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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

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𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

��𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

JJ couldn't help but snort.

“Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition.

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice. “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?”

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spence reid

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andvys · 2 days ago

Text

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ Prologue

⭐︎ When the sun hits, she’ll be waiting

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, post apocalypse, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, gore, blood, mean!steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another patrol. Patrols he's been doing for a whole year, and nothing ever changes. Maybe he had to kill one demodog, or demobat, but overall, it was the same walk, the same stance, the same weariness… only this time, something new appeared in his walk.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I are back with another Steve series, I hope you're as excited as I am, you got a lot of angst, fluff and smut coming your way! And also, shoutout to @ghost-proofbaby who picked the title for this story, thank you my love

series masterlist

☀︎

It was funny.

He had watched apocalypse movies. He had seen the terrible visual effects done with strawberry syrup, the gelatin that exploded pretending to be brains and flesh, the people becoming zombies and doing loud and stupid moans in their chase. He knew the apocalypse would never look like that, but he also never believed he would live in something very much alike, and not at all a movie.

They had not defeated Vecna. They have killed him, but defeated? No. He is gone but he left behind the world he created, he reached his goal and got what he wanted, something that Steve and the others were very blind to at first, they watched him die; they burned his body to make sure that he was gone for good. They thought they won, but it was a false victory, one that gave them all the opportunity to recover, opportunities that included them trying to become a town again, yet after three months of what they thought was safe, the first demogorgon crawled out of the big gates that were created. Killed instantly. Then another. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Demogorgons, demobats, demodogs, and other upside down creatures... and this time, they came with infectious venom.

Venom that turned people into bloodthirsty, flesh eating monsters with nothing but death in their eyes, people turned into monsters who became part of Vecna’s army, crawling into homes and houses, spreading way too quickly and unable to be stopped from claiming not only the town but all of the country and soon the whole globe.

They noticed when it was already too late, when the world was already too far gone and the lives of many were lost and claimed by darkness.

When the realization started sinking in and he saw, felt the panic, the fear, the desperation, the dread and death, he felt like he was going to lose himself, knowing that the world he once knew was gone and never to be brought back again, that it was all lost and someday to be forgotten but a feeling he hadn’t noticed yet was acceptance.

Because if anyone knew how to adapt, then it was him. Unlike many others, he had no home that he lost, he never had one in the first place. His parents' house was only ever a big lonely space that he never found comfort in until his friends filled that space with warmth and laughter, laughter that still echoes in his ears whenever he thinks of simpler times, laughter that he thinks he will never hear again.

The house is now even emptier and colder than before, claimed by vines, dust and spider webs, just like most of the houses in Hawkins are… or the rest of the world. He passed familiar houses before, Dustin’s home and Lucas’s, he only glanced at them, not bearing to look longer, not wanting to feel, not wanting to look back at what he lost.

The gun in his hand feels light, nothing like it used to feel the first few times he had to hold one or use one. His footsteps are barely audible as he walks through the empty cul-de-sac, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed, he is on high alert, he always is, even when he doesn’t have to.

He feels relaxed, despite the circumstances, despite the death that could be waiting around any corner, he feels relaxed. He walks past the abandoned cars and houses, watching out for any creature that could come crawling out from any hole. A lone plushie lies on the ground, dirty and splattered with blood – a sight that would have made him sick a year ago, thinking about whose blood it could’ve been, now makes him feel indifference. He had seen so many ugly, disturbing things, nothing truly fazes him anymore, it’s awful and sometimes he wonders if he is still a good person or if the horrors of this world have turned him into a monster as well, if the darkness had claimed him too like it had claimed the sick people. Sometimes he feels pain, sometimes he feels nothing but today he feels a sliver of sadness, one that he swallows down as quickly as it comes, he can’t stand it.

The sun shines down on him but he barely feels the warmth even though it’s there, the light of it illuminates the empty road ahead of him, the chaos left behind, the rotten grass and the dead flowers, they don’t grow anymore, the birds don’t sing anymore, he wonders if there are even any left in this world, most have died, just like the ones he used to see every day, they have died.

A soft huff falls from his lips when he notices that the laces on his boots have come undone, he stops walking and looks around, making sure that nothing and nobody will creep up on him the moment he kneels down, he would be surprised if something like that still happened around here though. Hawkins is empty of people and monsters, it was only the doorway for them to get through to get to the rest of the world, this place is just as abandoned as the houses are.

The houses where his friends used to live. Where Lucas used to live. Dustin. The Wheelers. The Byers. That home that was lived in by other people last year. His house. Those remained intact, yet empty and filled with vines, darkness, dust of the memories from those who once lived in there. The only place that got swallowed whole was Forest Hills trailer park. Where Max used to live. Where Eddie used to live.

Placing the gun in his holster, he kneels down and reaches for the undone laces, wasting no second to tie them. His ears pick up on any sound, on the wind that howls through the bushes and the trees, through the broken windows, the bells that still hang from the ceilings on the empty porches. His eyes never stay focused on only the task before him, he is always ready to fight, to kill but it’s been a while since he had to use his gun or a machete, or even his bat.

But today the hairs on his neck stand up for the first time in a while. Goosebumps arise on his skin and he feels it, a presence behind him. Steve swallows harshly, not knowing what to expect the moment he turns around, a demogorgon, a demodog or a sick one. He ties the knot on his boot, tightly.

Unlike a few months before, he no longer feels fear whenever he is about to stare evil in it’s eyes, he no longer dreads it, he no longer feels his heart skipping or racing, he feels nothing anymore.

He reaches for his gun and jumps to his feet, raising his arm and the gun, turning on his heel and aiming at the presence that lingered behind him, the one that would have normally lunged at him by now but it’s not a creature staring back at him nor is it a sick person, a sick person wouldn’t raise her arms up in surrender or step back in fear.

“Hang on! I’m not bitten! I’m alive, I’m still alive!” Your voice is panicked, your eyes are too.

Steve’s jaw is clenched, his eyes move up and down your body, taking in the state of your clothes first, no holes or tears in them, they are clean – clean for the end of the world. Your hair is tied, hanging down your shoulders in two braids, there are knives tucked into your belt and a gun in your thigh holster that you have no intent to reach for. You don’t look like a threat but Steve learned to not be deceived by appearances only. He eyes your exposed skin, where your flannel had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a wound, not a bite, not a scratch, only a cut that he can’t help but wonder how it got there or why.

“Turning takes days,” Steve murmurs as he tears his gaze away from you for a second to scan the area around you two, who knows what you had dragged here or who.

“I can sing Madonna for you?”

He rolls his eyes as he looks back at you, for someone armed with knives and a glock 17 strapped to her thigh, you sure do look like a frightened cat, ready to run. You are not a threat. He knows it; he sees it; he feels it. He knows danger; you aren’t that.

“You’re not bitten?” He asks as he lowers his gun, letting you relax again.

You shake your head, though you can still see the hesitance in his eyes, the mistrust.

“Do I–” you start innocently, blushing already as you look at the man before you, “do I need to get naked? If so, I’d prefer a woman, if that is possible.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, ignoring the heat that rises in his cheeks. He puts his gun back in his holster.

“Fuck, no, no… I believe you, what– what are you doing in the middle of Hawkins?”

He sees the way your shoulders relax, the way you take a deep breath in and then out, lowering your arms to your sides.

“I was in a small camp, a few towns away, and I’m trying to get to my old home… though, I got a bit lost cause a bat ripped my map out of my hands…” You frown.

“Demobat.”

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, “what?”

Steve scrunches his nose up, shaking his head at himself, he keeps forgetting.

“Nevermind.”

Your head is still tilted, your brows still furrowed, you look him up and down, no words fall from your lips, for a moment you are quiet.

He grows a little flustered beneath your gaze, not that he would ever admit, you are just the first stranger he had encountered in a while, a stranger who creeped up on him.

“You’re not very attentive.”

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“You only noticed me when I was already too close.”

He wants to laugh… a little.

“Sounds like you were up to no good,” Steve retorts, glaring at you to which your eyes only widen, filled with yet more panic. You open your mouth and close it again, a few times, the shock not letting you speak but when you do, you stutter and shake your head.

“No! Oh my god! I’m just saying – listen, I want no trouble, I’m just passing through, I just want to go home.”

Steve can’t help but be a bit amused by the panic and the fear in your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!”

If laughing hadn’t become such a strange thing to him these days, he would do it now, yeah, he would chuckle, he would laugh loudly.

“That’s funny,” he mumbles under his breath, looking you up and down one more time before he turns on his heels and continues his journey down the road. His boots hit the gravel roughly, footsteps echoing through the empty streets, it only takes three seconds before a second pair joins, just like he had suspected.

“Wait!”

You catch up with him quickly, walking beside him now. He feels your eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look.

“Is this a community?”

He wouldn’t call it that, the few people that stayed here all fend for themselves, just like him and his friends do.

“Would be a very shitty one if anyone could just walk in.”

“Right…” He hears you murmur softly. “Are you passing through?”

“No.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Steve rolls his eyes, side-eying you. He is not very talkative anymore, he finds no joy in holding conversations, let alone in answering questions, he barely uses his voice nowadays, he doesn’t feel bad about it, or even guilty. Normally he would keep quiet or even snap at whoever is bothering him, today he can’t find it in himself to be mean… meaner.

“Cause it’s my hometown. Why are you by yourself?” Steve asks without looking at you.

“I left my last camp cause I want to go home, like I said before–”

“I know, I mean why are you traveling by yourself? It’s not safe out here, especially not for women.” Steve rounds the corner, inching closer to the only house that has a light peeking through the boards on the windows.

“It’s not safe for anyone out here, not just for women,” you correct him, looking at him in surprise when he opens the gate to the backyard before you and lets you walk in first. “But I haven’t seen anyone since I left the camp, you’re the first person…” You mumble and look down at your converse, that look very dirty in comparison to his black boots.

You stand before him now, close, a little too close for a stranger, though he makes no move to put more distance between you. He sees the wound on your shoulder clearer now, a cut caused by either a knife or glass.

You tilt your head up again, you are close enough to see his face now properly, the color of his eyes, hazel. Freckles and moles kiss his skin, his features are soft, his expression isn’t. His brown hair is very… voluminous, his beard is trimmed, he looks clean and he doesn’t smell, a rarity nowadays. He is tall, his shoulders are wide, he is certainly much stronger too, his biceps strain against his black shirt, and it only now dawns on you that you followed a man to what you presume is his home, you followed with no hesitation.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and take a step back. He had shown no interest in you, he doesn’t seem fond of you following him either. He is just as much of a threat as you are, you tell yourself.

“So er… is it just you here?” You ask, looking at the house he stopped by, the house you presume is his home, his fortress.

“No.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you look into his cold eyes but he quickly breaks eye contact and starts walking again.

“Where is everyone and how many people are here?” You ask as you continue on following him, staring at the back of his head, his mullet looks good, taken care of, you notice. “Also why don’t you have any fences, aren’t you afraid of sick ones getting in? And–”

Steve turns on his heel, sighing loudly as he glares down at you, not even moving back when you almost bump into him.

“Will you shut up for a second!?” He grumbles, glaring at you again as he stares you down.

You press your lips together, gazing up into his dark eyes, not breaking eye contact. The look on his face should intimidate you, the cold eyes should scare you, he should scare you but he doesn’t.

“Have any monsters gotten in yet and if so, have you ever fought any? I ran into a dog like creature the other day, that fucker nearly bit my hand off, I–”

Two seconds. You shut up for two fucking seconds.

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, raising his hand up, he runs his fingers through his hair, his annoyance doesn’t faze you in the slightest, you open your mouth again, ready to ask another question but someone else beats you to it.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You instantly press your lips together, throwing your hand to your holster as you snap your head to look towards the gate and at the person who cut you off, startled by his presence, you take a step closer to the stranger you just met as you eye the man with the long hair, who is looking at you with a smile on his face. His eyes are kind, much kinder than the ones of the man beside you. He is holding a box, a gun is secured and tucked into his belt.

“Who’s this lovely lady, Harrington?” He asks, not stepping closer yet.

Harrington.

You don’t even notice the girl beside him until she clears her throat, offering you a small smile. Her hair is long and curly too, her bangs cover her eyes a little, a rifle is strapped over her shoulder.

“Someone passing through,” Harrington grumbles under his breath, clearly wanting you to keep passing through. “She’ll be on her way now.”

It’s getting dark now, it’s not safe to continue your travel when the sun sets. You planned to find shelter when you stepped foot into this town, maybe find some cans of food in one of the abandoned houses.

The girl meets your eyes, hesitating, she shakes her head.

“Oh, it’s getting dark, besides she could use a bath, Steve.” The girl says, frowning as she looks you up and down.

Offended, you scrunch your nose up and look down at yourself, “hey, I do my best in any possible lake!” You argue, despite the surprise in you. Every group, every community you have come across before, did not offer baths or shelter, not after your pleading, at least.

“She has to go to her hometown–”

“All alone?” The girl asks, frowning at the man – at Steve, beside you. She glances at the one next to her, they share the same look in their eyes. You wonder if they are siblings.

“Yes, all alone.” Steve sighs.

They look at him in disappointment.

He doesn’t want you here.

It’s nothing you aren’t used to.

You’re on your own, you always have been. Though you can’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, a real meal or a night full of sleep. You don’t know how to hunt, you wash yourself in lakes and you never sleep through the night, no matter how safe you think you are, you can’t sleep. You can’t even remember the last time you felt fully rested, not even the communities that provided you shelter gave you that real feeling of safety.

You don’t know these people, the man beside you and the pair before you, but the kind blue eyes and the chocolate brown ones are different from any of the ones you have looked into before – you can feel the indifference from Steve, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t trust you.

“I-It’s fine, I was just passing through,” you shrug, offering a smile, despite the weird feeling in your stomach. “Do you… maybe have a map for me though?”

“Yeah,” Steve instantly speaks up, clearly wanting to get rid of you quickly.

She crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring your question, she glares at Steve, “did she ask to stay?”

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring back at her with an icy cold stare.

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed–”

The guy with the curly hair steps forward with a sigh, approaching Steve with a stubborn look on his face, “I’m keeping her.”

Steve scrunches his face up, scoffing at his friend, “she’s not a fucking puppy!”

Though he doesn’t listen to him and turns towards you, nudging his head at you, motioning for you to follow him as he goes to open the door to the house, “come on, we’re gonna eat dinner soon, we’re making stew. And you can get cleaned up if you want, Nancy will give you some clean clothes.”

You want to follow badly, the mention of food, of a warm meal makes your mouth water, and you wouldn’t say no to a shower and fresh clothes either but Steve’s unwelcoming expression makes you hesitate.

He is looking down at the ground, his jaw tense, his eyes unimpressed.

The girl, Nancy, she is looking at him still, waiting for him to look at her too but he doesn’t. There is something in her eyes that you can’t read, the same look that resides in his own.

With a sigh, she looks away and starts walking towards you after closing the gate behind her. She can see the hesitation on your face.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we’re leaving soon too–”

“We are not,” Steve says harshly, nearly making you flinch.

“We are.” Nancy argues, her brows are pulled together, her lips curl downwards.

She is certainly more intimidating than he is.

“You can stay for the night, like Eddie said, we’ll have dinner and you can get cleaned up, tomorrow you can be on your way with the map you have asked for, but it’s getting dark now – so, you’re staying.”

“Okay.”

It’s funny, normally that would have been a warning sign for you to run. People aren’t usually so persistent for you to stay and if they are, you never stay long enough to find out what evilness they have planned for you. Usually you aren’t so trusting, but her kind blue eyes make it hard not to.

Finding kindness in this world is a rarity nowadays, you wonder if these people ever encountered real danger – not the creatures, or the sick people but humans, you found out that those can be much worse, evil. You figure that they haven’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be so trusting towards you, even Steve, he didn’t ask you to take your weapons off of you, didn’t tell you to hand them over, he just let you follow, and his friends open the door to their home for you, they let you inside, he does too.

You have a growing suspicion that they don’t really know the world they live in now, they haven’t seen past this untouched town, they haven’t seen what people are capable of, how cruel and evil they can be, because if they did, you would not be welcome here, not so easily, no matter how harmless you seem to them.

But the kindness you are greeted with today encourages the hope that never died inside of you.

Hope that died in him a long time ago.

Hope that will die in you just like it did in him.

He watches you closely, the way you look around the house the three of them have stayed in for the past year, you throw your backpack to the ground, leaving it abandoned by the stairs. You eye the radio station in the living room, curiosity lingers in your eyes, he notices how your fingers twitch but you don’t touch it, you draw back from it when you catch him staring at you like a hawk – he almost feels bad when you shy away.

You turn your back to him and look at the bookshelf, tilting your head to the side.

Steve should stop it, the staring, but he can’t, he doesn’t know why, you are not a threat, he doesn’t need to watch you but he keeps doing it, slowly following you through the house like you are his prey.

You are the first stranger to enter this house, the first and the only. Every person who stumbled upon this ghost town was turned and scared away by him. He doesn’t know why he let you inside, Eddie and Nancy wouldn’t be able to keep you here, no matter how persistent and stubborn they had been. If they didn’t want you here, you would have been long gone and not walking around the house.

But something about you makes him mad.

Maybe it’s the way you so easily fit in, or maybe it’s the way you fall for Eddie’s charm and giggle at every attempt of his to make you smile, maybe it’s the way you get along with Nancy right away, Nancy who is usually distrusting of anyone she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s the way you look at him when you sit across from him during dinner, the golden light from the fireplace touching your soft skin. Your eyes are big and innocent, the air around you is too, like you had been untouched by the horrors of this world, like nothing ever happened to you, like you didn’t lose anything or anyone, like the world didn’t even scratch the surface of you.

He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything about you but he knows what you are – a naive and stupid girl, one that throws herself into danger, the cut on your shoulder and the scars on your upper arm are proof of that, you won’t survive long, people like you never do.

He stares into your eyes and you stare back, eyeing him while Eddie talks your ear off, who is happy to have someone new to talk with, considering he is stuck with people who aren’t the most talkative.

You blink, holding his gaze for a while.

You are trouble, the kind that he wants to stay away from, the kind he needs to stay away from.

And yet he finds himself knocking on the bathroom door to give you the toiletries and the clothes that Nancy had prepared for you after dinner. He is huffing loudly when he hears you singing, or humming. The only person he ever heard hum in a shower nowadays was Eddie, and he did it just to be an obnoxious prick. You, you are just happy, and who the hell is happy nowadays with how the world is? A psychopath. You are a fucking psychopath.

“One sec!” Your voice was sweet as the water is turned off, and soon after, the door is opening and his eyes are everywhere. You are wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly on your chest where the edge is tucked in. Your wet hair falling down your shoulders, the droplets all over your skin, and you have a stupid smile on your face. That snaps him out from the trance of staring at you more than he should. He blames it on not meeting another woman in a while. The only one in this ‘community’ of his age is Nancy, and she and him made it clear that whatever happened when Vecna was alive, that it was purely out of adrenaline and the need to be or feel cared for by someone in that moment.

“Have your stuff. Remember to give the clothes back before you leave tomorrow.” He extends his arms towards you, the body cream on top of the clothes, making you gasp as your arms shoot to take them from him, your eyes stuck on the white bottle.

“Oh god… thank you… I can’t– I can’t thank you enough–”

“Not me. Nancy and Eddie. I wanted you gone, still want you gone.” His eyes are looking away from you, down the hall as he speaks. He is harsh and he knows it, but there is a limit on water usage in the community, and you just used a ton. Which makes him think that Nancy and Eddie are being serious on leaving, not caring for the limits any longer.

Your eyes look up, catching onto the patch of freckles and moles on his neck, as well as a very prominent scar. As if he had been choked by some rope, going all the way around. You were hurt by his words, but yet, this guy is being mean, and wants to kick you out, and he is standing in front of you handing you body cream and clothes, when he could have refused. He could have shot you and defy his friends. He could have been pushier.

And so your hope doesn’t die.

“I’ll thank them later… but yet, thank you, as well.” You persist and he grumbles something under his breath, his head turning to look at you one last time. Hopefully, the last time he sees it before he wakes up tomorrow.

“Have a safe trip tomorrow.” And with that, he walks down the hall and towards his room, slowly closing the door behind him. Robin is going to kill him. Letting a random girl inside the house. Eddie and Nancy were out of their minds. Everyone was, except him. Hopefully.

He hears murmurs between you and Nancy in the hallway, giggles that disappear as you two disappear into Nancy’s room. She is letting you sleep on the bed with her. What the fuck was Nance thinking? You are a stranger… A stranger who seemed harmless enough, a stranger who looked… tired. Like the only thing you wanted to do was sleep, and sleep, and sleep.

He might be over-exaggerating with how he is treating you, but can anyone blame him for it?

His eyes move towards a scarf on his bed frame, his fingers caressing the hand-knitted mustard colored cotton between his fingers. He hears Eddie whistling as he goes into his room and his anger bubbles up inside of him again.

He isn’t leaving this town. It is a stupid idea to do so. It is reckless. It is also going against the community’s rules. He isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave Robin behind, and Eddie and Nancy know she won’t be coming along.

He won’t leave the last thing that is keeping him alive.

#steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst #mean!Steve harrington #grumpy x sunshine

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stealingpotatoes · 3 days ago

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POTES SEMI-LIVEBLOGS KOTOR!

ive been writing my thoughts in the notes app but due to popular demand (one person asked for it) i'm posting my liveblogging DO NOT SAY/TAG/COMMENT SPOILERS PLEASE i read tags

warning im a yapper, im 10 hours in and theres a lot already (separated into sessions):

SESSION 1

whos this clown i thought i would be playing as revan

ive been too spoiled by dragon age origins this character creator sucks ass

only human???? ): fr?? ill just imagine her different in my brain or some shit

my life is being mansplained to me. is this bad writing or do i have amnesiacs

hes meta now??? hes talking abt the screen controls?????

omg a jedi and an evil jediii

omg their asses suckedddd they both died immediately

i <3 bringing a sword to a gun fight

WHY R THERE SO MANY SITH WHERE IS TJE RULE OF TWO

i clicked a workbench and it said lightsaber so either i get a lightsaber or i get a jedi friend whose lightsaber i can steal if im careful

I assume u play as revan in kotor2 so im gonna buy that now so i can play it when im done playing w this clown

i got light side points im getting a good grade in game morality which is something both normal to want and possible to achieve

everyone keeps saying revan is dead but thats my friend revan from tumblr hes clearly alive. or they???

my characters ass is distractingly present onscreen

huge fan of the way everyone collapsed drunk what the FUCK was in that wine

ok these sith ppl might be the bad guys but their armour is DRIPPY AS FUCK

ideologically i dont agree w the sith but they kinda went off w the fits

googling how to become a sith without being evil cause they have Drip

SESSION 2

i paid £1.19 to see revan he better show up in this game at some point

all these sith n i still cant find one revan….. stop faking ur death rn come out n talk to me babygirl this isnt like u….

why can i be light/dark side if im not a jedi. give me a laser sword

maybe this jedi gyal will know where revan is faking his death. or give me a fuckin lightsaber PLEASEEE

was just thinking 'does this game have romance' and then carth called me beautiful. i dont think im gonna romance anyone until i get this amnesia sorted

why is carth questioning me so much abt the crash im pretty sure i have amnesia

why tf did the jedi lady have me transferred to this ship are we in lesbians with each other???

carth's not wrong it is suspicious but i lowkey have amnesia so i coulda done that i coulda not

a lot of clone wars voice actors in this. was lucasfilm so broke in the 2000s that they could only afford the same 3 VAs for every project

mission is 14??????? we need to get my girl back in school

SESH 3

tale as old as time i fucking suck at racing games

ok i didnt realise you had to mash click i won

REVAN!!! REVAN!!!!!!!!!

why am i dreaming abt revan tho. real as hell but ?????

lmao cringe revan getting blown up. i thought the jedi beat rev-meister in a fight but no. accident

"such visions are often a sign of force sensitivity" COOL YAY GIVE ME A LIGHTSABER

BASTILLE LOST HER FUCKING LIGHTSABER??

CARTH IS RIGHT THATS LIKE DAY ONE JEDI SHIT. ok i still love her even tho shes a bit of a bitch and also doesnt have a saber

if we find a lightsaber im taking it first tho

whys carth getting weird abt me being weird that he doesnt trust me. i just wanna be friends mate

SESH IV: A NEW HOPE

'i mean no disrespect, but perhaps one of the male slaves could serve you better' i went in here to start a slave revolution and instead got called a lesbo

LMAO THERES A SPICE LAB???? WALTER WHITE WHERE ARE YOU

thats insaneee they blew up BILLIONS of people to get to one jedi?????? these sith arent fucking around theyre scary

UM THIS IS CRAZY GRAPHICS THE LIGHTING IS CLEARER/DARKER WHEN I COVER THE SUN W THE SHIP EDGE?? 2003 IS THE YEAR OF THE FUTURE

someone just called me padawan i kinda assumed i was in my late 20s do i just have baby vibes

all the jedi in the movies are so chill but every kotor jedi i've met so far has been a bit of a bitch

YO THEY HAVE A YODA!!! its not THE yoda but

cool so these guys are just the regional managers at best. your asses are not the council

why can everyone smell my force juju so strong

THATS STRAIGHT UP YODA'S CLONE WARS VA

why does fake yoda not blink both eyes at the same time. im calling him master tortimer he reminds me of the animal crossing mayor

bastila there was no need for such a fancy bow

malak is like evil aang

revan is so much shorter than malak omg

are me and bastila sharing dreams. are we both obsessed w revan

poor mission ):

WHAT WAS MASTER TORTIMER ABT TO SAY????????? EVER SINCE WHEN??? DID WE KNOW EACH OTHER BEFORE MY AMNESIACS????? DID BASTILA TELL U SMTHN MORE WHEN I WASNT IN THE ROOM???

im intrigued i like this whole hidden jedi shtick its very compelling. so is whatever theyre hiding from me

kinda surprising no jedi found me before tho given my force juju is so strong

IM A LEGIT JEDI NOW??? SICK!!!

does revan rlly not have pronouns i thought that was a tumblr thing but they straight up are a nonbinary icon ive never heard a single pronoun used. revan's pronouns are revan/revan's

damn revan seems so cool in these stories (charismatic war hero that convinced their troops to join them as conqueror?? julius caesar) and yet all we've seen them do onscreen is get blown up and die by accident

A YEAR AGO? the way they were talking i assumed revan died like. a week before the game started

master uh i forgot his name he has martin scorcese vibes said revan was a paragon of the jedi so what im getting is that all jedi gifted kids turn evil

even if i didnt know revan as a tumblr darling id KNOW revan has to be alive somewhere they way everyone talks abt them is too cool for a character who exploded and died. i think. i hope. I PAID £1.19 TO MEET REVAN

'only you and bastila can stop malak' seriously????? just us two?? ive been a jedi for like, 6 minutes and you guys keep calling bastila young???? do you guys not wanna help??

omg im getting carth to traumadump! <3

HE WAS ON REVAN'S ARMY>??

i totally knew the jedi code and did not have to google it whatsoever

they rlly said fuck going to illum heres a crystal from the bin

he told me id be a great sentinel and i was like i know but i want blue cause i dont wanna be matchies with bastila

OGH!!! I HAVE A LIGHTSABER!!!! THIS IS GAME OF THE YEAR!!!!

omg i made my lightsaber perfectlyyy which is rare <3 getting a good grade in jedi

maybe i was a travelling lightsaber salesman before my amnesia

seriously though WHO was i everyone's kinda stopped acting like i have amnesia since the first mission BUT IVE PLAYED DRAGON AGE THAT GIVES YOU OPPORTUNITIES TO RP UR PAST. THIS DOESNT. EITHER THIS GAME IS BAD (but i love it so its not) OR I HAVE RETROGRADE AMNESIA

also everyone keeps being like "Oh ur force juju is so strong" AND NOBODY FOUND ME TIL NOW??? suspicious. did getting a really bad concussion activate the force in me

im too confused and amnesiac'd to think abt anything except the fact i have a glowing stick now

FSESH FIVE:

big fan of using aliens to avoid having to get VAs to read every line

oh so carth's boyfriend saul betrayed him and became leader of the sith fleet so he has trust issues

well he needs to calm down. i can't betray him cause i dont know what the fuck is happening

yooo i love the design differences on the mandalorians

oh my god this lady wanted to fuck her droid cause it was her husband's. and then it killed itself. wtf. game of the year tho

wtf they jebaited this juhani person into going dark side but then i talked her out of it. that seems a bit mean of them

i hope she can join my party she looks too unique to be a random npc

ive been thinking and I might be going crazy but there was a loading screen tip ages ago that said jedis could wipe ppl's mind and all i thought at the time was 'fuck the shitshow acolyte didnt make that up'. but what if one of them wiped MY memory and i used to be a jedi or smthn ????????

cause they keep being like ur weirdly good at this??? did bastila steal my memories??????????

I KNOW I HAVE AMNESIA!! EVEN IF EVERYONE DOESN'T BRING IT UP BC THEYRE PROBABLY TRYING TO SAVE MY FEELINGS

if i dont have amnesia and im just deeping the fact the opening had my life being mansplained then im gonna look real stupid

anyway time 2 go to the fuckshit ruins cave where r-dog and malak went to

"it must be referring to revan. the dark lord and malak--" revan's pronouns are revan/thedarklord

bastila said theres no mention of the Builders in the archives. does she just know every text off by heart

THIS DROID IS 20K YEARS OLD ???

omg i can equip 2 lightsabers at once. game of the year

OK I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT THE AMNESIA BASTILA IS ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY BACKGROUND THAT I CAN ANSWER. I REPEAT I DO NOT HAVE AMNESIA

ok i didnt get choices and i didnt really uh… say anything that i didnt already get told im still not ruling out amnesia

also booo i didnt get to find out how old i was

master tortimer rlly looks like the ultimate ketamine yoda

LMAO THERE WAS A DIALOGUE OPTION 2 CALL JUHANI A CATGIRL

omg kashyyk from jedi fallen order!!!

I CAN UPGRADE MY LIGHTSABER THIS IS JUST LIKE JFO

omg this ship is fun i wish everyone had personalised bunk spaces like hfw… a game which came out 19 years after this i should probably just take what we have

im gonna start w manaan cause im p sure thats what B-dog said n its the same language the droid was speakin

omg hyperspace from star wars

THE GUY THE BUILDING FELL ON???

am i having dreams abt revan bc bastila killed revan and im connected to her this is so roundabout

maybe i'd sleep better if my ponytail wasnt clipping into the pillow

[kiwi accent] six

carth needs a xanax every time i think we're friends he stops trusting me

also lmao he actually pointed out how wild it was that a day one padawan is being sent on this uber important mission and HES RIGHT IT IS WEIRD!! i thought it was main character logic but he's calling it out

i really really like the sense of unease that's setting in like at first i thought it was just cause im not used to 2003 games but no this is on purpose bc carth my friend carth keeps calling it out

THERE IS A CHILD ON MY SHIP ??????????????????

lmao the representative for menaan is roland wann. its like poetry it rhymes

there are no cameras in the sith hangar <3 rookie error i can commit crimes now

bastila's favourite hobby is getting shot and walking into my grenades

this isnt a combat system this is a missing system

I GOT ARRESTED???? IM JUST A GIRL

nvm i had a datapad that said the sith were evil so theyve let me go free and we're besties

why do i feel like ive just walked into an underwater horror mission

this suit waddles at the speed of a penguin on fentanyl

i tamed the beastie this is like how to train your dragon

MALAK FIRED ON REVAN?????? WERENT THEY BEST FRIENDS???????

but maybe revan escaped when bastila wasnt looking THEYRE FINE THEYRE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. I BELIEVE

so hopefully when we run into revan they'll be like agh i changed my ways cause of the being shot thing and they'll be my bestie

great news i successfully communicated w the ship child and gave her back to dantooine. my girl has shockingly good linguisitics skills

bastila is so dour "oh watch out for the dark side" GIRL I AM. I NEED TO GET THE BEST GRADE IN GAME MORALITY

ok OFF TO KASHYYK i hope cal kestis is there… thru the force i guess… bc he wont be born for another 4000 years but its whatever

omg you'll never guess what. another vision. wow its one of the thangs. cool this is a tomorrow me problem

#how long to beat says it's abt 29 hours so this is roughly a third (??) of the game???#talk is cheap #kotor #swkotor #knights of the old republic

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goldenargentavis · 17 hours ago

Text

Something that really helped me with this was a tiktok by DenverSkinDoc. Where you simulate micro dreaming with your thoughts by naming random, unrelated things in your mind.

It has helped me a lot with mind swirling, and to actually fall asleep when brain won’t stop being loud and mean.

I like to have at least three places, usually the inside of my house, outside of my house, and maybe something like the zoo. I rotate between those three scenes, naming one object from one, before moving onto the next scene, rinse and repeat.

Of course, you could just, name random objects as they come to your mind, build a scene, or have all words be completely random.

Maybe this therapy shit is working

#sleep aid #ocd #personal #micro dreaming #mind swirling

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 days ago

Text

do you see anyone other than me? (baby please) | rafayel (lnds)

✮ tags ; rafayel x fem+ afab!reader, established relationships, dom!reader, sub!rafayel, gentle femdom, oral (m!recieving + some f!recieving), anal (m!recieving), praise kink (so much), dirty talk (SO much),pegging / topping, top!reader, bottom!rafayel dry orgasms 18+

✮ wc ; 6.9k (come on man)

✮ a/n ; reader and mc do not share a personality in this. reader is intentionally meant to have like... a more serious personality. so they are mc but not at the same time if that makes sense sdkjskj.

also i know this guy but only a little bit. i was planning on binging the main story after caleb got released but got ?? caught up writing this?? this has happened twice im so scared

✮ synopsis ; making sure rafayel actually forgives you is at the top of your priorities.

When you come home from the office, take your shoes off, and turn the corner into the living room—you know without looking that Rafayel is in a mood.

Not a good one.

It’s something in the air, a lingering tension that makes all movement stiff as you attempt to navigate through the unease. You find Rafayel on the couch. Soft, deep lavender waves tussled like he’s been tossing and turning - pressed into the side of the couch. All curled up small.

Somehow, you just know what sort of attitude you’ll be met with. You know your lover well enough to know that he’ll be moody but you’ve less confidence in regards to what that mood may be.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the wide expanse of Rafayel’s living room and studio. His head turns, bangs falling in his face as you slide your work bag off from your shoulder to set aside. Your keys, noisy as you set them down, even gently—trying to leave the air undisturbed. He’s looking at you from over his shoulder but realizes he can’t completely see you that way. Instead of standing to his feet to come greet you, he drops his head back on the arm of the couch to stare at you upside down in a tense silence.

You give him a look. His mood is sour. Maybe more than you thought. He smiles first, then frowns unhappily before turning his attention back to what he was doing. You hear small scratching noises—he’s sketching. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there doing that, since he usually just prefers to paint without thinking too hard.

After that, he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t greet you, either.

“I’m home.” You say evenly. You think about being placating from the jump, but without knowing his exact reason - you worry you’ll only worsen the state of affairs.

Rafayel hums. “Welcome home.”

Your brain wracks through every possibility on what could be the source of this level of moodiness. Sometimes, his moody behavior is for kicks but it’s not this time. If it was, he’d lay it on thickly. Act theatrically towards you, get in your face about it.

But he’s tense, forceful—every scratch of his pencil is too harsh like it’s rife with irritation. You tread carefully.

“Can I sit with you?”

“Why are you asking? Don’t you live here too? Just because I bought the couches with my money doesn’t mean—“

“Rafayel.” You say, interrupting him. He scowls at you. “Can I?”

As if more bothered by you being level, he huffs. It’s followed with a business smile over his shoulder. “Sure. Do whatever you want.”

You choose to sit on the empty end of the couch where Rafayel does his sketching - fitting yourself in the gap of his space near his feet. You slide yourself in then gently lift his legs into your lap. Rafayel gives you a look when you do this, clearly debating on whether or not he should reject your act of goodwill. Ultimately he stays.

Notably, while his pencil is still scratching on paper - you think by this point he’s not really sketching anything at all.

“I got off of work late,” You explain. You rest your hands on his calf gently. “There was an incident near the station but it was a false alarm so I ended up being cleared.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Warm, you think. You nod.

“There’s been a lot of Metaflux increases in the residential districts close to our headquarters. It’s odd.” You explain. Rafayel is quiet, looking at his nails disinterested. You go on, not taking offense. “Strange as it is, there’s been no active threats. Still, given the location, it needs a lot of man power to be investigated.”

Rafayel sits quietly, unreadable. You continue on. “So it’s been busy. I think we’ve cleared the level of threat, so another team will probably take over soon.”

“Hm.” Rafayel says, a petulant edge to his voice. Warmer. “So that’s why you’ve been so late this week. I guess it’s good that nothing happened. It must’ve been difficult, so difficult if you could barely spend time with your one and only lover. But I guess it’s fine, it’s not like there’s anything you can do in that circumstances. Well, you could’ve done a lot but if it didn’t occur to you there’s nothing to be said, then again—why would it—“

Hot. “Rafayel.”

“What.”

“I’m sorry for being late,” You say.

A beat. His frown deepens.

“And?”

You pause before answering, smiling apologetically. “For not keeping in contact with you more.”

Some of the life returns to him. You’ve deduced the source of his bad mood, which means the only thing left is to alleviate it. You don’t like seeing him upset. He’s quick to forgive you, always optimistic and trying to keep your relationship lighthearted.

But there is an underlying desire in him that makes you more conscious about any minor infringements. Despite himself, Rafayel is more concerned about you liking him than he’ll ever let on in his life. Even when he’s upset, he’ll forgive you - but the feelings linger until they explode. When he gets like that, it’s much harder to comfort him.

It’ll fester if you don’t apologize properly. You know him well enough to know that and you love him well enough to not want to see when disaster strikes.

(Plus, there’s something about the way he’s still pouting. He’s trying to relax, but it’s there. It’s cute to you. It makes you want to kiss it better.)

“I’m sorry,” You offer. You reach for the hand resting in his lap and he lets you take it, though it’s limp. You press a kiss to the back of it, eyes full of affection. “I’m not used to having someone wait for me,”

Rafayel makes another face at you, unreadable. “Not just anyone.”

You laugh lightly. “That’s true.”

Squeezing his hand tighter, you kiss it one more time. “Can I make it up to you…?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“I’d like to,” You offer, another kiss - just higher on back of his hand. Closer towards his wrist. “Whatever you wanted.”

“Whatever I want is a tempting offer, Miss Bodyguard. What a talent for bargaining you have, indeed. Maybe you should try bidding a one of my auctions, just to see.”

“I’d bid too high off the bat. I’d go bankrupt,” You tease back, a sweet lilt to your voice that makes Rafayel’s eyes shimmer, fond of your wit. “Would you be willing to keep me if I gave it all up that way, I wonder?”

“Since it was for me, I could consider being merciful.”

You give him sincere but small smile and Rafayel seems to warm up seeing it. He can be coy, even playful about his affection but there’s something about him today that feels more shy then it does anything else.

“If I can ask for whatever I want,” Rafayel starts. “Maybe we could start with paying back your dues. After all you owe me your full undivided attention after your week of neglect.”

“That’s easy.” You say, charming. Rafayel makes a face at you that makes you want to laugh. “I wanted to give you that anyway. Is that all?”

“Are you telling me to be more demanding? You think that’s a wise choice?”

“If it makes you happy, I’ll play the fool.”

It’s corny, deliberately not something you’d say to anyone else or at any other time. Something that Rafayel might say to you in a different circumstance, so in a way you’ve simply beat him to the punch. He goes through several feelings, each passing over his expression. Amusement to disbelief to embarrassment even he can’t cover up too easily.

Great risk comes with great reward. Yours is a smiling Rafayel, boyish and amused. Color returned to him, a playful air of mischief about him.

“Well if you’re that desperate to make it up to me, then I guess I could try to forgive you. Gosh, you must be so desperate if you’re willing to act this way. You’ve totally fallen for me, haven’t you?”

Yes, you think. Too much of that at once and he’ll get shy again. You’ll have plenty of coaxing to do later so you keep the thought to yourself. You smile at him instead. “So, you’ve anymore demands for me, my liege?”

Rafayel hums before breaking out into a grin. “Hmm. For now, just one.” He offers you his hand. “Take me upstairs.”

Rafayel has a way about him, with you and only you, that makes you especially weak to his advances.

Whatever those advances are, however taxing on you they may be—there’s so rarely a time where you can tell him no. He likes having that much influence over you, no matter what his particular mood is. If he’s feeling the desire to keep you under his thumb or be at your mercy. Whats central to him in each instance is that he has the full breadth of your attention, your desire, and most importantly—your lacking will to resist.

You like it all because you like Rafayel. Like how it feels trying to hold onto him as he slips between your fingers.

If someone asked you what you like most, though - it’d be this.

Not quite at your mercy but expectant of your devotion. Crystalline eyes and long, straight lashes blinking up at you with unwitting demand, crowding around you mercilessly. A gaze that weakens you, disarms you, demands your propriety.

“What are you thinking about?”

His words come out more annoyed than he wants them to. Your eyes come back into focus to Rafayel on top of you, in your lap as you lean against the headboard. His weight settled like he’s something that fits there perfectly and he does. Your hand reaches for his lower back, eyes tracing down the damp skin. Button shirt opened just loose enough to catch glimpse of his collarbones, with only boxers underneath. Your hands run down his sides, smooth down his bare thighs - mesmerized by cream colored skin that begs for blemishes.

His expression bewitches you even when your mind had prepared you for it. You smile almost lazily, drawing him just a little closer to you until your noses touch. “Of you.”

He scoffs at you. “Is that so? Not that you have no reason to think about your perfect, darling lover—it’s just that it seems like he’s the last thing on your mind these days, so you know,-“

You kiss him. It’s only partially to shut him up. It’s mostly because him talking makes you look at the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips—the way he’s pouting at you. It’s almost too much. You part after a minute, careful not to deepen the kiss.

He has something to say after the fact, dazed - hands on your shoulders trying to give himself the room to speak before you kiss him again.

But you don’t relent. You kiss him harder, a hand around the back of his neck - slipping your tongue against his lips in the way you like. He doesn’t concede. You’re not really expecting him to. He kisses back even harder like he’s trying to prove a point - teeth digging into your lower lip. A little too sharp for human, but perfect for him.

You pull away breathless. A hand still on the nape of his neck, sliding around enough to feel his pulse under your thumb. Thump, thump, thump—rabbit quick. You smile at him suggestively, proving him displeased.

“Don’t interrupt me. Trying to kiss me when I’m airing out my complaints is unprofessional and rude, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Your lips brush his jawbone. “It’s hard to think about talking when you’re half-naked on top of me.”

“You can be so vulgar. It’s shocking. You’re usually all serious and about work and then sometimes you look like a dog waiting to be told it can have the treat on it’s nose,” Rafayel says airily. Fake haughty, voice colored with coyness. You look up at him. “Does it really count as making it up to me if all you’re doing is lusting after me?”

You don’t deny him at face value. “You set the standard. You tell me. Do you feel like I’m still making it up to you or should I work a little harder?”

There’s something between you. A spark of electricity that fizzles and pops, tension deepening. Rafayel likes playing tug of war with you. Even though he’s expecting to be pampered - there’s nothing easy about letting him. But it works when you keep yourself even. Eager. Having your desire and lust for him out in the open gives him the power again and he likes that, even when it’s mostly pretend.

“Work harder. You have to earn your paycheck Miss Bodyguard.” He says. You laugh a little, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes boss,” You reply. You lean forward, pulling his weight down as your hands slide underneath the loose, flowy button up. Your hands find his waist, holding his sides before gliding them up on the planes of his back. He’s got lean muscle, a swimmers build that feels tight to the touch.

You kiss him on the lips again, tongue sweeping against his lower lip. Rafayel playfully rejects it when you do. You pull away one hand to cup the back of his neck and force the kiss deeper, tongue pressing the closed seam of his lips until he yield and lets you. He melts at the gesture rather unwittingly, the softest little whimper sounding as you feel your tongues touch. It’s a wet, hot kiss. Mouth sticky with spit and saliva.

“I’m working hard so you shouldn’t be too hard on me,” You say playfully. Rafayel rolls his hips, makes a noise for you as he huffs. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You’re—“

You interrupt him again. Not with a kiss on his mouth this time, but a chaste one to the very corner of of it - trailing down the soft curve of his jawline. You make the pressure on his neck featherlight. Thin skin prone to being sensitive, he melts at the soft touch. Cranes his neck up subconsciously to give you access to it. In the spirit of pampering him, you bite at the skin with a genuine hunger. Marking each bruise with a kiss first, you sink your teeth into him without remorse. Incisors scraping the delicate area before you suck hard, broken capillaries throbbing underneath your tongue when you lick them after the fact.

Deep, deep shades of red and purple bloom all over the column of his throat. It doesn’t feel like enough to you still.

“My neck hurts from all your biting.” His voice comes out in wet pants, betraying the sentiment. You laugh warmly at his attempt to diverge.

“Does it? Should I be gentler, then?” You offer. After you feel like you’ve marked his neck enough, you press another feather-light kiss right where his adams apple sits. Another on his clavicle. When it gets to his collarbone - you don’t do anything more than brush your lips.

Rafayel whines. It’s a throaty sound that makes your whole body break out into a shiver. Such a pleasant sound on the ears that your mind pictures instantly what other sounds he might make if you just had your way with him. It uncovers a selfish part of you. You could flip him over on your bed and take him if you wanted. Fuck him until he sings as punishment maybe for being tempting like a siren drawing a lone sailor into deep waters.

You keep the thoughts to yourself, and keep your composure. You ask again instead. “Come on. Tell me. Do you want me to touch you more gently?”

He fusses in your lap. You grin. “What’s the point in being gentle now if you’re being so rough to begin with? The change would be just weird, you know.”

“I guess it would,” You let yourself lick the same places you just kissed. You bite then hard enough to leave a mark and Rafayel arches himself into it. “It’s better like this then, right? If I leave marks all over you, then maybe you’ll feel less lonely when I get busy again.”

“I should get to leave them on you too. Your memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. A physical reminder might do you some good, yes.”

His voice is trembling, despite himself. You pull away to look up at him, and catch sight of a fragility you sometimes forget he’s capable of. Brows drawn into a furrow, lips pulled into a pout. Like a wound reopened inside of him that he’s so desperate to cauterize but can’t. You want to kiss the lines between his brows and get on your knees for it. A proof of your affection.

“I’m sorry for being careless,” You say, sincere. Rafayel looks ready to quiet you, concerned about the mood but you proceed anyhow. You lift his shirt up and hold it to his mouth, and he bites without your instruction. Bare chest exposed to him, you flit your gaze to his face. “I can’t do anything but try to beg your forgiveness. Still,”

You kiss his sternum, your hands on his waist. You fingers trail down his sides, hands sliding back up to chest. His nipples are hard, damp skin cool to the touch. Your warm him with your fingers, rolling over the sensitive tips. Rafayel makes a muffled noise, his cock twitching responsively.

“All I ever really think about is you,” You say. Rafayel gives you a long, unreadable look as you toy with his chest. “I’m not the type to half-ass things so my thoughts always revolve around you. Finishing work to come home to you. If you’ve eaten or if you locked yourself in the studio to paint all day. If we should go somewhere together on my day off.”

You lean forward and stick your tongue out, taking his nipples into your mouth. You roll the other one with your hand to increase the pleasure - content as you watch his face begin to flush. He watches you so closely, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. You suck hard, wetting them with saliva before you take them gently between your teeth and tugging.

“I’m not good at balancing work with play. I’m also not very friendly so you’re the only person I’ve ever spent so much time dating” You hum, nuzzling his skin. “I’m sure down the line it’ll be harder. But, if it helps, it’s true that my heads always filled with you.”

Your hands grip his waist, pushing his hips forward slightly as you suck and bite his chest again. A line of saliva connects you both as you pull away - teethmark indentations in their place.

“I want to make you feel good,” You maneuver Rafayel until he’s underneath you. His expression reads as overwhelmed but the faint blush blooming all over his skin and the hazy look in his eyes makes you confident he’s feeling more than just uncertainty. More like restlessness. A desire to be touched as he lays on his back with you looming over him. “And to touch you everywhere.”

You lean into him, trailing kisses down the his chest. You can feel his pulse quicken again as you touch him, spreading his legs as you put your thumb inside the waistband of his boxers.

Like this, he looks especially enchanting. The sleeves of his shirt pulled over his palms, button-up bunched up underneath his chin, and tight gray boxer briefs snug around his hips. Your bedroom, dimly lit, casting shadow on the sinewy muscle. His chest heaves with anticipation, stomach tense as your lips trace a path down from chest to navel. Excitement wracks through his body.

You put a hand on his stomach and look up at him. “I want to leave my mark on all of it. I want your body to remember I felt this deep inside of you and shiver. You’ll be able to think of me half as much as I think of you.”

Rafayel heaves, eyes glossed over. “Shit, you’re so unfair. It’s like you have two personalities or something. Are you tricking me? Is it actually you in there?”

You smile a little, pleased by his reply.

You follow your instinct, sliding his boxers off and tossing them somewhere. Rafayel is hard. So hard it looks like it hurts. The tip of his cock is ruddy, wet with pre-cum and swollen. His dick is long. Stands up with a straight curve. You breathe on it, making Rafayel flinch with anticipation. Your eyes flicker up to his face, terrible pout betraying his feigned moodiness..

“Don’t tease me,” He voices. Arousal strikes through you like hot iron at the whine of his voice. Almost pitiful.

“Not today,” You promise.

You making yourself comfortable between Rafayel’s legs, sticking your tongue out to taste him. He smells like soap and skin, but the scent is still so arousing. Your head is heavy with it, senses suffocating, hands stabilizing themselves by grabbing hold of his thighs. Rafayel looks near overwhelmed from even the slightest touch. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be so quiet. Almost meek. He must be aching for you more than he lets on.

You let his cock rest against your face, nuzzling it with your cheek. His cock responds sweetly to the lewd act. He lets out a sigh about, subtly trying to shimmy away from the touch. Unable to win against your grip, he sinks back into the bed and takes a long breath.

“Keep your eyes on me,”

In the business of spoiling him, you leave your teasing to a minimum. You gather spit in your mouth and spit it onto his cock with force - relishing the his breath hitches. How his eyes widen just slightly. You stroke his shaft with a tight grip, bringing your head down suck lightly below the shaft of his cock. His head falls back again, mouth open in a silent plea.

Rafayel keens for you when you work him with the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You use your hands to fondle him while you shift your attention to his length. Your lips placing hot kisses up until they stop at the slit - tongue dipping into and tasting precum. Salty and warm. You wet your lips again and brush them against his cock - watching the way his expression shifts at the sensation, lightly sucking as you build yourself up having him in your mouth.

He pitches his hips with desperation that spurs you to give him more pleasure. You open wide to take his cock into your mouth. The weight of it feels good. Arousal clouds your mind as you hollows your cheeks and stick your tongue out over your lip. He’s throbbing so hard it makes you lightheaded.

A minute passes as you just hold him in your mouth, getting your jaw used to the sensation before you put in work in making him feel good. Like steel over your velvet, you use your tongue to lap at the sensitive skin while spitting and drooling. You’re making a mess. The room echoes with the filthy noise of you swallowing and choking on Rafayel’s cock.

“Oh, fuck.”

Your eyes flicker up to Rafayel, trying not to crack a smile at the state of disarray he’s in. His expression is so twisted from pleasure. All of his features reflective of it. His blush seems to creep down even further the longer you go. Your body gradually heats up, core throbbing as you take him down. Take him slowly into the narrow canal of your throat, eyes watering.

You ease yourself down the very base - nose pressed against his navel, tongue over your lip. Rafayel’s fingers curl into the sheets underneath you trying not to buck his hips.

“Get off of me, I’ll cum.” He says, almost panicked. “Your throat feels so good. Y-your mouth is so hot and it’s making me feel so good, can’t—I can’t. You gotta get off or—”

His words of protest fall on deaf ears as you spread his legs even further. Wanting to make him feel better, you part them.

You’re greeted by pretty pink hole - already wet for you. A stream of spit follows as you pull off him.

Rafayel heaves in relief.

“You got yourself ready,” You say, less than ask. Rafayel rolls his eyes.

“So what if I did?”

“I wanted to do it for you.” You reply, pretending to sulk. “Told you I wanted to spoil you.”

He blushes further. “Don’t you have any sensibility? You’re doing more than enough. Being excessive, even.”

“I don’t believe in being excessive when it comes to you,” You hum. Sitting up, you reach over the bedside table for a bottle of lube. You pour it in excess on your two fingers before coming back down between his legs. The bed creaks under your weight.

Lube drips from your two fingers onto Rafayel’s hole, thick as you push the excess with two fingers. Both go in so smoothly it makes you smirk. He’s soft inside. It’s so easy for you to put both fingers inside of him, even easier to find his prostate - swollen from arousal. He must’ve fucked himself open like this on three fingers given how easily yours follow.

“It’s so wet inside. You must’ve really wanted me to fuck you.”

“So what if I—aah—did?”

“Well, I wanted to take you apart nice and slow.” You say, slowly rubbing your fingers against his prostate, pleased by the little oh noises he makes when you. Cum spills from the tip immediately. He’s so sensitive. You divulge your plans to him as you stretch him. “First with my mouth once or twice. I was going to save fucking you for the end but—“ You push your fingers deeper. To the knuckle. His eyes shoot wide open before his voice breaks into a moan. “Since I’m making it up to you you, I was wondering if I should just cut the chase and make you cum on my cock over and over and over. Maybe you’d prefer that.”

Rafayel’s eyes go wide. You feel a sense of accomplishment knowing without him telling you. He clears his throat, strangely sheepish.

“It’s not like the other stuff feels bad or anything—“

You make eye contact with him, sitting up on your knees. Your other hand cups the back of his neck as you press a third finger inside - fucking it in slowly. Rafayel moans unabashedly as you do. His skin is feverish as you press your forehead to his, noses brushing. The wet sound of you stretching him open makes you dizzy, shared breaths between you filling worsening your appetite for him.

“It’s not what you want though, is it? Not today anyway.” You say, leaning close enough to kiss. You don’t follow through, your voice low on a whisper. “Tell me how you were picturing me fucking you in the shower. I’ll give you whatever you want today,”

Rafayel seems to let go of the last threads of fight in him as you approach like this. You’re in the thick of your wanting for him. Your body and your mind hunger to make it feel so good it looks like carnage to everyone else. To be pleasured so ruthlessly he can barely move

He’s rarely too shy but right now he’s in the depths of his desires. He moans sweetly like this. It’s not a sound you can coax out of him easily. It sounds so perfect still. Mouth fallen open, his hands finding purchase in the back of your shirt.

“Want you to fuck me deeply,” He pants, like it’s straining to even thinking about it. “N-not too fast, but not too slow either. Want you, hngh,” Shivering, he tries to speak coherently as your eyes meet - lips barely touching but almost. “To p-praise me and—“

You grin. “You want to pampered while I fuck this pretty little hole, right?”

You push your fingers in harder. He whimpers. It’s loud and broken and makes grip on you tighter. He just nods. “Please. Fuck, please - need it now. In me, please.”

It’s exactly the words you’re interested in hearing. You kiss him on the lips deeply. He sinks completely into the touch, malleable under your fingertips.

“Shh, I know.” You hum, soothingly. Rafayel whines from the loss of contact as you pull your hand away.“You earned it. Just a little more.”

You stand up again on your knee, stripping yourself of the remaining garments left on your body from the work day. You unhook your bra and take it off along with your tank top in one go, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Next come your slacks, tight from the way you’ve tucked silicone cock up against your stomach to be ready to fuck. You put it on earlier while he bathed - tucking it in your pants to keep it out of the way. Seeing you unzip your work slacks and have a heavy silicone cock fall from them evokes a reaction in Rafayel that endears you endlessly. A bitten lip while a shiver wracks through him.

Deciding your pants will get in the way, you make quick work of wriggling out of them completely before returning between Rafayel’s legs. You spit in your hand and stroke yourself with it, wetting your cock before letting it rest against Rafayel’s own.

“How do you want it?” You ask.

“Like this,” He says, unmoving. He seems certain on that end but he’s hesitating. “But I want you to…”

He looks away. You try not to grin but fail.

“You were being so bold a second ago,”

He rolls his eyes. “Well a second ago someone was trying to rearrange my insides so I didn’t have to think very hard,”

“So, should I do it again, then? I think we’ll get better results that way.”

“You’re so noisy. I don’t pay you for this,” He pauses. “I want you to hug me while we… like be close to me.”

You pause before smiling gently. You’re so charmed by the innocence of it. It’s so unlike him. Being away from you must’ve bothered him more than he cared to admit. Softening, instantly - you lean forward and press your lips to his forehead.

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Ugh. Not for now. But it’s annoying. I should be running you into the ground by now but here you are,”

“Making good on my promise?,” You finish. Rafayel doesn’t refute you. You kiss his shoulder blade. “Anything you want today. I’m yours.”

“Say it again,”

“All yours.”

He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you down. “…Hurry up and fuck me then.”

Complying with his wishes, you sit back on your knees as you line your cock up with Rafayel’s entrance and push. He gasps as you slide the fat head of your cock in, a wicked smile on your face as you watch his hole stretch out and around you. Three fingers is more than enough prep. It makes filling him so easy.

Still, the stretch - the feeling of being full is nothing like just fingers. You watch as Rafayel’s body adjusts to it. Inch by inch, you rock your hips forward gently until he’s swallowed your cock up half-way. He’s trembling as you lean forward. Waiting for you to bottom out before he pulls you forward for as much skin to skin as he can have. Your chest squishes against him.

When his hips roll for you to go deeper, you take it as a sign. With all of your strength, you hold onto his waist bury yourself inside of him in another single thrust. His nails dig into your shoulder, his voice next to your ear as you. Tightening his grip, he cries out at the sudden movement

You can feel him shake underneath you, cock clenching hard while you hold him.

“Fuuck,” He goes stone stiff underneath you before starting to tremor more violently. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

Realization dawns on you a few seconds later. “Did—did you cum just from putting it in?”

He opens his eyes and frowns at you.

“Shut up. I didn’t get to cum earlier.”

You laugh. “You’ll kill me being this cute. I don’t know what to do.”

“I could give you an idea if you’re going to just sit there,”

His impatience amuses you.

“Sorry. I’ve got you. Cum as much as you want.”

You anchor yourself, pulling out slowly and internally groaning at the resistance as you do. How his hole grips onto you so tight it feels nearly hard to move despite know how stretched he is. A phantom sensation fills your waist as you feel his stomach shift as you thrust.

Heeding earlier requests, you use your hips to set a pace to fuck Rafayel the way he wants. The ins and outs of his body come naturally to you now. Finding the right pace, the right motion, the right angle - all come easier to you than you even remember. On muscle memory, you hike Rafayel’s legs up and begin to fuck him deep. Not too fast, not too slow - but consistent in grinding against that sweet spot. Deliberately thrusting your hips up, you try to direct all the remaining focus into fucking him as good as you can.

You know you’ve hit the right places when his grip on you gets tighter. His legs locked around your back, Rafayel is a mess underneath you even when you’ve barely begun. Like he can’t stop cumming, his body helplessly wound as your hips clap his ass.

The moans that come out of him, broken and sweet. More angelic then pornographic but lewd enough to make you dizzy with the urge to pin him up and fuck him harder. Groaning when you fuck him just right. You can feel his cock against your stomach with how close your bodies are as you grind - twitching. Pre-cum leaking in long spurts and wetting your skin.

You coo at him feeling it start to be easier to fuck him.

“It’s just like a pussy, huh? You take me so good inside of you. It feels like you were made for it,” You press kisses wherever your lips can find the skin. On his face, his mouth, on his shoulders. You can barely make sense of your own filth, your mind moving on it’s own as your body chases its own arousal. Your clit is grinding against the base of your strap-on so well like this, you could easily chase the high and find your own orgasm with seconds. You’re too busy paying attention to make well on it. “I like when you act cute like this. Usually you’d put up a fight about it but you’re asking without fuss. It’s precious seeing you fall apart on my cock.”

He moans your name like an incantation, another dribble of cum spilling. He can’t stop cumming. Just shuddering beneath you, his face in your shoulder and panting like he can’t find the words.

“All mine, yeah? Everything, all of you. It’s all mine to tend to, so you can be as selfish as you want.” You hum, encouraged by the whimpering repetition of please in his voice. He’s being so pliant, so good. You can’t help yourself. “Take when you need. Cum when it feels good for you. I want you to feel good. Want to make you feel so good you can’t stand it. Think you can do that? Come on,”

Rafayel moans brokenly into your neck. “I’m g-gonna cum so hard, fuck—feels like I can’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me,”

“Shh it’s okay. I wont stop until you tell me.” You tuck yourself against his neck, kissing it before biting his ear lobe. He gasps. “Don’t think about anything other than cumming for me.”

“Fuck,” His nails dig into your biceps, coiling you around as you get close. “Fuck me. P-please—I’m cumming, I’m cu -“

Rafayels whole body stiffens under the weight of your body. You fuck him steady, pinning him down as he cums. His cock pushes hard against your stomach, twitching helplessly as his cum spills in streams. His back curls up, gripping onto you tightly as he moans loud and unabashed, euphoria splintering through his muscles. You fuck him through it until he rides out his high - his body loosening up as soon as it passes.

The sound of cum unsticking from your skin as you part from Rafayel makes you grin. You pull back out of slowly and get on your knees. You use your hand to wipe the cum off of your stomach and smear it against Rafayel’s hole.

“You made a mess,” You say brightly. Rafayel pants, looking up at you. Before you can ask, his voice trembles. He weakly reaches for your hand.

“Let me make you finish,” He says, abrupt. You blink at him owlishly. “Please.”

“Isn’t this about you?”

He frowns, looking at you seriously.

“It is. And I’m telling you I want you sit on my face and cum on it. Please.”

You give him a look before breaking out into a laugh. You stand onto your knees and undo the buckles of your harness - shimmying out of them. “I can’t refuse you if you ask like that but I don’t think it’ll be long.”

“It’ll just be once for now,”

“For now?”

He nods matter-of-factly. “You still owe me after the crimes of neglect you’ve committed against me.”

“Right.”

“And I’ve decided I want to exercise my rights to eat pussy until sunrise.”

“I see,” You say bemused. “And this is… revenge I take it? And not perhaps, an act of goodwill towards me.”

“I have no reason to show you good will, do I?”

You break out into more laughter.

“Right. We’ll be even after today then, at least.”

“Hurry,” Rafayel says again, after settling it. Same puppy dog look in his eyes as before, back in instant. You can’t help but be charmed by how quickly he reverts back into desiring your attention.

Rafayel lays down as you take your strap-on off and crawl over towards him. Deciding you’re not done with him for the day - you stand on your knees just over his chest and spread your pussy apart for him to see. He’s not expecting it, evidenced by the way his eyes go wide at the sight.

“Even without cumming, making you feel good turned me on this much. Is that what you were hoping to know?”

Rafayel goes flush again. “I never said that.”

“So difficult,” You hum. “Come on. Can I sit?”

Rafayel barely masks his enthusiasm as he nods. You crawl over him further before carefully setting yourself above his face. You try to avoid letting the full weight rest on him, but Rafayels hands are on you in an instant. With the same desperate grip he had while you were fucking him, he pulls your thighs down until your pussy is in his mouth - tongue out and lapping up wetness instantly. You shiver at the desperate movement of his tongue.

It gets your body hot all over again. Your fingers thread through the purple strands of hair for anchor as you push yourself against his willing mouth like you’re fucking his face. Your own desires hadn’t crossed your mind until now, but now that you’re aware of it - that familiar restless lust returns to you tenfold You shiver as the familiar flames of arousal stoke back up inside of you.

Your gut honeyed, sticky lust making your limbs feel thick. You use your other hand to tweak your nipples as you rock your hips back and forth. Rafayel lies underneath you obediently, eagerly - his hands helping you move at the pace you want without complaint. He always manages to surprise you. His willingness to give to you making you feel weak in the knees.

Already so worked up, it takes you hardly any time to reach your climax. You feel it in your waist, body going slack as the knot inside of your stomach uncoils. You let out a short cry, hands tightening in Rafayel’s hair as you cum all over his face - swearing as you do. You feel Rafayel moan against you, reverberating through you as you ride out your high and finish.

You pull away from his sated, pulling back to see him wiping his chin before licking his fingers. The look in his eyes sends an amused sort of arousal through you.

“You look like you’re going to eat me.” You say. Rafayel nods.

“I mean… I’m certainly trying.”

You laugh tiredly, swiping your thumb against his cheek with a smile.

“After we clean up and have dinner,” You say. “I have some mandatory time off so I won’t be called in.”

“I won’t let you sleep,” He says, clingy again - face pressed against your thigh. You grin. His many moods make you so weak to him.

You bend down to kiss his forehead.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

✮ a/n ; rafayel fans . let me know if this was okay im lacking confidence but i had writing him. i want to keep like a spoiled housecat maybe.

#rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #lads x reader #lads smut #writing tag

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kisakis-boyfriend · 2 days ago

Note

Atsushi’s first time doing breeding?

I feel like he’s be really nervous to do it, but he’d wanan do his best for his living bf and he ends up loving it so MUCH he goes into sub space.

Atsushi deserves some loving, my boy is understated in his own show ;(

♦️

Pairings: Atsushi x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Atsushi, breeding kink, overstimulation, praise, fluffy aftercare

“O-ok, you can…put it in now.” Atsushi blushes, intentionally hiding his face so that you won't see how nervous he is. Unfortunately for him, the rest of his body betrays that secrecy.

His fingers curl, gripping the sheets tighter as your fingers slide out of his wet hole, replacing them with your dick. The muscles in his back tighten, causing Atsushi to hunch over while your cock fills up his pretty hole. It's always so tight when you first enter him—no amount of fingering or orgasms do much about that. Not that that's a bad thing though.

“Don't hurt yourself, Atsushi — relax those shoulders, just like that.” you say, rubbing the tense areas of his back, all as the head of your cock pushes into his sweet spot again and again. You're not moving very fast, but the girth of your cock alone is enough to make Atsushi sweat. His knuckles have turned white from all of his sheet-gripping.

Soon enough, you ease into a faster, steady pace. Your lips brush against the back of Atsushi's neck and he shudders, feeling vulnerable under the shadow of your body. “My sweet boy, why are you so quiet today? Where are those beautiful moans of yours?” Truthfully, he was embarrassed to let any noise escape, too focused on this brand new experience to realize he'd been holding his lip between his teeth.

Sharper, more powerful thrusts finally get Atsushi to gasp; opening the door for his lovely moans and whimpers. You squeeze your partner's hips, hitting so deep in his guts that Atsushi swears you're about to ram your cock straight through his body– “Baby~ Baby, baby, baby… that little ass is going to milk me dry if you keep clenching like that- gnngh!”

As if his body knew what he wanted more than he could realize in this moment, Atsushi's hole clenched again, provoking you to fuck him harder — this is the perfect moment to try out that thing you agreed to.

“Oh fuck–!! Y'feel that, Atsushi? Feel how heavy my balls are? That's all for you, sweetheart~” you groaned into his ear, still curled around his body while your balls slap against his. Every thrust brings him closer to being filled by your warm cum, just like he asked before. “Need to- breed you, baby…please let me breed you!”

A quick 'yes' is all Atsushi can manage with his trembling voice, unable to think straight when your dick is hitting so deep and pounding his puffy hole until it becomes sore. Your warmth enters him, causing airy moans to spill out of his mouth while his eyes roll back. “Cumming-! B-breeding…my pretty boy!!” you manage through clenched teeth. You try to pull him closer still, pressing as far as humanly possible inside, while your cock pumps the last bit of cum into Atsushi's ass.

—

Beads of sweat build up on his forehead, and Atsushi's legs won't stop shaking, even though you haven't moved for a minute. His upper body falls forward gently, thanks to you, and this causes his back to arch deeply. All of that heavy breathing through his mouth has made Atsushi's throat dry, and his next words come out hoarse: “You…you really did it…” he wheezes, fingers limply resting on the sheets. “You…bred me-”

A chuckle falls from your lips, followed by a groan when you adjust yourself slightly and accidentally push on Atsushi's prostate again, making him moan so loud that you worry about neighbors hearing it.

Atsushi's brain turns to mush after that — corrupting whatever dignity and innocence he had left for the night, turning him into a babbling whore as he croaks; “Again…breed me again! Keep pounding me…please?”

And you'd be a fool not to take him up on that. You smirk at your partner's change in attitude, groping his ass before you nearly pull your cock out, only to push it back inside along with the cum still clinging to your shaft. “Oho, did my little kitty enjoy it that much?” a prolonged whine answers your question.

“You're so good for me, lovely. I'm gonna fill you up again, yeah?” you hum between every kiss pressed against Atsushi's upper back. “Just say the word, and we'll go again and again—as many times as my baby wants~”

Atsushi gulps, his body more sensitive than before, now keenly aware of the shape of your cock as it stretches his insides and leaves a bulge in his tummy. A dopey grin is plastered on his face while you snap your hips against his — your voice sings sweetly every praise you can imagine, every drag of your cock against his insides brings you that much closer to breeding him again.

And his own pretty voice eggs you on—to fuck him a little deeper, pounding his trembling body into the mattress so hard that Atsushi watches stars dance in front of him. His eyes blow wide open, then flutter as you cum inside of him once more.

Your breath is hot on his flushed skin, but your lover really doesn't mind, not when you, quite literally, fucked his brains out. Atsushi is limp and only half coherent when you eventually pull out, letting you roll him over and position him a bit more comfortably so that you can wipe his body down.

For the rest of the night, he's your little cuddle buddy who curls up against you, thanking you for being so good to him and making him feel good during this new experience.

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herrmannhalsteadproduction · 13 hours ago

Text

Buck's at the grocery store buying his umpteenth bag of flour when he sees a very familiar silhouette waiting in line at the cash.

Tommy.

Three months apart and now they finally run into each other?

At two am at the closest twenty-four grocery store Buck could find? When he's dressed in a pair of holey sweatpants and a stained hoodie with dirty hair and a face full of scruff? No cart! Just him and his twenty-pound bag of flour that he's cradling to his chest like a powdery security blanket?

Amazing.

Awesome.

Fucking perfect.

Exactly how he's pictured it.

As Buck gets closer though, his eyes narrow at the sight before him.

Not at all like he's pictured it.

Tommy's shoulders curl inward as he hunches over his cart, head low. His threadbare shorts hang off of him in a way they never would have three months and one day earlier. His feet are shoved into his shoes without socks.

Tommy hates going without socks.

His curls have grown long and messy, lying limp against his scalp.

Buck carefully sidles up beside him, not quite in his field of vision yet, frowning at how pale Tommy's skin is. Practically grey.

He looks like shit.

For one whole moment, Buck wishes he could feel some kind of vindication—gloat, maybe—but he doesn't have the energy.

Or the heart for it.

And one glance into Tommy's cart has him refocused on being incandescently enraged over the bullshit currently sitting in there.

"What the hell, Tommy?" Buck bursts out, making the man jump and whirl around.

"Ev—Buck, what? What are you doing here? What's—what's happening right now?" Tommy stares at him, wide and unblinking, like he's afraid to take his eyes off him.

"What's happening is I'm saving you from this cartload of crap," Buck says, elbowing his way past him to gain possession of the cart.

He shifts the bag of flour to one arm and uses his free hand to pull out the package of bakery donuts that somehow manage to look cracked and soggy all at the same time.

Then the box of cookies that he knows for a fact taste like they're one step away from cardboard.

Then the cake that says 'Happy Birthday, Leo!' and has a seventy-five percent off sticker on it. He side-eyes Tommy for that one.

Tommy makes a face right back.

Buck keeps going, pulling out the lemon loaf that doesn't actually look too bad, but whatever—his is better.

Everything of Buck's is better than this crap.

...Tommy just doesn't know that yet.

"Just stop! For one second." Tommy reaches out to grab Buck's wrist before he can grab the package of—gross—bran muffins. He takes a deep breath before he finally meets Buck's eyes.

"What is this?" he asks again quietly.

"Me, actually stopping you from making a mistake this time," Buck says, yanking his wrist back with a scowl. He falters for a second when his own words register in his brain, but he shakes it off and grabs the muffins out of the cart, dumping them beside the cookies. "This stuff is all terrible. You deserve better, Tommy."

"It's what they have," Tommy said tiredly.

"Yeah, well, I have better stuff at my place." Buck sets his flour down in front of the unimpressed-looking cashier. "Sorry about that," he says, digging out his wallet. "We'll just take this. And these."

"Oh, I'm allowed to keep the oranges?" Tommy rolls his eyes as Buck grabs the bag out of the cart and places them alongside his flour.

"For now," Buck snips back.

Maybe he'll make an orange loaf.

Right after he convinces Tommy to come back to his place and he feeds him edible baked goods and—and maybe they talk and...

Yeah.

This isn't a half bad plan.

He can work with this.

"Just the flour and the oranges," he says to the cashier, pulling his card free as he flashes a grin at Tommy. Feeling it spread wider when the corners of Tommy's mouth twitch reluctantly in return.

He can work with this.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #kinley #kinley fic #911 fic #bucktommy ficlet #911 #tommy kinard #evan 'buck' buckley #evan buckley #911 ficlet #i don't know what this is really but here you go

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bialbovi · 16 hours ago

Text

I know I don't need a label to live but god do I feel miserable sometimes (paradoxically from the label and the unknown)

I am genuinely happy for my friends and their love but it is such a maze for me and maybe that's how it's supposed to feel

I've confused a friendship with what my ex friend considered "romantic" and I regretted it when I agreed to date, all this was resolved later because I confessed our feelings vary a lot

Thing is I do not feel miserable because I do not have a partner right now, absolutely not, I feel so happy because I get free time for myself and for my friends and other stuff and hobbies

I don't even want to date right now or anytime soon. And I still hang out with my friends and I am satisfied. Socially, I mean. But in the future I would love for it to work out with a future friend

I feel miserable because I am afraid that this label is going to fit way too well and I wish I was wrong. I wish I'll discover that I'm an aromantic who can feel romantic attraction just a little. for just like one person. it's scary because I don't know how it's supposed to feel

maybe I'm just an aromantic asshole who has suuuuuper unrealistic expectations, that could be the case as well

but... when would it ever stop me? I am well aware that we are all imperfect works in progress and I really want to think people are comfortable with me, or well most of them. I try to approach most people I meet, because gods I love meeting people and getting to know them, and if we establish trust we can talk about more complicated stuff and I am like down to. Because I cannot handle smalltalk constantly, we need to throw in some deeper thoughts and- and

I don't know

It just feels funny because out of all people why am I, the one who is (100%, I am so fucking sensitive) very sensitive and emotional and overthinking and overanalyzing and you know. It's funny that I'm the one who just doesn't get romantic attraction and if it happened to me like right now I'd be scared shitless. Because I don't want the chemistry of my brain to decide what I feel randomly. Like I know love from the first sight is most likely an overblown thing but also people somehow get magnetized and they just stick to each other and then just something happens. Maybe I just love everyone??? Maybe my problem is I want to have a relationship somewhere in the future but this someone has to be a friend first, but that's like the bare minimum?? That's how normal people would build a relationship, would they not?? (I mean you can date even if you know each other for a week but hey. trust issues)

It's also funny because I actually love fandom shipping, oh I love pairings so much, I love putting my own characters into relationships and I love it when some pairing clicks with my preferences. but like hell I don't even know what they are feeling and I am probably dooming the romance a little too much but I like poetic shit. I just wish. I experienced a fraction of this. but not right now because I'd be uncomfortable. I want to dissect my brain. We could argue that "Hey Albo you probably write them through the lens of friends with benefits" DING DING DING WRONG. well not entirely because it feels like how I view relationships in general is friends. with benefits. but not entirely but like??? this shit is so complicated. none of my ocs are officially friends with benefits lmao they and my favourits characters have "proper" relationships. Maybe the reason why I like pairings is my creative attempt to tap into something I have not experienced. and ofc these relationships are not perfect but that's what I love about characters and people and------

Maybe that means I am not a lost cause entirely? But like... I understand the deeper connection between people but I have not felt it if it makes sense. I can't come up with a metaphor you get me

But I cannot see myself in a relationship. And I really want to.

And I am well aware that relationships do not have to fit a structure or be stereotypical, it can be anything

But also..thinking about relationships still makes me want to prioritize my autonomy and it feels like a relationship takes so much of your time, and some type of force keeps people together for decades, even living together. "duh Albo that's what you do in a relationship, usually". I know! And I still dedicate time to my friends but it feels like getting into a relationship would be very restricting.... or maybe I am hoping for the only ideal unrealistic option again..... sigh

Even though I could keep living as I do now, for some reason I am afraid my friends are going to eventually prioritize their significant others. we should not go there right now

I just don't want to stay alone forever.

I know there are demisexuals but that's not my case entirely

and yes even though I think I still have the label bisexual somewhere every single time pride month arrives I put the green stripes on my accounts because well it stays consistent for now

and I am in my early 20's oops

what is wrong with me (rhetorical)

Aromantics who want a relationship are Valid

Aromantics who DON'T want a relationship are a Valid

Aromantics who hope to feel romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who feel a LITTLE romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who are romance repulsed are Valid.

Aromantics that enjoy sex are Valid

Aromantics who "Sleep around" are Valid

Aromantics who want kids are Valid

Aroaces are Valid

Allosexual Aromantics are Valid

Queer Aromantics are Valid

Hetro Aromantics are Valid

AROMANTICS ARE FUCKING VALID

#oops I wrote so much tumblr couldn't process it I had to cut my writing...#albo tryndyt'#NOT TO BE DRAMATIC ON TUMBLR BUT IDK I HAVE LIKE A THOUSAND THOUGHTS PER SECOND #I HAVE TO STOP THIS SELF REFLECTION #ill go digest my otp fanart

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muniimyg · 14 hours ago

Text

*ੈ εつ‧₊˚° ♡ ༘ ctrl+alt+delete // jjk ༘ ♡ °˚₊‧ εつ ੈ*

19 // next // series m.list

note: oh wHAT DO YOU KNOW ABT MEET CUTES??? huashjdkfasjf.... ignore my mistakes ,, i am sick ! goodnight pretty pussy kimi friends <3

friday night.

jimin’s voice rings through the chaos of the small, but somehow always too crowded, apartment. it’s filled with people yet jimin’s squeaky yapping is the loudest thing in jungkook’s ear.

“stop freaking out!” jimin cries, dodging around taehyung, who’s already got a hand to his forehead like he’s holding back a migraine. “bro, you look fine.”

“but what if this is the wrong shirt?” jungkook whines, his brows knit together, tugging at the hem of the plain black tee he’s been second-guessing for the last hour and a half.

taehyung groans, dramatic as ever. “what if i hit you right now?”

“what if you go kill yourself—”

before jungkook can finish, the sound of liquid splashing against fabric cuts him off. the liquor spreads fast and drips down his shirt.

jungkook takes a deep breath in.

“oops,” jimin says, not even trying to hide the grin as his tequila splatters all over jungkook’s chest. “now you have to change. you’re welcome.”

“you—!” jungkook starts, eyes narrowing like he’s about to lunge.

“do it,” taehyung interrupts, his grin lazy, sharp, and mean in a way that only jungkook’s closest friends can manage. “before ___ walks in and sees you covered in alcohol. how’s that for a first impression, mr. perfect?”

jungkook shoots both of them a glare, muttering curses under his breath as he storms off toward his room, the familiar bubble of frustration fizzing in his chest.

god.

tonight, out of all nights; he’s spiraling. really—because how could they not see how serious this all is?

you’re coming over.

you.

st4rg1rlyni3.

… and since this is your first time meeting… he has to get it right. he has to at least look good. presentable. maybe even… handsome.

once jungkook reaches his room, he pulls open his closet door with more force than necessary. the shirts hang neatly—too neatly—because he reorganized them this morning, just in case you’d... what? wander in here and look inside his closet?

he groans at himself, grabbing the first thing that doesn’t make him want to scream, a striped blue button-up he swore he wouldn’t wear tonight.

as he shrugs the shirt over his shoulders, he’s halfway through tugging it down—arms trapped in the fabric, mid-struggle—when his door creaks open.

his heart stalls. freezes, really, like his whole body is buffering.

because it’s you.

you’re standing there, hand still on the doorknob, looking as though you hadn’t expected to walk in on this exact moment—but you’re also clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

“oh.” your voice comes out light, amused. you glance down at your phone for a second before back up at him, a brow raising. “taehyung said the bathroom was—hmmm. okay. i get it.”

jungkook is acutely aware of every awkward detail: his hair sticking up from all his stressed-out fidgeting, the half-buttoned shirt that’s probably wrinkled by now, the way his mouth is hanging slightly open because he still hasn’t figured out what to say.

“um...” it’s the best he can manage, voice a little cracked.

your smile grows, softening the edges of the moment.

“nice shirt.”

he stares at you, feels his cheeks flush a little hotter. because of course you’d show up looking this good, all easy confidence and effortless charm, while he’s here feeling like a walking disaster. your hair is curled in such an effortless way that truly scratches his brain. you’re wearing a baby pink dress that tugs your curves perfectly.

truth be told, he was just talking shit about the colour pink.

seeing it on you?

yeah. it’s his favourite colour now too—

that’s when jungkook realizes he’s been silent for a minute too long. you’re looking at him like you’re waiting for a response.

“thanks,” he finally blurts, so fast it sounds like one word. then he clears his throat, scrambling to add, “just—uh, just picked it.”

your gaze lingers on him, a smile tipping into something dangerously close to teasing.

“what’s… with the awkwardness? am i prettier than you expected?”

his breath hitches, and you swear you catch the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. but jungkook recovers quickly, his lips curling into a crooked grin.

“the issue was never if you were pretty. you are pretty. there’s no denying that,” he admits, his voice steady yet soft. “it’s your attitude.”

your brow arches, feigning offense.

“what attitude? i just got here.”

“that one,” he says, gesturing vaguely as if you radiate something he can’t quite put into words.

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “oh, so we’re acting like we didn’t just celebrate seven days of talking with cake? like you aren’t completely obsessed with me—”

“okay, miss disliker.”

“mr. vlog dedicator.”

“weren’t you mad at me a few days ago for muting when i peed?”

“yeah. i can admit to that. if i made peeing videos, you’d watch them, right? can you admit to that?”

jungkook bites down on his bottom lip, a nervous habit you’ve started to notice, and inhales sharply through his nose. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for a moment, his gaze drops to the floor like he’s trying to gather himself.

the air stills.

“sorry,” he finally breathes, his voice low and almost unsure. “seeing you in person… god, i don’t know how to act right now. i’m sorry, baby.”

his words settle over you, warm and sweet, sinking into the spaces you didn’t know were waiting to be filled. your stomach tightens, flipping over itself, and you’re suddenly too aware of the way his voice dips when he calls you baby.

jungkook finishes buttoning up his shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly on the last button, and then he extends his hand toward you.

“nice to meet you—”

but before he can finish, you reach out, wrapping your arms around his neck instead.

his entire body tenses for a split second, caught off guard before he melts into the embrace. his arms come around you, pulling you close, holding you tight.

you rest your chin on his shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. his cologne—something woodsy with just a hint of spice—wraps around you, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

why does this feel so right?

your hands flex against his back, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. it’s overwhelming—how natural this feels, how easy it is to lean into him like this.

he exhales against your hair, his breath warm and steady now, and you can feel the tension draining from his body. you pull back slightly, your arms still looped around his neck, and meet his gaze. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or hesitation—but it’s quickly swallowed by a softness that tugs at your chest.

his hands slide down to rest on your waist, grounding you in place. “hi.”

you blink, your stomach flipping again as his words settle in. he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, and it’s almost too much to bear.

“hi.”

“i’m really nervous, to be honest. jimin and tae have been eating up my anxiety and i’m… i’ve embrassed myself in front of you already so what the hell?” he says, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “you’ve been in my head. and now… now you’re here, and i don’t know what to do with myself.”

you smile softly, trying to keep things light despite the way your heart is racing.

“excited much?”

he laughs, the sound warm and a little breathless. “only a little.”

you don’t know who moves first, but somehow, you find yourself leaning in, his forehead pressing gently against yours. his eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, the world outside fades into nothingness.

“you smell nice,” he murmurs, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the ghost of his breath.

“so do you.”

he chuckles, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “this feels too perfect,” he whispers, almost like he’s afraid saying it out loud will break the spell.

your stomach flips again, and you’re suddenly so aware of everything—his hands on your waist, the warmth radiating off his body, the way his lips hover just a breath away from yours.

“then don’t ruin it,” you tease, your smile growing.

he grins, leaning back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, you’re both caught in the weight of everything unsaid.

“not a chance,” he says, his voice steady now.

you believe him.

the night feels like a dream.

not the kind you forget the second you wake up, but the kind you spend the rest of the day reliving, hoping to hold onto every detail.

jungkook’s mind if filled with you.

every time he looks at you, touches you, or hears you—he can’t help but feel like his heart is beating outside of his chest. it’s so strange and love has never felt this way—so intense and real… so fast.

you’re witty in a way that makes his chest ache, sharp without being mean, playful but never overbearing. he can’t remember the last time someone teased him, really teased him, without making him feel small. you make it fun—safe, even.

and god, you’re beautiful.

not in the way he thought before, through screens and pictures, but in a way that’s... more. the kind of beauty that makes him feel like he should thank someone—maybe you, maybe the universe—for the chance to be here, breathing the same air as you.

he notices the way hobi smirks when he catches jungkook staring at you too long. the way taehyung elbows him whenever you laugh at one of his dumb jokes. the way jimin whispers “she likes you, idiot” every time you brush past him, your shoulder grazing his.

it’s obvious.

to everyone.

and apparently, to you too, because you’ve joined in.

you’re teasing him just as much as his friends, your words sharp and deliberate in a way that keeps him on his toes. it’s almost unbearable, the way you make him feel like a little kid with a crush, heart pounding and cheeks burning every time you look his way.

and then, in the middle of it all, he snaps.

not in a bad way, but in the way you’d snap a rubber band to bring yourself back to reality. he steps closer, his hand finding your waist, his fingers curling just slightly.

“can i show you something?”

your brows lift, curiosity flickering across your face. you nod.

“sure.”

jungkook leads you to his room, the chaos of the party fading behind you. his fingers brush yours as he walks ahead, close enough to touch but not quite. it’s deliberate, like he’s trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

once you're in his room, he gestures towards his balcony.

you two step out and it's this set up of a cozy and quiet escape. there are string lights wrapped around the railing, a single blanket draped over the chair, and the view—god, the view is stunning.

the city stretches out like it’s alive, blinking lights and faint noises making it feel infinite.

“i fought for this room,” jungkook brags, leaning against the doorframe. “tae wanted it, but i beat him in an arm wrestling match.”

you laugh softly, stepping out onto the balcony.

“it’s worth the fight.”

“it is.”

he doesn’t mean the room, though.

you settle into the blanket he hands you, the conversation flowing into something softer, deeper.

“it's been a few hours already but... it’s still so weird seeing you in person,” he admits, his voice quieter now, like he’s letting himself be vulnerable. “i feel like... i’ve known you my entire life. it feels...”

“different?” you offer, your gaze steady on him.

he nods, his lips curving into a small smile. “in a good way."

“in a good way." you echo.

with that, you two settle in to each others presence. looking out at the view and laughing at each others lame jokes. for two sociable people, you two sure love your space from everyone... perhaps, it's because you're with the one.

as the conversation drifts, eventually, jungkook asks, “so... the anon thing. have you figured out who it is yet?”

you shrug, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“no, not really. hobi told me to take it slow. to focus on myself for now.”

“what does that mean for... you know.” his voice drops, suddenly shy. “your content.”

another shrug.

“i’m not sure. i don’t know if i want to keep going, but... i don’t think i have any other options.”

he frowns, leaning forward. “what do you mean by that?”

you hesitate, your fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “i don’t really know what i am these days, to be honest with you.”

that's the plain truth.

you haven't really admitted it to anyone... honestly? hardly to yourself... but for some reason, it just came out. for a moment you think; maybe this is dangerous. trusting someone so fast and feeling how natural it is to say the hard things...

then, there’s a beat of silence before he speaks.

“that’s okay.” jungkook voice is steady, sure. “not knowing is okay. being you is enough.”

you blink, startled by the simplicity of his words.

they hit harder than you expected, settling somewhere deep. it’s strange, feeling so understood by someone you’ve only just met.

the moment is broken by the buzz of jungkook’s phone. he checks it, lips quirking into a smile.

“jimin says everyone went to the pool.”

he stands, holding out a hand. “come on.”

jungkook leads you to the rooftop pool.

the rooftop is alive with soft laughter and the sound of water splashing, but all of it fades when you step out hand-in-hand with jungkook.

every set of eyes shifts to where your fingers are intertwined, lingering just a second too long before darting to his face, then back to yours. you feel your cheeks heat up, suddenly shy… but you two don’t let go. instead, you hold his hand even tighter.

instinctively, you move slightly behind him, but jungkook isn’t having it.

he pulls you forward gently, his hand sliding to your waist, keeping you anchored there.

for fucks sake… the prettiest girl at the party is with him. why would he hide this? why wouldn’t he boast?

“do you guys swim often?” you ask, trying to deflect from the weight of their teasing stares.

jungkook shrugs, playing it cool. “only when i wanna vlog and get your attention.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “right… because you just hate it when people only like you for your body?”

he nods, lips twitching into a grin. “exactly. oh, you so get me—”

“hate to break it to you,” taehyung interrupts, draping an arm around jungkook’s neck, “but posting thirst traps isn’t exactly original content.”

“what does that make me?” you quip, arching a brow.

taehyung shrugs, also playing it cool. “jungkook said he’d beat me up if I ever click your links.”

you snort, covering your mouth to hide your laugh.

“oh, come on,” taehyung continues, pulling at the hem of jungkook’s shirt, threatening to lift it. “jungkooookieee… go for a swim and do the whole romantic wet hair look. she’ll love it.”

“shut up—”

“no, seriously! right, ___?” taehyung calls over his shoulder, his grin mischievous. “you’ll love it, right?”

before you can answer, jimin comes barreling in, teaming up with taehyung to ambush jungkook. they shove him into the pool, their laughter echoing as jungkook resurfaces, glaring at them.

you step to the edge, watching as the three of them wrestle and splash around in the water. hobi appears beside you, crossing his arms with a knowing smile.

“this is gonna get worse before it gets better,” he teases, nudging you lightly.

you kneel by the pool, your gaze following jungkook as he swims to where you’re crouched. his wet hair clings to his forehead, and there’s a boyish charm in the way he grins up at you.

he’s breathtaking like this.

wet hair curling just enough to look messy, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching faint glimmers of the rooftop lights. his shirt clings to him, fabric plastered to every dip and ridge of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination—not that it matters. you’ve spent enough time watching him online to know every detail by heart, but this is different.

you swallow hard, a little lightheaded.

“help me up,” he says, holding his hand out.

“no.”

his grin falters. “what? why not—”

“you’re gonna pull me in.”

“no, i won’t.”

“yes, you are.”

“how do you know?”

“i know you.”

jungkook tilts his head, his grin returning as he leans his arms on the pool edge. “oh? you think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

you smirk. “don’t i?”

“you don’t,” he challenges, wiggling his fingers. “come on. trust me.”

against your better judgment, you give him your hand. the second his fingers close around yours, you know you’ve made a mistake.

“jungkook, don’t—”

but it’s too late.

he tugs you in, and the cold water shocks you, stealing the air from your lungs. you bob to the surface, pushing your hair out of your face, only to see him laughing like a kid who just got away with a prank.

you splash him. “you’re the worst!”

“am i?” he teases, swimming closer.

you’re still laughing when he scoops you up under the water, holding you bridal style. he hums, grinning down at you. “saved you.”

“you pulled me in.”

“okay, fine. i pulled you in.”

“you give in easily.” you tease, splashing water to his face. jungkook squints, taking the splash. before you can say anything else, he defends himself with a few words that make your stomach turn again.

“how am i supposed to argue with a pretty girl like you?”

back in his room, jungkook has a hoodie and a pair of sweats laid out for you. he’s drying off with a towel when you step out of his bathroom, his clothes hanging loose on you.

he pauses mid-motion, the towel draped over his shoulder as his eyes take you in. “you look better in my clothes than i do,” he teases, his voice dipping just slightly.

“gross.”

he grins, leaning against the dresser. “i’m serious. i might have to start hiding my hoodies.”

“please. you’d hand them over without a fight.”

“not true.”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer. without a word, you take the towel from his shoulder and start drying his hair. he freezes for a moment, caught off guard, before leaning into your touch.

your fingers work through his damp hair, your eyes inadvertently drifting to his lips. the air between you feels heavier now, thick with something unsaid. jungkook tilts his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes.

he leans in—so close, you can feel his breath on your skin—and then stops himself, pulling back just enough to create a sliver of space.

“i... i’m gonna wait,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“for?”

jungkook exhales, dragging a hand through his half-dry hair, the strands falling back into a soft, messy tangle that makes your stomach flip. the towel around his neck shifts as he fidgets with it, like it’s the only thing grounding him right now.

“i don’t know,” he murmurs, voice quiet, like the words aren’t fully formed yet. “i want to show you i’m patient. i want to show you that i’m a good man. i am... so...” his eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long, raw and unguarded. “let’s go? i’ll drive you home and hold your hand the entire way.”

you tilt your head, biting back a smile.

“you’re really not going to kiss me right now?”

his lips twitch into a soft laugh, dimples pressing into his cheeks as his shoulders relax.

“i just want you to know that you’re perfect for me,” he says, his tone so sincere it makes your breath catch. “i want to be perfect for you... and it’s hard when i’m losing my patience. if i kiss you right now…” he hesitates, his voice dipping lower, “i won’t stop.”

you lean forward, close enough to catch the faintest scent of his cologne mingling with chlorine.

“okay, i get it. you wanna be a good boy. fine by me…” you whisper, your lips brushing the air between you. “you’re right. maybe you shouldn’t kiss me tonight—as a matter of fact—don’t.”

his brows lift, the corner of his mouth curving into a grin that feels dangerously addictive.

“really?”

“yeah.” your smile widens as you lean just a little closer, your nose nearly grazing his. “i like making people wait.”

his grin deepens, the heat in his gaze undeniable.

“yeah?”

“yeah. i like it because it usually leads to begging.”

and then, before he can respond, you close the distance—not to his lips, but to his cheek, pressing the softest kiss there. when you pull back, jungkook's stunned expression is almost too satisfying.

almost.

#bts smau #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #jk meet cute

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v4mpvelocity · 1 day ago

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HWANG IN-HO X READER NSFW HEADCANNONS

pairing: Hwang In-Ho X female reader

SMUT MDNI

A/N wrote this half asleep i just woke up from a nap XD

Hwang In-Ho, the man behind everything yet so good at deceiving you all. Presenting as a reliable friendly man, so naturally when you met him for the first time, it wasn't long until you took to him. His manipulative nature making it very easy to seem a friendly approachable person and not a man behind the mass murdering of struggling and vulnerable people.

Hwang In-Ho, the man who noticed you just as you noticed him, wishing you could have met under different circumstances. You had been put on a team with him during six legs, chosen to play gongii. Failing two times in a row, you began to panic, tears threatening to spill, hand shaking. In-ho or 'Young-Il' as he told you his name was placed a hand on your shoulder. His words seeming much more intimate than they were.

'Just focus.....thats it just breathe' or 'Just play as if this is normal circumstances, you've got this okay?'

Hwang In-Ho, the man who you owed your life to and the man who believed in you when you didn't even believe in yourself. Without hid encouragements, you and the rest of the team would have surely died. Your face plagues his mind, your youthful features contorted in a mix of fear and frustration. It made his cock twitch in his pants, you looked so adorable, scared for your life.

Hwang In-Ho, the man who manipulated you into seeing him as a figure of trust, coming to him when things went wrong, or you were bawling your eyes out wanting to go home. He swore he could've just dragged you to the bathroom and fucked your brains out when you revealed you were only 21, a whole two decades younger than him. That turned him on more than it should of.

Hwang In-Ho, the man who makes you believe he is the only one that you can trust, then has you taken to his private bedroom in the games. The announcement ‘player 267’ was eliminated echoed throughout the arena, he had faked your death all so he could have you all to himself.

Hwang In-ho, the man who has you face down ass up on the bed and he pounds into you at an animalistic pace, his hand on the back of your neck forcing your face into the mattress, muffling your whines and whimpers. The sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the room at a frenzied pace.

Hwang In-Ho, the man who strives to bring you to tears on his cock, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you as if it were his only life goal. Your overstimulated pussy clenching and twitching around his cock, a white ring of your release gathering at the base of his cock.

‘you gonna cum again honey? shh…shh yeah you can…just take it c’mon…let go’ or ‘you can take it…that’s it…cum on my fucking cock..goood girl’

Hwang In-Ho, the man who forces you to watch yourself fall apart in the reflection of the mirror. Your fucked our expression staring back at you, eyes hazy and half closed, tear stained cheeks and drool covering your chin. You looked pathetic, but In-Ho loved it. He loved the fact he had reduced you to a mess with just his body.

‘look at you…so fucking ruined for my cock hm? oh yeah…feels so good hm?’ or ‘watch yourself while i ruin this tight fucking pussy….fuck’

Hwang In-Ho, the man who claimed you and made you believe you were ruined anyone else, holding your fucked out body close as he pet your hair. A stark difference to how rough he had been with you just moments before. Soothing the damage he had caused with sweet words and soft touches. He’s the only one who can protect you, right?

‘this is where you belong ok? with me…only i can love you like this’ or ‘nobody can love you like i love you….okay honey?’

#squid game #squid game smut #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #hwang in ho #front man #in ho x reader #in ho #in ho squid game #in ho smut #player 001 #001

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linddzz · 2 days ago

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Sat here and combed through all your jayvik analysis posts giggling and kicking my feet but PLEASE tell me more about the whole dom/sub thing, especially the whole “they have absolutely not discussed that this is the dynamic, it just happens and neither of them acknowledge it” because that is genuinely so interesting. Like I could already tell Viktor had hella ‘quiet calm collected dom’ vibes especially compared to jayce’s ‘excited protective puppy who would FOLD at being called a good boy’ energy…

But the whole bit on the bridge where Viktor smacks his hand away without even looking? And Jayce EARNS BACK TOUCHING PRIVELEGES? Fucking scrumptious please tell me more.

god i need to get to writing my fic bc I feel like "talk more about it" would be solved just by me dropping the link This ended up being TOO LONG so I split it between me going feral about that bridge scene and then me going feral at other moments of nonverbal communication that I use to feed my Dom/sub "oh you two are just LIKE THAT" interpretation. So. here's part one

That bridge scene tho...im so normal about it

hhhggg god that bridge scene is one that I rotate in my brain so much because it is such a small moment that makes so much of their dynamic click. For me, specifically, it clicks the "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" dynamic, where Jayce is, on a surface level, the stronger and more forceful of the two while Viktor is the one actually holding the leash (until he's too tired to because he's dying, and I only half joke when I say that their issues at the end of season 1 are because Jayce is suddenly the equivalent of a dog holding it's own leash and getting stressed out about it.

Jayce's touching before the bridge come across as pretty overbearing honestly. He's holding his hand out to keep Viktor from speaking out...

Heck, while the still screenshot doesn't show it too well, Jayce slings an arm around Viktor with enough force that it knocks Viktor off balance for a second and shoves him forward a little.

Viktor got dragged to the hexgate when Jayce is looking into shipping discrepancies happening there, even though it obviously doesn't involve him and he does NOT want to be there.

(In hindsight this is a hilarious bit of showing that it did not occur to either of them that there's no goddamn reason for Viktor to be here. This is council business, Jayce outright says "I'm a councilor now Viktor" which does not answer why tf Viktor needs to be there. these twits just handle all problems as a unit lmao. The tragic flip is that this is could then be a breaking moment when Viktor goes back to the lab, realizing that him and Jayce are not, in actuality, a single unit anymore. because Jayce got a second job that is not Lab With Viktor oh my god you codependent dweebs)

Up until that point it would be really easy to see Jayce as being presumptive and unintentionally overpowering Viktor in personality. Heck, it's what I thought the dynamic was as I was watching Season 1, though even as I thought that it seemed somehow...not quite correct.

And then the bridge scene.

Even before the hand-smack, there's a flip on the reading up to this point that Jayce has been accidentally bowling over Viktor by force of personality/physicality. Jayce comes in hot, upset, angrily standing over Viktor and chewing him out, and Viktor is just like "....and??"

Viktor is calm if baffled and annoyed at Jayce's frustration (also; Viktor just rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the actual riot happening a few yards away? hilarious. i love him.) His almost nonchalantly confused tone when he asks "what difference does that make?" always gets me. the entire back and forth says, to me anyway, that Jayce may be more brash and socially competent, but he's not overpowering Viktor at all, actually.

Viktor is going to do whatever the fuck Viktor wants.

This is immediately made clear by the much beloved hand smack. Viktor doesn't even look up, and his smack shows that he is perfectly capable of setting a hard boundary on Jayce's touching, and that Jayce will IMMEDIATELY fold and apologize when that boundary is set. That smack makes it suddenly clear that when Jayce goes for the shoulder touch right after apologizing, Viktor consciously allows it.

idk WHY but I also love this little tiniest moment when Jayce is going for the second touch. Viktor glances back as Jayce approaches him (looking like a cat with its ears pinned back lmao), then looks away as he accepts the second touch and they move on. It's such a tiny detail of showing Viktor, who is still pretty pissed at Jayce, seeing the touch as it comes in and then deciding to let it happen. im rotating them in my mind. please send help

In my framing of them being a guard dog/handler dynamic, the bridge scene is us seeing a moment of the leash getting a sudden sharp tug to bring the guard dog to heel. It resets all the earlier instances as being ones that Viktor allows to happen, because he doesn't see a need to correct it.

fuck man this doesn't even get into the bridge scene as a major crack between them as the moment Viktor loses his trust that Jayce will understand his decision. i am unwell

#arcane #jayvik #we are going back to 2014 tumblr era of analyzing body language frame by frame i am in my element #i think im the only one who loves that little side eye viktor shoots as Jayce goes for touch number two #he looks like a cat lashing its tail and considering another smack

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sailorsoons · 2 days ago

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ANOTHA DAY ANOTHA REPOST OF MY ORIGINAL REVIEW OF THIS FUCKING MF FIC. WOW. I LOVE DIS ONE.

This one is for all of my sleepy hot girls (gn) and the demons (existing) that keep them up at night because WE DESERVE TO SLEEP AND NOW I'M KIND OF FUCKING MAD THAT I HAVE TO TAKE AMBIEN WHEN I COULD BE TAKING LEE JIHOON???

Putting a cut because this review is actually me just babbling at Jade because I'm so mad and this is so good and I've never wanted something so much before ok

GOD I'm obsessed with this. LIterally the way you write Jihoon is dfogijdogisdjrgt it like turns my brain to static how he's just like very gentle and soft spoken but also incredibly firm and I literally am shaking in my boots right now I want him so baaaaad Jade lmao you have made my Jihoon desire go 📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈

The "that's enough" actually make my stomach drop to my asshole and I rolled over in bed and screaming into my pillow and kicked my feet that was so embarrassing for me oh my goddddddddd.

This paragraph has ruined me:

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

I'm insane, I literally feel feral. Awash in the lilac glow and the almost too divine I'm literally going to fucking come undone because WHAT THE FUCK that is so beautiful but also like - such a SPECIFIC muted color in the darkness that I inherently understand and god dammit I hate you!!!!!

Anyways I don't really know how you expect me to go to bed ever again and just take meds when this scenario now exists. I will now make it my sole responsibility to @ you in our server every night at 3:30 AM when I'm in goblin hours and then think wow, sure wish Jihoon could fix me which will ultimately make me mad and shake a hair brush at you angrily like that one meme.

Also out of context picture of reader at the end of this:

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you.

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him.

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts.

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him.

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy.

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?”

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound.

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know.

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there.

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —”

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry.

You don’t, thankfully.

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling.

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again.

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case.

He said he’d fix it, didn't he?

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to.

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach.

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers.

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely.

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway.

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded.

He doesn’t.

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge.

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full — for as long as he gives you.

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —”

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say.

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea.

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

#fic rec #jihoon #smut #pwp #established relationship #faces #eoieopda

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