before, your culture has moved away from it. You had to move from your family for school and since then you’ve been relatively alone. It’s been a while since you’ve felt loved, and when you’re faced with the sheer amount of it the eight of them have to give it overwhelms you every time. He hasn’t hurt you, it’s the opposite.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Ah, I see. Hyungs’ said you might cry a little. That’s okay. Do you want to stop?” You shake your head at him, answering with a verbal “no” after he stares at you pointedly. You lean in to kiss him again and he responds with the same gentleness he did before and you can feel yourself slicking up in your pants. You hear him take a sharp inhale and then you feel his grip tighten where his hands were resting on the side of your face and neck.

“Jesus, I can see why hyung keeps you to himself all the time. You smell so fucking good.” He stops kissing you to start making out with your neck, you can feel him starting to scent you and you tug at him, whining.

“Innie-”

“Yeah, I know, but-” he cuts himself off with a groan and you can feel his hips press into yours and dear God.

“Is that your leg?”

“No.” You whine again. There’s no fucking way his dick is that big. You tell him so.

“Well. Prepare to eat your words because it is.”

You huff at him again, and really, he should spend less time around the more sarcastic pack members because his attitude is making your eye twitch. He sees it and smiles mischievously at you before landing a soft peck right below the same eye.

“I’d like to see how you handle Hannie or Seungmin hyung. They’re worse than I am.”

“They also probably move faster than you do.” He grumbles at you at that and gets to work undressing the two of you. He’s sliding his hoodie off when you’re filled with the urge to bite his biceps. They’ve gotten bigger since you’ve been introduced to him and you think it’s crazy because you hardly ever see him work out. Suddenly, there’s a large palm against your forehead and any forward movement you had started is quickly stopped.

“What are you doing?” You can feel your teeth click together as your mouth closes and you blink a couple times.

“Nothing.” He squints at you.

“You were going to bite me, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“You’re a liar!” You’re being manhandled now, and you refuse to go down without a fight. You grab a pillow and nail him in the face with it.

“I am not! I’ve never- don’t pull my hair- I’ve never lied!”

“You’re doing it right- why are your nails so fucking long- right now!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Did you just fucking- ow! What the hell?” You finally manage to get your teeth on his arm and it’s just as great as you imagined it would be. Your victory is incredibly short lived because between one second and the next Jeongin has you pinned to the bed. Your cheek is pressed against the mattress and he has your arm twisted in a way that’s mildly uncomfortable, but that’s overshadowed by how you can feel him pressed against you to keep you pinned. He’s all lean muscle and you can feel where his shoulders press against yours and where his cock is pressed against your ass and if you tilt your hips just right, you can feel him brush against your slick hole.

“Oh? Does my pretty Omega want something?” You can hear the laughter in his voice. You can also hear how it’s dropped three octaves and you can feel it rumbling from his chest. You can feel how his cock is starting to leak against your skin.

“Jeongin-”

“I think,” he grabs your other arm, pinning your wrists at the small of your back, “that if you want anything you should beg for it.”

“Innie, you’re not being fair-”

“I’m not being fair? You bit me. I have you pinned. If you want anything from me, you’re going to have to work for it.” You turn your head into the mattress and let out a small sob, wiggling a bit in Jeongin’s hold. His hands loosen on your wrists and he lifts his weight off of you enough that you could get out if you wanted to. Minho did this too, gave you signals with his body to let you know that it was okay to not want it, the problem is that you do. You like how Jeongin has you pinned, and you like the humiliation that’s going to come with begging for it.

He notices you haven’t moved and so his grip tightens on your wrists again. You feel the chuckle he lets out as he presses his weight down onto you again and you know your scent must be doing something because he inhales with his nose pressed straight against your neck.

“Get to begging, baby. I have all night.” You whine at that, wiggling and trying to push your hips back against his to fuck yourself onto his cock, but he pulls his hips back, readjusts until you couldn’t reach his cock unless you dislocated something and he laughs at you.

Jeongin does have all night, it turns out, because you spend a considerable amount of time with your forehead pressed into the mattress trying to will the shame that comes with wanting out of your body. At one point, he asks you if you’re alright, dropping the act for a bit and when you respond he resorts to taunting you.

He’s doing it now, taking his ridiculously large dick in his hand and gathering some of the slick that’s leaked between your legs to jerk it. You can hear the wet noises it’s making and you can’t help but think of how much louder it would be if he were actually fucking you. It turns out that your Alpha was thinking the same thing because he starts talking, and each word chips away at the lump in your throat.

“Fuck, you smell so good, baby. Your slick is so warm, I bet it’d be warmer if I got it straight from the source, yeah? What do you think? You’re leaking so much you’ve made a wet spot on the bed, maybe I should fuck that instead, since you wanna be stubborn.” You whine in response.

“No? You don’t want me to do that? I think I should. Or should I just finish on your back?” Your next answering whine is more of a wail.

“Oh, I see. You’re a little cumwhore is that it? Want me to come inside of you? Hmm? Get our Omega pregnant?” You moan this time, drooling onto the sheets. Jeongin grabs your head and turns it to the side so he can see you better, or so that you can see him and how he’s about to waste his cum on you instead of in you. The drool smears onto your cheek and you can feel your eyes start to well up with tears because you know he’s close.

“Please.” It escapes from you in a pathetic whimper and the hand that was stroking his cock pauses.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you.” You know he did, but you also know that if you don’t repeat yourself and beg good enough he really will make good on his promise to finish on your back and leave you there.

“Innie, Jeonginnie, please. I want- I want-”

“Want what? Hmm? A slice of cake, a new Minecraft update?” You huff at his mocking, but it’s too wet to really hold any weight, and you can feel your lip wobbling, so you’re not surprised when what you say next is more of a sob than anything else.

“Your cock. Jeongin, Alpha, please. You said you wanted me during your rut, don’t you want me now?” It’s a low blow, and even through your desperation you know that, but you’ll do what it takes to get him to finally stick his huge dick in you.

“Oh, baby. I do. Don’t worry.” His fingers are searching for your entrance, stretching you out just enough for it to not burn too bad, but you’re so wet, and both of you are so needy, you know that you’ll just have to deal with the pain of not preparing for his stupid dick later because you want it now.

“Then,” he made the mistake of letting go of your wrists to grab your hip instead, and you ball your hands into fists and hit the bed in frustration, “why aren’t you fucking me?” He huffs a laugh.

“All that and you’re still giving me trouble? You’re lucky you’re cute, Omega. So lucky.” You start to kick your feet at him but you’re stopped by the fact that he’s slowly starting to push into you, making a home for himself inside your body and slowly forcing the breath from your lungs.

It burns, and you expected it to with how unprepared you were, but it feels good and you don’t care so that will have to be a later-you problem.

“Jesus, you feel so good, baby. Better than I imagined.” He starts a rough rhythm right off the bat, and you’re needy enough that it doesn’t bother you, besides, you’re pretty sure he was edging himself earlier, so he’s entitled to this.

“Felix hyung and I talked about it, you know. When I was in rut. You left.” The last part comes out as a soft growl, and he coughs to get himself in check before pressing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades.

“You left and I thought about how warm you’d feel inside. Felix wondered too, said he wanted to know how sweet you were.” You hear him chuckle. “Y’know I got him to come untouched from just talking about you, pretty baby?”

You gasp, letting out a shuddery moan at that, and you hear Jeongin laugh above you. You were already halfway to delirious with how good he was fucking you- hard enough to shake the bed and bang the headboard against the wall- but something about knowing that the pack wants you always makes you just that much wetter, always makes your head that much lighter, so you can’t help but clench down around his cock and get everything around you soaked with more of your slick.

“Jeonginnie, Alpha, I- please- I want to-”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, baby. I won’t make you beg for this one.” He presses himself down against your back, knocking your knees out from under you so you’re flat against the bed and have nowhere to go, nothing to do but take it.

“The next one, though. I make no promises.”

The new angle has you going dumber than you were before and you can feel Jeongin’s breath in puffs of hot air against your neck. You whine at him, moaning as you’re trapped underneath his body and when you come it’s with white spots dancing across your vision. You’re just coming down when you feel him start to pull out and you surprise both yourself and him with the growl that comes out of you.

“Yang Jeongin, so help me God if you do not come inside of me-” He shuts you up by doing just that, bullying his knot into you until it pops and rolling the two of you onto your sides so you’re not laying in the multiple spots of wet that have stained his sheets.

“You’re bossy.” It’s said against your hair while his stupidly big hands come up to massage the crick in your neck that’s finally made itself present. “How do you get away with that when you’re with Minho hyung?”

“I listen to him. Mostly.” He pinches you, you pinch back. You sit in silence for a minute.

“Was it good? Or, as good as you imagined?” You try not to sound insecure as you say it, but you know that you’ve probably missed the mark.

“Better. Way better.” He kisses the spot he was just massaging and winds his arm around your middle. “Nap time. You’ll need your energy when I get you back for being a little shit.”

“I wasn’t.” He scoffs at you.

“Yeah, sure. And my name is Chan.”

“Hi, Chan, how are you?”

“Cancel what I said earlier. The second we aren’t locked together anymore I’m kicking you out.” You laugh at him.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 18] || [Chapter 20]

Rating: E Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT. handjobs/fingering (unspecified). ejaculation (mentioned). Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: smut. smut. sweet. sweet. smut..

Chapter 19: Slippery Slope.

“Fuck… Johnny…” You whine as his hand slowly strokes up and down, his fingers rubbing over every inch of your skin.

“Shh… The acoustics, bonnie…” He tells you. “The neigbours are goin’ t’ear ye.” He whispers.

“W-Well…!” You try to complain but the words die in your lips as your head dips back against his chest.

Your bathtub isn’t the biggest, but you and Johnny were able to fit yourselves inside, with him sitting behind you, spooning you. His thick, muscular arms are wrapped around you the same way they were at the shop a week ago, protective, warmth… strong.

He’s been surprisingly gentle this whole time, washing your body and helping get your back, his rough hands sometimes sliding and coping a feel of your skin as it was lathered up with soap.

Somehow that evolved into his hand being between your thighs, making you moan and squirm in his embrace. “Shh…” He keeps shushing you as if he’s not doing anything that should warrant them.

“Stop shushing me, Johnny…” You whine. “You’re so frustrating!” You grumble.

“Don’t be giving me lip now, bonnie…” He whispers as he bites your earlobe and then draws his lips down the side of your neck and onto your shoulder.

“F-Fuck…” You shiver as he sucks onto the skin right where you neck meets your collarbone, his tongue lapping at the skin as his fingers work you over.

The water’s getting cold, and your legs are the first feeling the change in temperature, propped up on the edges of the tub so he can keep touching you, while his own are barely contained inside.

But you don’t care. The pleasure he’s wringing out of you with surprisingly nimble fingers considering how thick and big they are makes you whine and moan, your sounds of pleasure echoing off the tile in the bathroom.

The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter with each second he spends playing with you, your legs trembling and your whole body twitching and squirming in his embrace as you chase your orgasm.

And when it finally crashes onto you, you jump a bit, almost headbutting Johnny in the process, your head falling back on his strong, hard shoulder, some water spilling over the edge of the bath.

His name falls from your lips as your eyes flutter closed and your panting becomes the only thing heard in your bathroom. He grunts behind you, clearly enjoying the sight of you coming undone, his face resting against your shoulder as he sighs against your back.

Once you’ve finally caught you breath, he kisses your shoulder. “That feel good?” He coos in your ear and carefully licks up a stripe from your neck to your jawline before peppering kisses around your jawline.

You nod at him, eyes still closed and sigh happily, snuggling into his warm, robus embrace. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’.” He murmurs with a chuckle.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, the water’s getting cold.” He tells you as he moves up and presses a kiss to your temple.

That stirs you a bit from the moment and you look up at him. “But… You didn’t get anything…” You whisper.

“Oh, mo leannan…” He says with a playful smirk on his lips. “I literally just shot come all over your back.” He admits, causing your eyes to widen.

“You…” You say with shock and he immediately laughs at the look on your face. 

“Oh yeah. Why’d you think I said ‘let’s get you cleaned up and dressed’ and not just… ‘let’s get you dressed’?” He teases.

-

After the bath, he helps you both get dressed and takes you back to the living room, snuggling up with you on the couch, wrapping the blanket around you both. 

Unlike with Kyle, who laid under you and let you rest between his legs against your chest - or Simon who you makes you sleep on his chest, with one arm around you - Johnny prefers to spoon you, the two of you fitting just so on the couch before one of you (aka you) are teetering on the edge.

He gives you one of his biceps to rest on, while his other arm wraps around your waist and stomach, his hand resting right on top of your sternum and carefully rubbing your chest. It’s not necessarily a dirty touch, but not an innocent one either.

You find yourselves dozing off, wrapped up in one another, the TV playing some silly action movie which, despite the loud explosions and gunshots, is surprisingly easy to tune out and sleep through.

It’s already dark outside when you stir awake. Johnny’s sleeping right behind you, his breath slow and even, his warm exhales tickling the back of your neck. The sitting room is completely dark, the TV playing some other movie now, lighting everything in a blue-ish light.

Atop the coffee table is a phone, vibrating and buzzing, the screen lit up with a phone call. Still groggy, you grab the phone, assuming it’s your own, and flick the green button to accept the call without looking at the number.

“Uhm, hello?” You greet before you force yourself to suppress a yawn.

“BLOODY FUCKIN’ HELL, I’VE BEEN CALLIN’ FOR AN HOUR!” A gruff, manly voice shouts on the other end. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

The shouts stirred you a bit more awake and made you stiffen. “Excuse me?!” You complain.

“Wait. Who’s this?” A gruff voice asks on the other end.

“I should be asking you, you’re the one calling me and losing your bloody mind shoutin’ at me?” You murmur in confusion, keeping your voice low to not wake up Johnny.

“And I’m asking you, because I know bloody well I called MacTavish and not… whoever you are.” The man you’re speaking with is rude, but his voice is… vaguely familiar.

That’s when your brain fog clears enough to allow you to realize that you just picked up Johnny’s phone, not your own.

“Oh, shite.” You grumble. “Sorry. I heard a phone ringing, I thought it was my phone-” You try to justify yourself.

“Oh, bloody hell, I’m sorry for yellin’ at you.” The man on the other end ends up saying, a bit more politely. “MacTavish’s with you?” He grumbles

“Yeah… He’s asleep…” You reply. “The phone was on Vibration.” You explain. “That’s probably why he didn’t wake up…” You explain.

“No wonder… I’ve called 42 times…” The male voice complains on the other end. “You mind waking him up and putting my damn soldier on the line?” He fails at his attempts at politeness.

And that’s when your brain fog clears even more. ‘My soldier’... The only person who’d call Johnny ‘his’ soldier is his captain.

“John?” You ask him in earnest. The memories of the night you spent with John come flooding back. Not that you ever forgot it, but you’ve been a bit more preocupied.

And that’s when John Price realizes who he’s speaking to as well, likely also remembering the way the dulcet of your voice called out his name while he buried himself inside of you. “Bloody fuckin’ hell…” He murmurs. 

After a brief pause to breathe, he speaks again. “Hi, darling.” He ends up saying.

“Hi, John.” You say softly in return.

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