#but don’t pretend that it’s deeper than that

[missarchive]

preview - american jesus, spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

just a little taster for a sugar daddy!spencer series im cooking up ;)

this will be a smut!!

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

You: That depends, what are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

DrReid: Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

You: And what do you want in return?

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

DrReid: Exactly what you’re willing to give.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

You: That’s a clever way of saying nothing

You: Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

DrReid: Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

You: And what game is that?

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

DrReid: The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

You: I don’t recall agreeing to any rules.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

DrReid: You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You: You’re awfully sure of yourself.

The response came almost immediately:

DrReid: Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

You: I think you already know the answer.

The reply came almost instantly:

DrReid: Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

You: And where exactly is that?

His response sent a chill down your spine:

DrReid: Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

You: Trust is earned, Dr. Reid. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared:

DrReid: Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

You: Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play.

His reply came quickly, the final twist of the knife:

DrReid: We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

You: What makes you so sure of that?

The reply came quickly, like he’d been waiting for you to challenge him:

DrReid: Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You: Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken:

DrReid: Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

You: Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary.

His answer was slower this time, deliberate, calculated:

DrReid: That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

You: And you think you’re the one to teach me?

His response was devastatingly simple:

DrReid: I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pre-tense with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

[sparklingblu]

Spark

Winter X Karina

A Hogwarts based (kinda fluff?) WinRina fic. Set during the time of the first wizarding war.

Chapter One

Friend and Foe

The History of Magic classroom was as dull and dusty as ever and Winter was fairly certain her brain had stopped functioning about twenty minutes ago. Professor Binns, floating an inch above his chair, continued ranting on and on about yet another goblin rebellion as the class slipped deeper into collective coma with each word.

The enchanted candles floating overhead flickered faintly, their warm lights offering no comfort to the chill seeping through the ancient stone walls. Snow fell in thick sheets outside the tall, arched windows, enveloping the whole castle in white. The world beyond was a winter wonderland, sparkling and inviting, but Winter was stuck in her chair, quill in hand, pretending to take notes.

Her parchment was covered in messy scrawls, though she no longer remembered what she had meant to note down. She tried to concentrate on Professor Binns’ lecture on Urg the Unclean, but quickly gave up after her eyelids started weighing a ton. Instead, her gaze travelled up the rows of desks, settling on a figure three seats ahead of her.

Karina.

Winter’s quill paused mid scribble.

There’s nothing different about her from her fellow housemates - another member of silver and green sea of Slytherin students who occupied the front rows. Yet something about her caught Winter’s attention. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s one of the most popular, if not the most popular student in Hogwarts. Karina - pure blood, the sole heir of one of the oldest wizarding families in existence. Not to mention her ethereal beauty, turning heads wherever she went. To sum it up, everything Winter wasn’t.

But at this moment, she looked as ready to exit the class as anyone else. Her expression was distant, her dark eyes gazing out of the window at the falling snowflakes, twirling her quill between her thumb and forefinger. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, further obscuring her face from Winter’s watchful eyes. Even if it weren’t, Winter doubted she could read Karina’s mind.

Winter told herself that she was only looking because she has gotten tired of snow gazing. That Karina just happened to be in the line of sight. But she knew that wasn’t true. This wasn’t the first time she’s fascinated by Karina.

Karina had always been….noticeable. Even in first year, during the sorting, she had watched Karina with curiosity for some unknown reason. She remembered how their eyes had met briefly after the sorting hat had roared “Slytherin!” the moment it touched her head. But that’s it. The only real interaction she had with Karina.

Six years in and it still hadn’t changed unless she counted the brief exchange of words when Hufflepuffs had to do double classes with Slytherins. But Winter doubts asking for a pot in Herbology counts as conversation. Especially not with how Karina’s friend shot her a disapproving look for being a ‘muggle-born’. Karina had made no remarks on her bloodline but it was still equally embarrassing.

“Still awake, Winter?”

Winter nearly jumped out of her seat, her quill skidding across the parchment. She glanced to her left to find Yuqi, her Hufflepuff housemate, smirking at her.

“I’m not asleep” Winter muttered, hurriedly trying to blot out the streak of ink.

“No, but you were deinitely somewhere else” Yuqi’s smirk deepened as she leaned closer. “Looking at certain someone again, were you?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about” Winter denied, trying to keep her face neutral.

“Sure you don’t” Yuqi rested her chin on her hand, looking far too amused for Winter’s liking. “It’s just funny, that’s all. Everytime we have a class with Slytherins, you are just-”

“Yuqi, shut up” Winter snapped, sounding louder than she had intended.

A few heads turned, but fortunately, Professor Binns was oblivious.

Yuqi raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything, her smirk suggesting she didn’t need to. Winter returned to her parchement, determined to ignore her.

But ignoring Karina was easier said than done. Especially when Winter risked another glance and found Karina no longer staring out the window.

Karina’s head was titled every so slightly and for one horrible moment, Winter thought she had noticed her stare. Quickly averting her gaze, Winter tried to fix her eyes on the smeared ink blot on her parchment.

The snow continued to fall as relentlessly as ever and Winter wished, not for the first time, that Christmas would hurry up and arrive.

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The Hufflepuff common room was emptier than ever and Winter, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, wished she could disappear into the fire crackling faintly in the grate. The warmth it gave off was half-hearted, much like the room itself without the usual buzz of conversation and laughter. Even the cozy, plant-filled corner that usually make the place feel alive now seemed dull and hollow.

Everyone in the house had gone home for the holidays.

Except Winter.

Not that this was anything new. Winter had stayed at Hogwarts every Christmas since her first year, and every year she told herself it didn’t bother her. There’s no home for her to return to. Hogwarts was her home. At least, it was the closest thing she had to one.

Still, the emptiness was suffocating. No matter how she tried to distract herselt. The book she had been reading by the fireplace for the last two hours now started to make no sense. The words flowed into her brain and tangled up in a meaningless blur.

The scenery of winter beyond the windows was no longer fascinating either. She had watched the same view for days that it now felt like a lifeless painting. Normally, there’s at least a hint of festive spirit in her during this time of the year but this year, she couldn’t seem to find it.

Winter slammed the book shut with a sigh. She tried not to think about other students, who were now probably in their cozy homes, surrounded by family and friends. She didn’t envy them. At least, she didn’t want to. Yuqi had offered to bring her along to spend Christmas at her place but Winter had refused. She’d rather spend the holidays alone than stick out like a sore thumb at someone else’s home. But still, it was hard not to feel the ache of being left behind.

After a few more minutes of considering if she should jump into the fireplace, Winter couldn’t stand any longer. She tossed the book away and stood up, grabbing her scarf.

She slipped out of the common room, the barrel shaped entrance sealing itself behind her. The corridors were empty and her footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness. The torches on the walls flickered as she passed, casting long shadows on the floor.

Winter wandered the castle for a while, unsure of what to do. It was late so the grounds were practically off-limit. It wasn’t safe to wander outside during those dark times with the dark side rising and all.

She considered for a long time before finally setting her mind. The library. It wasn’t the ideal place to spend Christmas but at least the silence and the emptiness won’t be so odd there. Even with Madam Pince patrolling like an overzealous hawk.

So she turned a corner, making her way back to the library. Winter lost count of the number of staircases she climbed. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help notice how the magical paintings even seemed to be having a better Christmas than her, dashing in and out of their portraits to visit their peers. A group of old headmasters tossed their goblets at her as she passed.

After what seemed like an hour, Winter finally arrived at the landing where the library was. Her breath came out in shallow pants as she tried to catch her breath. If it wasn’t for the cold weather, she would have been drenched in sweat.

Snow continued to fall outside the high windows and Winter thought for a moment how great it would be to enjoy a butterbeer from Hogsmeade right now. But she pushed away the thought quickly. No use hoping for the impossible.

She strided steadily to the library’s door. Soon, she would be at peace in its unburdened silence. She would forget about the loneliness for a while…

Then, a sound stopped her in her tracks. It was coming from her left, almost like the walls of the castle were groaning. Then it grew louder - a deep rumble that made the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Winter froze, her heart pounding as she strained to locate the source.

The sound was coming from an old broom closet, one she’d walked past countless times without a second thought. But now it seemed alive. The wooden door shattered lightly, the latch rattling as though something inside was desperate to get out.

Winter’s first instinct was to turn and run but her feet remained rooted to the spot. Her hand slipped into her robes, clutching her wand tightly as the rumbling sound became deafening. The door was shaking violently now, as though it was going to splinter any moment.

And then, with a loud crack, it bursted open.

Winter stumbled back, her wand raised, her heart hammering in her chest.

A figure emerged from the darkness of the closet. It was cloaked in black, the edges of its robes billowing unnaturally as it stepped into the torchlight. Its mask, pale and twisted, gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, the slits where eyes should have bern staring straight at her.

A Death Eater.

Winter’s mouth went dry. She tried to speak, to scream, but no sound came out. Her hand shook as she pointed her wand but no spell came to her mind. The figure glided towards her, silent and menacing, the air around it growing colder with every step.

This can’t be real, she thought desperately. They wouldn’t - Hogwarts is safe -

But the figure was real, as real as the icy stone beneath her feet and the fear clawing at her throat. The Death Eater’s wand rose, the tip glowing faintly, and Winter thought she saw a flicker of green light, faint but unmistakable.

She took a step back, her wand slipping in her grip as her palms grow damp with sweat. She tried to speak again but all she could manage was a whimper.

“Stay back” Winter squealed, her voice shaking. “Stay-”

But the words died on her lips as the figure moved closer, its mask gleaming, its wand aimed directly at her.

She fell to the cold stone floor, hands desperatly trying to grasp something to hold onto. That’s it, Winter thought. She was going to die and no one would ever know what happen. No one would ever mourn for her.

Winter drew in a deep shaky breath,possibly her last. Any moment now…

And then, just as the figure raised its wand to strike, a blinding flash of silver light filled the corridor.

“Riddikulus!”

The voice was sharp, commanding and Winter’s breath caught as the Death Eater stopped mid-step. For a moment, it stood, petrified as though confused of what it was doing. Then, with a loud crack, it began to change.

The figure’s once imposing robes fell off, revealing what looked like a clown that hadn’t eaten for days. Its mask crumpled into what looked absurdly like a clown nose and the wand that threatened to took her life transformed into a long floppy rubber chicken. A high-pitch squeak echoed through the hall and with a final pop, it vanished into nothingness.

Winter blinked, still trying to register what had happened. The silence that followed was heavier than the rumble that preceded it, save for the sound of her own ragged breathing.

“Are you all right?”

The voice, calm and collected, broke through Winter’s daze. She turned to see Karina staring a few steps away, her wand still raised, its tip glowing faintly from the spell.

Winter’s eyes widened, and for a moment, all she could do was stare. Karina looks as composed as ever, her dark hair falling neatly over her shoulders despite the chaos of the moment. Her Slytherin scarf, green and silver, hanged loosely around her neck.

“Winter, right?” Karina’s tone was gentle as she extended an arm towards her.

Without thinking, Winter reached out, her fingertips brushing Karina’s as she was pulled to her feet. Her legs threatened to give out but Karina’s grip was firm.

“That was…” Winter started, her voice trailing off as she glanced towards the now-empty broom closet.

“A boggart” Karina said, releasing Winter’s hand once she was standing. She tucked her wand into her robes, her dark eyes meeting Winter’s. “I’m guessing you thought it was a real…you know….”

Winter cursed herself silently. Of course, it was a boggart. There’s no way a real Death Eater would be hiding in a closet. How could she not have known? She’s in her second to last year for God sake.

Her cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment as she shook her head. “I didn’t even think…I heard the noise and….” She trailed off, feeling her face heating up with every word.

Karina tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “It happens. Boggarts like empty, narrow spaces. And they are particularly talented at scaring people to death”

Winter let out a shaky laugh, her hand still gripping her wand tightly. “Well, they are good at their job”

Karina didn’t laugh, but her smile widened slightly. “Next time, remember your DADA lessons before you passed out” Her tone was light, teasing and Winter knew there was no real malice in her words.

Winter glanced down at her wand then back at Karina. “Thank you” she said softly, still embarrassed but feeling thankful.

Karina shrugged. “No problem. How come you ain’t going home for the holidays?”

Winter hesitated, debating whether she should tell Karina. Then she decided there was no harm in speaking the truth. Afterall, she saved her. “I don’t…have a home” Winter said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is my home”

Karina looked surprised for a moment then spoke softly. “You mean…you live here?”

Winter gave a small shrug, trying to make her condition seem less significant than it was. “I have lived here forever. I’m used to it”

Karina’s lips pressed into a thin line and for a moment, Winter thought she was going to press further. Instead, she said, “It’s not a bad place to call home”

There was a pause and a sudden question popped up in Winter’s mind. Gathering her courage, she asked, “What about you? Why didn’t you go home?”

Karina’s expression flickered with something like guilt before she shrugged, her hand brushing against her green and silver scarf.

“It’s just stuff” Karina said, her tone dismissive. “Hogwart is quieter during the holidays. I like it better this way”

Winter wasn’t exactly sure if she believed her but she decided not to push the topic further. Instead, she nodded, tucking her wand back into her robes.

Karina’s gaze linger for a moment longer before she smirked faintly. “Well, I’d say you’ve had enough excitement for one night. Why don’t you come with me?”

Winter blinked, not sure if she had heard her right. “What?”

“Come to the Slytherin common room” Karina repeated, as if it were the most normal suggestion in the world.

Winter stared at her, incredulous. “Are you serious? That’s against about a dozen school rules”

Karina smirked, the torchlight catching the sharp edge of her jawline. “No one’s around. Everyone’s going for the holidays. Who has to know?”

“Why are you inviting me?” she asked, trying very hard not to sound suspicious.

Karina’s expression remained maddeningly casual. “You said you don’t have a home to go. Seems only fair to share mine, don’t you think?”

The words were simple, almost comforting, but it sent a ripple of unease through Winter. It’s not just about breaking rules - though that alone was enough to make her stomach twist - but the fact it was her, Karina, the pureblood Slytherin with cold, calculating eyes with a reputation that wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“You are not worried I’ll report you?” Winter asked carefully.

Karina chuckled, a low throaty sound that make Winter’s cheeks flush. “No, Hufflepuff. I think you are too curious for that” She turned away and started walking away, her steps graceful and deliberate. “Besides you look like you could use some company”

Karina wasn’t wrong but Winter hesitated. Her thoughts swirled, picturing every scenario she could end up in. What if Karina was setting her up? What if she was trying to play some sort of trick on her for being a so called ‘mudblood’? But another voice, quiet but insistent, reminded her that Karina had banished the boggart. She had offered her a hand without hesitation.

“You coming?” Karina’s voice echoed down the corridor.

It was probably the most foolish decision she had ever made but she started to follow Karina. Despite the voices in her head reminding her of the risks and the dangers, she ignored them, instead focusing on the steady sound of Karina’s heels striking the stone floor.

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[tinytinyblogs]

You Don't Need Anyone Else But Me

They wouldn't allow you to think of them as just a friend or let anyone else have you.

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 First story post of 2025—hoping it’s good enough!

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Han was always effortlessly charming, the kind of person you couldn’t help but trust. When you began telling him about the person you were texting, he seemed genuinely interested. His questions were casual, his demeanor lighthearted, and his laughter infectious. You felt comfortable sharing everything—it was natural, especially since you were so close. But behind that warm smile and playful laugh, Han’s mind was racing. He hid his panic well, nodding along to your stories while plotting. The more he learned about this person, the more determined he became. Han pretended to care, to empathize, but it was all part of his calculated act. Once he had the information he needed, Han sprang into action. He processed everything meticulously, replaying each detail until he knew how to dismantle your connection with this person. What you didn’t realize was that Han already knew far more about you than you’d ever imagined. Long before you confided in him, he’d been quietly observing you, tracking your habits, your preferences, your vulnerabilities. Stalking wasn’t new to Han.

It was a skill he’d perfected, something he was patient with. He ensured that every step he took went unnoticed. Now, with this person as his target, he worked to disrupt every plan, every meeting between you two. He’d make sure nothing went according to plan. Maybe their car would break down. Maybe they’d suddenly fall ill. Or maybe something urgent would pull them away. Han’s methods were subtle, nearly invisible, but the outcomes were undeniable. Every time something went wrong, he’d be there, appearing just in time, like a knight in shining armor. As time went on, you relied on him more, drawn to his comforting presence, to the way he always seemed to appear when you needed him. “How do you always know when I need you?” you’d ask, half-joking, and he’d laugh it off. “I’m just lucky, I guess,” he’d say, his tone casual, making it seem innocent. But Han wasn’t just lucky. He orchestrated everything. He ensured that you saw him as your hero, and in reality, he was a monster hiding behind a charming mask. He didn’t care what it took to win you over, as long as the end result was you by his side. One evening, after another disrupted plan with that person, Han made his move. You were sitting together, the tension in the air palpable. He turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Can we try to be... more than friends?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. “I don’t like the idea of losing you.” You hesitated, caught off guard by his confession. His sincerity, his raw emotion, made it difficult to question him. It felt like something out of a drama—an emotional whirlwind you couldn’t process. What you didn’t know was that Han had planned this moment long before it happened. Every word, every look, every gesture was part of the story he was crafting for you. To him, your life wasn’t yours—it was a play, and he was both the director and the star. Step by step, he guided you along the path he’d designed, ensuring you followed without realizing it. Every coincidence, every twist of fate, was his doing. He played the role of the supportive friend so well that you never suspected him. To you, Han was your confidant, your rock, the one person who was always there when you needed him. But to Han, you were so much more. You were his world, his obsession, and he’d stop at nothing to keep you by his side. As you smiled at him, unknowingly stepping deeper into his web, Han’s heart swelled with satisfaction. This was exactly how he wanted it—how it was always meant to be.

Felix

Betrayed. That was the only word running through Felix’s mind when he discovered you had been meeting someone else. It felt like a knife to the heart to realize that, despite everything he had done for you, all the time you had spent together, you only saw him as a friend. The realization left him feeling crushed, but Felix wasn’t the type to let his pain show—not at first, at least. He tried to hide his turmoil behind his usual sunny demeanor. With his bright smile, he casually asked why you felt the need to meet someone else when he was always there for you. “What’s so special about them?” he joked, though there was an edge to his voice that you couldn’t quite place. But when you gave him the same answer again and again, that you only saw him as a friend, something inside him began to change. You didn’t realize it at the time, but you were pushing him too far. Slowly, the cheerful Felix you thought you knew began to slip away. The radiant warmth he always exuded started to darken. His smile became forced, and his eyes seemed to lose their light. Then one day, without warning, the mask he wore so well crumbled.

His hand shot out, gripping yours firmly—too firmly. It wasn’t playful or gentle like before; it hurt just enough to make you flinch. His grip was like steel, unrelenting. His voice, usually so soft and soothing, came out sharp and biting. “How dare you,” he said, his piercing gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I do everything for you,” he continued, his voice filled with frustration, “everything to make you happy, to see you smile. And yet, you still choose someone else? You think I’ll just let you go like that?” Before you could respond, Felix moved swiftly, shoving you against the nearest wall. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was enough to make your heart race. His presence loomed over you, suffocating and overwhelming. This wasn’t the Felix you thought you knew—the sweet, carefree boy who made you laugh and feel safe. This was someone entirely different, someone whose obsession was beginning to consume him. His voice dropped even lower, each word deliberate and chilling. “Let me make one thing clear,” he said, leaning in close, his breath warm against your skin. “We’re more than just friends. I won’t let you walk away from me and into someone else’s arms.”

Your voice caught in your throat, unable to form a reply. The intensity in his eyes and the darkness in his words left you frozen. He studied your face, as though memorizing every detail, before speaking again in a softer, almost pleading tone. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret. Because I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me.” For the first time, you saw a side of Felix you never imagined—a side that was possessive and obsessive, willing to cross any line to keep you by his side. The sweet boy who had once made you feel so special now felt like a stranger, someone you weren’t sure you wanted to know. Felix stepped back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, though the tension in the air was suffocating. His expression softened ever so slightly, but the fire in his eyes didn’t waver. “Think about it,” he said, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Why would you need anyone else when you have me?” The room fell into an eerie silence as his words lingered, heavy and unshakable. Deep down, you knew Felix wasn’t bluffing. He was no longer just a friend, and you weren’t sure if you could escape the path he had decided for the both of you.

Seungmin

“Where do you think you’re going?” Seungmin’s voice was calm yet sharp as he stood in front of the door, blocking your path. His figure loomed, his usual gentle demeanor replaced by something unreadable. You froze, your hand still on the doorknob. “I’m just going out,” you said lightly, brushing off the tension. “I’m meeting someone, Min—” Seungmin stepped closer, cutting you off mid-sentence. His eyes flicked to the necklace around your neck—the one he had given you. His lips curled into a humorless smile. “You’re going to meet someone who makes you smile like that? And you’re wearing the necklace I gave you?” His tone was deceptively casual, but there was an edge beneath it that sent a shiver down your spine. You instinctively stepped back, suddenly aware of how different he seemed. This wasn’t the Seungmin you knew—the one who always teased you playfully. This version was colder, his presence heavier, suffocating. “You said it looked pretty on me,” you said hesitantly, trying to defuse the moment. Seungmin let out a low laugh, the sound devoid of warmth. He mirrored your step back, closing the distance. Reaching out, he pushed the door shut behind you. The sound of the lock clicking made your heart race.

“I did say that,” he replied, his tone dark and steady. “But don’t think for a second that I bought it for you to wear on a date with someone else.” His words hung in the air, heavy and charged. Your mind scrambled for something to say, but before you could speak, he took another step forward, his presence consuming every inch of space between you. “Seungmin…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head, his gaze piercing and unyielding. “Do you have any idea how much I like you? How much I think about you? And yet, here you are, acting like we’re just friends. Like you can just walk out that door and be with someone else.” His hand reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your chin. He tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. They burned with intensity, a mixture of frustration and longing. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, every word hitting you like a weight. “You should’ve figured that out by now.” Your breath hitched as his grip tightened ever so slightly, enough to make you feel his control. “Min, we’re—” “No,” he interrupted sharply. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say we’re just friends.”

His gaze softened momentarily, but the intensity of his words was unrelenting. “I don’t want to hear it. Because I’m not giving you a choice.” His words sent a chill down your spine. The Seungmin you thought you knew—the kind-hearted friend—was nowhere to be found. Instead, this version of him stood before you, unrelenting and terrifyingly sure of himself. “You’re not going anywhere,” he continued, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture that might have been tender if it weren’t for the context. “Not to them, not to anyone else. You belong here—with me.” His hand dropped, but the tension in the air remained, so thick it was hard to breathe. He stepped back just enough to give you space, but his presence still loomed large. “You should know by now,” he said, his voice softening, though his words carried the same weight. “I’m not going to let you go. So stop trying.” The room was silent except for the sound of your unsteady breathing. You could see it in his eyes—Seungmin wasn’t bluffing. Whatever version of him you thought you knew was gone, replaced by someone who had no intention of letting you slip away.

Jeongin

As Jeongin watched the man stumble away, his steps unsteady and his face pale with fear, a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. The confrontation had been brief but effective, leaving no room for doubt about Jeongin’s intentions. With a quick glance down, he noticed a small streak of blood staining his knuckles. It wasn’t his. He wiped it off casually, as though it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, before pulling his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling through his contacts until it landed on your name. "Friend," the label read. He scoffed, the word feeling like an insult. His grip tightened on the device as he stared at it, his thoughts spiraling. "What should I do to you?" he muttered under his breath, his voice low and tinged with frustration. The mere thought of you calling him just a friend after everything he’d done for you was infuriating. Did you truly not see it? Or were you just pretending, clinging to the safety of that label while unknowingly fueling the fire inside him? Jeongin let out a bitter laugh, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "Friend," he repeated to himself, the word dripping with disdain.

"After all this time, sticking by your side, thinking we’re just friends? How foolish of you." He began walking, his pace steady as he headed down the dimly lit street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. The path was familiar—it always led to the same place: your place. He had walked this route countless times, each step bringing him closer to you, to the one person he had claimed in his mind long ago. His hands slipped into his pockets as he hummed a soft melody, the tune oddly cheerful for someone who had just chased off a rival. His mind, however, was anything but calm. Thoughts of you consumed him, intertwining with the lingering adrenaline from his earlier encounter. "Friendship isn’t in my dictionary," he muttered under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile that was a little too wide. The streetlights illuminated his face as he looked up at the starry sky, the expression on his face one of twisted satisfaction. He thought of the man who had dared to text you, dared to think he had a place in your life. That man wouldn’t be bothering you anymore—that much was certain. Jeongin had seen to it personally.

"You won’t be hearing from him again," he said to himself, the words carrying a quiet finality. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the empty street. "In the end, the only person you’re going to see is me." As he approached your building, his steps slowed, his mind already crafting the narrative he would present to you. He didn’t need to rush; after all, he had all the time in the world to make you see things his way. Standing in front of your door, Jeongin took a deep breath, schooling his expression into one of boyish charm—the one that always made you laugh, always made you let your guard down. But beneath that smile lay something far more dangerous. To him, this wasn’t just about affection—it was about possession. You were his, whether you realized it yet or not. And Jeongin wasn’t the type to let go. As he raised his hand to knock, his heart pounded with anticipation. He could already picture it: your surprised face when you opened the door, your soft voice greeting him, unaware of the lengths he had gone to ensure you’d stay by his side. "In the end," he whispered to himself, his grin widening, "this story only ends one way—with you and me."

[atriza]

Behind the Spotlight

Yandere Idol Jay Park x Reader

Summary: As a member of a rising K-pop group, Y/N’s relationship with Jay Park is nothing more than a carefully crafted public image, one designed to please fans and keep the media at bay. But while Y/N tries to keep things professional, Jay’s obsession grows deeper. To him, their “fake” relationship is the most real thing in his life.

Word Count: 2,400

Trigger Warnings:

Obsessive behavior

Emotional manipulation

Control

Themes of unhealthy relationships

The flashing lights of the cameras, the screams of the fans, the rehearsals, and the endless practice—this was the life you’d signed up for. As a member of one of the top K-pop groups, your every move was watched, analyzed, and criticized. But there was one thing that always stood out, a constant in your life, like a shadow that followed you everywhere.

Jay Park.

On stage, you and Jay played the part of the perfect couple—laughter, playful touches, and the occasional stolen kiss. It was all part of the act, of course. A relationship designed for the fans, for the cameras, to satisfy the desires of the public who believed every scripted moment was real.

But you were beginning to wonder how much longer you could keep pretending.

---

You sat in the dressing room, staring at your phone. The notifications from your group’s social media accounts were endless, fan comments flooding every post. Many of them congratulated you and Jay on your “perfect” relationship. The images of the two of you holding hands, laughing, sharing intimate moments—they were all part of the illusion.

But when the cameras weren’t on you, when the rehearsals ended, there was a different story.

Jay was obsessive, possessive in a way you hadn’t fully realized until recently. At first, you thought it was just his personality—he was protective, always looking out for you, making sure you were well taken care of. But slowly, it started to feel like more than that.

He kept track of where you were at all times, made sure no one got too close, and always had an eye on you, even when the cameras were off. You had brushed it off at first, convincing yourself that it was just a part of the job, that he was only looking out for you, as any good “boyfriend” would. But then the small things started to add up—the way he would linger after every interaction, his constant need to know where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

One evening after a concert, you were chatting with your members backstage when you felt someone watching you. When you turned around, you found Jay standing just a few feet away, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin crawl.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice smooth, but there was an edge to it. “I need to talk to you.”

You smiled awkwardly, excusing yourself from your group. “Sure, Jay. What’s up?”

Jay smiled back, but there was something almost predatory about it. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seemed a little distracted tonight. Anything on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Jay didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you with that same unsettling look. “You sure? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know,” you said, stepping back slightly. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, making your skin prickle. “I’m just—”

“Good,” he interrupted, his tone suddenly softer. “Because I don’t want you getting too close to anyone else, okay? You know I’m the only one who can take care of you.”

His words hit you like a slap, but you masked your surprise with a forced chuckle. “Jay, we’ve been through this. It’s just for the fans, remember?”

Jay’s smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly regained his composure. “I know. But sometimes, I just wish you could see how much I care. It’s not just for the fans, Y/N. It’s real to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had heard him say similar things before, but tonight, his words felt heavier, more intense.

“I know you care,” you replied, your voice wavering slightly. “But we can’t blur the lines, Jay. It’s part of the job.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “The job? Y/N, we’ve been doing this for months now. Do you really think I don’t notice how you act around me? How you look at me? It’s real. To me, it’s very real.”

You took a step back, your throat dry. “I think you’re reading too much into this.”

Jay’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “No. I’m not. I know exactly what’s going on. You’re mine, Y/N. You’ve always been mine. And if you keep pushing me away, I’m going to make sure you see that.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Jay, this isn’t healthy.”

“It’s not healthy for you to keep pretending like we’re just playing a part. You don’t have to hide it, Y/N. I can make it work. We can make it work—no more pretending.”

The pressure in the room thickened as Jay took another step forward, his hand gently brushing the back of your neck. His touch was delicate, but you could feel the force of his need, his desire to claim you in ways that went far beyond the public eye.

“I need you to trust me,” he whispered. “This is real, and I’ll make you realize it. You belong to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the intensity of his gaze locked you in place. You couldn’t look away, and a part of you was terrified of what would happen if you tried.

You had always known Jay was possessive—had known he wanted more than what was shown in front of the cameras. But in that moment, you saw the full extent of it. This wasn’t just about the fans. This wasn’t just a show for the public. For Jay, you were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

---

Over the next few weeks, things began to feel even more suffocating. Jay’s constant presence was overwhelming. He was always there, always watching, always a step behind you. The lines between reality and performance blurred to the point where you didn’t know if you were living for the cameras or living for him.

Whenever you interacted with your group members or other idols, Jay was never far behind, hovering in the background like a shadow. He had begun to make his feelings clear, and every time you tried to remind him that your relationship was just for show, he became more insistent.

At a fan meeting, you were signing autographs when you felt a hand slip into yours. You looked up to see Jay standing beside you, his thumb lightly stroking the back of your hand. His gaze was soft, but the possessiveness was undeniable.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Just remember who you belong to.”

You stiffened, pulling your hand back as politely as possible, plastering a smile on your face for the fans. “Thanks, Jay. I’ve got this.”

Jay didn’t seem to mind, his smile growing wider. “I know you do. I’ll be watching.”

As he stepped away, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach.

---

Later that night, after the performance, you found yourself standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, waiting for your ride back to the dorms. You checked your phone, but before you could even scroll through the messages, Jay appeared in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been distant,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t respond right away, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you focused on your shoes, feeling the weight of his gaze bearing down on you.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Jay took a step closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “I get it. But you don’t need to push me away, Y/N. I’m here. I’m always here.”

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. “You don’t get it, Jay. I’m not yours, not like that. We’re not... this isn’t real.”

Jay’s eyes darkened, the softness in his expression melting into something colder, more possessive. “Don’t say that. You’re mine, and you always will be. The only thing you need to understand is that I’m the one who’ll take care of you. You’ll see. Eventually, you’ll understand what I’m doing for you.”

His hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’ll see, Y/N. I’ll make you see.”

And for the first time, you truly understood how far Jay was willing to go.

---

[yanicide]

You don’t understand—so let me help you. How deeply, how completely, I’ve consumed every fibre of you in my mind. You exist in a loop behind my eyes, a constant presence in the space where my thoughts should be. I’m obsessed—utterly and unapologetically obsessed. Each message you send my way, each word that you speak, the mere twitch of your lips, I catalogue it, memorise it, make it mine.

It’s not enough to just watch you, though. Not enough to bask in the glow of your presence like some lovesick fool. No, I want more than that—I need more than that. I need to own you in ways no one else ever will. I need to tear apart the idea that you could ever belong to someone else. You’re not just a person to me; you’re a masterpiece, a riddle, an addiction I can’t and won’t shake. You’ve burrowed into my brain, threaded yourself through every neuron, and now everything—everything—is about you.

Your scent lingers in places you’ve never been. I hear your voice in every quiet moment. You’ve taken up residence in my chest, like a pressure I can’t ease, a craving I can’t satisfy. I wake up thinking of you. I go to sleep thinking of you. My entire world has narrowed to the shape of your silhouette, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Do you even realise the power you have over me? How I replay our conversations in my mind, dissecting every word, savouring the way you speak, the pauses, the inflections, the way you laugh, what makes you laugh, how you word things. I save scraps of you—your words, your pictures, the faintest remnants of your existence. I hoard them like a dragon with its gold, guarding them jealously from prying eyes.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Watching you from the outside is torture, knowing there’s a whole world inside you that I don’t yet own. I want to crack you open, see what makes you tick, understand every corner of your mind. I want to peel back every layer of you, see what’s beneath, even the parts you try to hide. Especially the parts you try to hide.

I hate that others even look at you, that they dare to speak your name as if it belongs to them, as if they could ever know you the way I do. I hate their ignorance, their blindness to the details I’ve memorised. They’ll never understand the way you furrow your brow when you’re thinking, or the way your lips twitch before you smile, or the exact shade of your eyes when the light hits them just right. They don’t see you like I do, and they never will.

And you? You have no idea what you do to me. How one text, one smile, your mere presence, can send my heart into a frenzy. How the sound of your voice can twist something deep inside me, make me want to keep you close forever. You have no idea how hard it is to keep my distance, to pretend I’m not completely consumed by you.

But I can’t keep pretending forever. I can feel the cracks forming, the thin veneer of control I’ve clung to starting to splinter. Soon, I won’t be able to hold back anymore. Soon, I’ll take what’s mine, claim you in ways no one else ever could.

Because that’s what you are. Mine. You might not realise it yet, but you do. Somewhere, deep down, you know you belong to me. You know you’re already wrapped in my web, every strand pulling tighter with each passing moment. And I won’t stop until you’re entirely, completely mine—body, mind, heart, and soul.

You can try to resist, if you like. It’s adorable when you think you have a choice in this. But I’ll wait, I’ll watch, I’ll work my way deeper and deeper into your life until I’m all you know, all you see, all you need. And when you finally give in, when you finally look at me with that understanding in your eyes, you’ll see that this was always inevitable.

You were made for me. And I was made to obsess over you. Always, and forever.

[homestuckreplay]

The Final Homestuck Update of 2009

(page 1082-1088; some general Dave and Rose thoughts)

I can’t believe Dave would pour some apple juice out for Cal. That’s his favorite drink, the king of juices, and not easy for Dave to come by. But Dave sucks unfortunately, and I was such a hater reading this update for the first time, because this absolute idiot is more concerned with his relationship with a torn up puppet who he only pretends to like than with his actual close friend who is in danger. Dave is okay in the small doses of pesterlogs and flashes, but I genuinely think part of the reason I’ve loved Act 3 so much up til now is because I haven’t had to deal with Dave’s bullshit, and I really hope this isn’t the start of an extended Dave section.

It’s good to get a glimpse of Rose on page 1088 – and Vodka Mutini, the tiny sleeping void – right at the end. She’s spent this entire comic so focused on getting people to play Sburb, helping John play Sburb, and finding ways to reconnect to John in order to play more Sburb. She’s basically always doing something and trying to solve a problem, and seems happiest when she’s busy, even if being busy involves actually making things worse (see: ripping out crucial parts of John’s house or dropping them into the abyss) and now suddenly she seems hopeless. There’s more she could do – it would be smart to create defined spaces for the cruxtruder, totem lathe and alchemiter, and mark them out for Dave, for example – but this feels like a moment where when she stops crisis response for even a second, the reality of the situation sets in and she can’t spring back into action.

The thing is, having seen Rose work really hard for hundreds of pages to at least try to help John, Dave on the surface looks really bad by comparison. And I’m trying to figure out how much of that is real – how much is Dave messing around with his sylladex, thinking about his possessions, and texting his friends more than Rose did – and how much is just their self-image. Rose definitely wants to seem like she’s smart, competent, level-headed, and capable of saving people from world ending threats, so she plays up those aspects of herself, and it’s easier to overlook a moment where she plays the violin for 40 seconds of the two minutes she has left (p.222) or reads her grimoire for no practical purpose (p.301-5) or considers passive-aggressive ways to get back at her mother (p.373-4), etc.

Conversely, Dave wants to seem like he’s cool, detached, ironically self-aware, and like he’s not overinvested in his friendships, so a scene like today’s where he’s fucking around with his sylladex reinforces this, and works like confirmation bias. It’s easy to skim over the fact that Dave just put himself in danger of physical pain and social ridicule from an authority figure, just to get these games for Rose, just on her word without evidence of her situation. Dave said ‘if you ever find yourself in the position where your life depends on me playing that piece of shit game, then ill play’ (p.333) and he didn’t say that ironically, he meant it when the time came. So it’s frustrating that he’s still talking about his bro’s ‘mysterious ways’ (p.1085) and that he wasted so much time gathering weapons that he didn’t end up using, but looking back, I don’t think Dave is actually handling this situation worse than Rose is. She was just more attuned to the specifics and urgency of the situation.

I think that all four kids have their surface image, and that Dave and Rose consciously construct theirs while John and Jade don’t realize they’re doing it. I think all four have a deeper layer to their personalities that is specifically intended by the author, although different readers might make different inferences about what that is. And I think that all four kids are really convincing with their surface image a lot of the time – they fool each other, they fool their guardians, and they fool the reader, because so much of Homestuck (including the narrative text) is written in their voices without much external commentary. I know I’ve fallen into the trap with all of them at times where I take them at their word and I’m sure if I was actually friends with them, I’d do it even more, so it’s a clever reflection of actual social relationships and the disconnects that actually exist between people. Especially when those people are young, traumatized, and have such different lives that it’s hard to fully comprehend each other’s.

And I can remind myself of this stuff all day but it does not change the base emotional response of: I love Rose and I don’t like Dave.

So overall, this is not my favorite way Homestuck could have ended 2009, but there’s always going to be disappointing updates and characters that I like less; we can’t get a page 1073 every day. And I know that some people love Dave and are thrilled to see him back. Even so, tabbing to the next page in Homestuck and getting Dave feels to me like biting into a delicious looking cake and getting mayonnaise instead of frosting, and holy shit, now I’m wondering if Dad did that to John as a prank once and that ties into his bad experience with cake. That’s totally an Egbert style prank.

> Dave: Make an April 14th’s Resolution to be an open and honest person.

[cvnticy]

𓏵

SITUATIONSHIP!READER X SHAWN

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

warnings ⚠ sexual content, lowkey mentally draining relationship

Shawn Finds Out You Slept With Bret To Spite Him - Headcanons

Gut Instinct: From the moment he walks into the locker room and sees that smug look on your face, he knows something's off. His mind instantly goes to Bret—because deep down, he knows how far you'd push him. He doesn't say anything immediately, but the tension builds as he watches you move around, feeling the subtle change in the air.

The Look: He catches you at an odd moment—maybe you’re chatting with Bret in passing, or you just seem a little too at ease with him. That one look you share, that lingering glance, is all it takes for Shawn to know something’s up. His jaw clenches.

Paranoia: Was he crazy? You've expressed your strong disdain for him on multiple occasions. But, in those same occasions, he'd be pounding you into a hotel bed mattress and you were screaming his name right after. That has to mean something, right? You wouldn't do that to him.

You Play It Cool: You don’t react immediately. You’ve got your back to him, pretending to focus on your gear, but your pulse quickens. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you panic. "What if I did?" You try to keep your tone steady, but your heart's racing. You know exactly how he’s going to react.

Shawn’s Temper: He takes a step closer, his eyes like daggers. "Don’t play games with me," he growls, his voice rougher now. He can tell by the shift in your posture, the way your breathing catches, that you’re hiding something. “You think this is funny? You really think you can fuck around with me and then go fuck him too?”

The Mind Games: You smirk, trying to rile him up. “Maybe I wanted to see if he was better than you,” you tease, and Shawn's face darkens at the mere thought of someone else touching you. His hands go to your shoulders, spinning you to face him. His grip tightens. "He could never be better than me," he growls, his breath hot on your skin.

The Pushback: You refuse to let him see how much this affects you, but that look in his eyes—raw anger mixed with possessiveness—sends a shiver down your spine. "What’s the matter, Shawn? You think I can’t make my own choices?" you snap back, but the edge of vulnerability is evident in your voice.

The Fight: He shoves you against the wall, leaning in so close you can feel the heat of his body. “You think I won’t make you regret this?” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes flicker between anger and something darker—jealousy, maybe? You know he’s always had a possessive streak, but this is different.

The Realization: And then it hits him—he's not just angry. He's...hurt. The thought of you with Bret, even if it was a fleeting moment, cuts deeper than he expected. He’s not just mad you fucked Bret; he’s mad because deep down, he thought you belonged to him in a way that no one else ever could. And the reality of you moving on, even just physically, shakes him to his core.

Venting to Hunter: After the confrontation, he confides in Hunter. "She fucked him." "Who is 'he'?" "Bret Fucking Hart".

Hunter's Reaction : Hunter knows Shawn too well. He studies him for a moment, then lets out a sigh. “You sure about that?” he asks. Shawn nods sharply. “I know it. The way she’s been acting around him... She’s either hiding something, or she’s playing me for a fool,” Shawn mutters bitterly.

The Silent Treatment: After the confrontation, things get cold between you two. He ignores you at first, not willing to show how much it’s eating at him. He’ll throw snide comments your way, sarcastically bringing up Bret in passing to see how you react. But the silence speaks louder than anything he says.

The Moment of Weakness: It won’t be long before he pulls you aside, away from prying eyes, and grabs you by the wrist. His touch, though firm, holds a trace of vulnerability. "I don’t want to hear about him again," he says quietly, his gaze locking with yours. "But you and me… this isn’t over. Not by a long shot." He won’t admit it, but he’s hurt, and you know exactly how to use it to your advantage.

The Power Play: You use this moment to your advantage, holding your ground. “I never asked for your approval, Shawn,” you say, your tone defiant, but there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—a challenge. You know exactly what buttons to push to make him lose control.

[thestobingirlie]

“i only care about lesbian robin and her lesbian relationships”

*no mention of vickie anywhere on their blog*

okay lol

[javierduffy]

@galacta-phantasma now why would you say that to me .

replaying this game after the second game is making me honest to god so beyond miserable … javier looks so absolutely defeated here. it’s genuinely breaking my heart. please don’t make me think about the thoughts he’s having now- perhaps ones of regrets, or flashes of laughter and singing around the campfire, of clanking beer bottles together and sharing stories, of looking at the shine in dutch’s eyes during a speech and how he felt, somehow, the warmth of the mexican sun. and how that sun never felt the same when he got home again. and how the only time in the past eight years that he ever felt warm was when john’s hands wrapped the rope around his hands and legs. when john’s rope was the noose around his neck, and he finally, finally could stop running. guilt, fear, regret … relief. please kill me im so sad

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Csász��r polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[snaileer]

I’m a Size Medium, Thanks.

Danny is irritated. No actually he is beyond irritated. He is annoyed, he is frustrated, he is…. He’s really fricking irritated and can’t be bothered to remember any more of Jazz’s SAT words.

He continues his glare out the window as he searches for his straw with his mouth.

He just- where is it- thinks it’s a stupid fricking-stupid ass milkshake-he shouldn’t have to basically-gah! Danny snaps his head down to find his suddenly missing straw, only to successfully poke it directly into his eye.

“Ow! Fricken-“ He groans, throwing his head back, and putting his hands to his face, “Mother-tucker, Holy Taming of A Shrew!” He pounds his free hand not cradling his eye on the table, trying not to make more of a scene. Of course, this utterly fails because it immediately tips over his milkshake glass with a clatter as it spills onto his pants, making him jump up with enough force to knock the table over and drop the milkshake glass the rest of the way to the floor.

Danny stares at it with blurry vision and a watery eye. He sighs, “At least-“

The glass shatters.

Danny sighs again, deeper. “Of course.”

He looks up at the restaurant around him. Noticing the many, many people staring at him.

Wonderful.

Danny grimaces, “Sorry, I so didn’t mean for that to happen, uh-“ Danny reaches to straighten the table, fumbling for a second before it stands upright, he steps away from it, “If there’s any way I can help or.. like fix it. I can pay for the cup..” a server comes over to him, “if you want..?”

The server’s dead eyes don’t waver as they silently place a wet floor sign over the spilled milkshake.

“Thanks.”

“Uh huh.”

The server walks away, leaving Danny to sigh all on his own. He leans over to grab his backpack from the booth, checking it over for milkshake before slinging it on his back, thankfully clean.

He makes it one step forward before he feels the floor go out from under him. Ah gravity. His greatest enemy. This is karma for all those times he’s ignored it, isn’t it?

The wind is knocked out of him when his back slams to the floor, cushioned by the dulcet sounds of his bag crunching against broken glass.

He looks up at the wet floor sign.

The man on the yellow plastic mocks him.

Danny sighs.

He curses his stupid luck.

He curses this stupid city.

Then he curses himself because he knows any of this stupid city’s curses end up affecting him anyways.

Danny gets to his feet, ignoring the feeling of milkshake on his hands and his… everywhere.

He trudges out of the diner without looking back. At least he’d already paid for it.

He grimaces at the milkshake handprint on the door, trying to wipe it away with his shirt and only succeeding in making it worse.

Danny catches the eyes of the server inside, staring at him, eyes progressively more annoyed.

Danny puts his hands up in surrender and backs away.

Directly into a person. Only his milkshake covered self prevents him from being hit with anything more than the man’s scathing glare.

He puts his hands back up and moves away to dodge everybody else on the sidewalk. Along with the occasional ghost. Visible only to him of course.

By the time he has managed to escape the sidewalks into an alley, he is certain there is a trail of slightly sticky businessmen behind him.

Danny crouches to swing his backpack down in front of him and take stock. Okay, he could put his sweatshirt on over it… but it would also get ruined… damn it.

Danny looks around, checking every inch of the alley for cameras and then backing himself into a corner just to be safe. The flicker of intangibility is barely noticeable except for the wet squelch of milkshake remnants dropping to the alley floor. Lovely.

And of course, the flash of every single Gotham ghost in the area becoming visible and almost tangible for a split second. Also… lovely. There’s a couple startled shouts on the street.

Maybe an alleyway was not the best place for that.

Danny slides his sweatshirt on over his shirt to at least pretend like he was covering a mess and then shimmies out of the alley while trying to make as little contact with ghosts as possible.

He’s almost completely certain he looks crazy as all get out if the stare he gets from a passerby means anything.

Of course… now he’s left glaring across the street again.

He can feel the Infini-Map burning a hole in his backpack. It said this was the next place a natural portal would open and get him back home.

It just didn’t say… when that portal would open.

But of course, it’ll be right in the middle of somebody’s store. Usually not an issue. Except again, this stupid city’s curses are attracted to his energy, so of course the store couldn’t be literally ANYTHING ELSE!

Danny glares at the stupid fricking sign and the stupid predictable pun and the stupid neon hand in the front window waving at him.

‘The Claire Witch Project: psychic, medium, and Claire-voyant’

Danny is on day three of simultaneously avoiding the entire building while remaining close enough he can be there when the portal forms.

He is dirty, tired, and running out of money. In short, Danny is starting to lose hope on this endeavor.

The worst part?

He has the perfect solution.

There’s a pathetic little piece of printer paper taped to the inside of the window.

‘Help wanted’

When he’d first gotten here, Danny had followed the infini-map all the way to this horrific city, seen the sign, and turned a quick 180. He’d rather die again thanks.

He’d smacked into two billboards just coming into the city, and there was literally no stars, why would he want to stay here till the portal opened when he could just find another?

Except.. Danny’s eye twitches dangerously as he thinks back on it- except there wasn’t another portal. This was it. For the foreseeable future, he either caught this portal or was stranded for whoever knows how much longer.

Danny sighs again and dreads his continued existence. He looks both ways on the street, takes a step forward, nearly gets run over, steps back, and turns for the nearest crosswalk.

Fine. He could follow rules if it meant increasing his chances of leaving.

He tries to hold in the sigh this time, he really does, he swears.

Not the one before he opens the shop door though, that sigh deserved freedom from his trials. It joins the myriad of whispy translucent shades lingering in the store. Because of course there was just enough spiritual energy in here for them to be visible to him.

“Hey there!” A girl in loose fitting colorful clothing appears from behind a corner, “I’m Claire! How can I help your life journey today?” He can see the way her bulky crystal hair accessories sway with her movements. What was he getting into here again?

Danny tries to ignore the incense shoving itself up his nose as he speaks, “Hey, I was…” He was really doing this huh? “Hoping that the help wanted position is still available?”

The girl looks him over as she moves to the back of the checkout counter. The clear observation makes him nervous, and he takes his hands out of his pockets to try and look marginally more… candidate-able.

“You have experience?”

“Sure d-“ He wants to throw up in his own mouth, ancients this is so cringe, just let him die, “Sure do!” He says through choked back vomit and false cheer, “I’m a…” -barf- “I’m a medium.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, you don’t need a uniform, I don’t need your size silly!”

Danny blinks. What? Also. What?

“Wait-I’m hired?”

Claire pauses from getting something from under the counter, “Didn’t I already say that?”

“Uh…” Danny’s eyes dart around the shop, “No?”

“Oh well, you are, you have the right vibes, don’t worry,” she slides a few papers onto the glass counter, and Danny is abruptly, horrifically reminded he has no legal documents to speak of here. He thinks. He hasn’t actually checked.

Crap.

“Of course, most of my clients pay in cash, so I’ll pay you in cash too just to make it easier, and any crystal sales I’ll just add to it. Sound good?”

“Sure?” Oh no, is this gonna be Danny’s first real job? “But I don’t know anything about crystals. I have a goth friend but she’s not into that stuff.”

Claire waves his comment away, “Oh no worries, I can leave a packet.”

Danny nods, “Thank- wait, sorry. Leave?”

Claire laughs, pulling out a bag from behind her counter, “Yes I leave for a trip in two days. Family things you know,”

Danny feels like his brain is being scrambled, “Oh, what, what happened? Is everything okay?”

Claire looks at him, blinking wide, “What? Why would anything have happened?”

“Because… you said, you were leaving for-“

“Just don’t want to get caught in a bad position, you know how it is.”

Some of the shades stir in the air, their misty movements twitching with agitation enough to draw his eye for a second.

“Right. Well I’m glad I came when I did then,” Danny says, because he still doesn’t want to be rude.

Claire smiles at him.

Danny pats his hands against his sides awkwardly, trying not to look up at the movement of the shades intertwined with incense smoke at the ceiling.

There’s a little jingle behind him, which he belatedly realizes is the door when Claire moves to greet them before he can even turn around.

“Ms. Jives! Wonderful to see you! How’s the goldfish?”

Ms. Jives turns out to be a slightly older woman, maybe early seventies with a cane but she looks good. The coffee brown hair is almost certainly a dye job but it frames her wrinkled face well.

“Oh Jim is lovely dear, much better this way, I bought him a new plant just the other day, he just loves it.”

“Good, here for your reading right?”

“I am! But you can finish up with your customer first if you need,” Ms. Jives says. Claire waves her concern away.

“No need, this is Danny, I just hired him, he has a similar mystical connection.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” Ms. Jives says as she passes by him, “Would you like to come with dear? Claire is going to do a reading for me.”

Danny grimaces, “Sure.”

In the end, by the time Ms. Jives makes it slowly to the back room, Danny is trying to think of where he’s gonna sleep tonight. He mostly zones out when Claire dims the lights and starts talking nonsense.

All he heard was “something something card, something something magician something reversed something something balance something something chihuahua.”

Ok, maybe he wasn’t listening. But he was trying to focus on not staring at the movement of the shades, and the incense was mega strong and Claire had some weird ass music playing. He’s almost certain she’s faking everything. Down to the atrociously bright bead earrings.

Danny sags when she finishes, all too happy to leave the weird little curtain covered room.

He stands in the front awkwardly while Ms. Jives pays, twiddling with the various crystals and trying to figure which ones are actually y’know.. mystical or whatever.

Answer? Surprisingly most of them. That he could tell, at least, but it’s not like he actually knows how to sense that out on purpose. He’s pretty sure a couple of the heart shaped rose quartzes are complete duds but what does he care.

He’s thoroughly bored by the time Claire calls him back over. Apparently to tell him that he’ll do a reading tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?!” Danny blurts, “Don’t you want to like- I don’t know, make sure I can- or like.. I don’t know, but tomorrow?”

Claire just smiles at him, “I believe you can handle it, trust me.”

‘Trust you? Lady, I just met you and you’ve been nothing but crazy the whole time!’ Danny wants to say, instead, he keeps his mouth shut and nods with what he’s sure is fear in his eyes.

Then she’s pressing something into his hands and when he looks down it’s a key. A key. There’s no way-

“So be here 9am sharp, Danny! You can open up and I’ll come in later!” Claire starts pushing him towards the door, “And Mr. Wayne should be waiting for you when you get here!”

Danny turns around to catch himself in the doorframe, “Mr who will be what now!? Wait, Ms. Claire, Ma’am- why-!” He stops to lower his volume and ask politely, “Why am I doing this? You don’t even know me,” Danny says, one leg still in the store.

Claire smiles, “Because the universe told me to silly! See you tomorrow! Here’s my number!” Then she slaps a sticky note to his chest with enough finality that Danny takes a step back. The door closes with a click and ring of the bell inside.

Danny stares at the door with his eye twitching for at least a minute.

What the hell did ‘the universe told me to’ even mean, you kook!?

Danny sighs and looks down at the sticky note, quickly inputting the number in his phone before something happens to it.

He’s barely hit save when he finally steps away from the shop front and…. is immediately drenched to the bone.

Because apparently it’d been pouring rain and he simply hadn’t noticed from under the awning.

He watches as blue ink slides off the sticky note in little sad face streaks.

Danny sighs.

[moonstruckme]

remus x his girl with sleepy girl syndrome.

at a friendly gathering and she is trying SO hard to stay awake.

love u and ur work pls take care of urself

Thank you angel!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 516 words

Remus watches you from the corner of his eye. You’re drooping, elbow propped on the table and chin propped on your hand, watching James and Sirius tell a story through half-lidded eyes. Remus leans over to speak to you at a murmur. 

“Want to go home?” 

He immediately regrets phrasing it that way. You sit up straighter and look at him with forced attentiveness. “No,” you say, lips tilting upward for his benefit. “I’m having fun.” 

Remus doesn’t think you’re lying, but enjoyment and exhaustion aren’t mutually exclusive. Dinner has gone on longer than either of you expected, dusk turning to true darkness and streetlamps flickering on outside the pub. He thinks you’re probably barely keeping yourself awake. 

“We could go, though,” he suggests gently. “I’m starting to feel ready for bed, too.”

“Let’s stay a while longer,” you say, though you loop your arm through his, leaning against his side. “I want to hear the rest of the story.” 

That last part is said just a bit more intentionally. Remus follows your gaze down the table to James, whose attention has caught on you. He doesn’t seem to know what’s passing between you and Remus, is too far away to have heard your small conversation, but he smiles anyway at your last words. 

It’s a lucky thing that his gaze wanders from you as he gets deeper into the story again. Soon your head dips until it’s resting on Remus’ shoulder. He keeps still, only wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you tucked up against his side. Your eyelids droop and then shut. 

Remus strokes slow lines over your ribs with his thumb as James and Sirius wrap up their story. The length is somehow unaffected by how fast they tell it, voices overlapping and obscure details added between bouts of laughter, but eventually it’s done. Lily smiles into her drink, watching you. 

Cute, she mouths to Remus. 

He gives her a smile in return that says he knows. 

“Sweetheart.” He kisses your hair. “Let’s go, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

“Mm?” You come awake with a remarkable job of acting, pretending as if you’ve never been asleep at all. “No, I’m good.” 

Remus grins down at you. He reaches for your coat. “You made it to the end of the story. I think that’s enough for tonight.” 

“I did?” Your brow furrows, and Remus realizes you really hadn’t known you’d been sleeping at all. “Oh, shit. M’sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he laughs, standing and encouraging you along with him by your elbow. “I think we’re just ready to get some sleep. Here, dove.” 

He helps you into your coat, the both of you saying goodbye to your friends before leaving the warmth of the pub for the cool night. You attach yourself to Remus’ side instantly, arm wound through his. 

“Think you’ll be able to make the walk home?” he asks, only half teasing but wholly fond. 

Your reply is less jocular. “Yeah, I think so. Might lean on you if you don’t mind, though.”

Remus tuts, kissing your head. “I never mind.”

[mithliya]

i’m not active for a few days n then i see y’all are fighting yet again over sth so minor and stupid 😭 pls can we at least fight over important things

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Twisted Girls

:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ Perv Ellie x Femdom! Reader

Content: Sexual content, masturbation, face-sitting (r! receiving), thigh-riding (e! receiving), perverted horndog Ellie, best friend trope, light blackmail, spit-play, dom reader, switch Ellie who is really just a sub for reader, sub/dom roles, rough sex, choking, use of degrading names like "whore", reader has a cooter cat

Word Count: 3.2k

Photo creds to ellsgirll! for more gorgeous photos click here Divider creds here

Description: You’ve been Ellie’s “sweet” best friend for years now, and she thinks that you don’t understand the depths of her horniness. Especially when it comes to you. Ellie thought way too much about what she’d do with you if she had the courage to expose her obsession, but when you discover her darkest secret, the tables turn. Ellie’s in over her head.

Ellie was face down in her bed, face buried into her pillows. Her hand was down her pants as always, and she was aggressively humping her hand like a fucking dog. This wasn't the worst of it, either. Clutched between her grimey finger-tips was a pair of your silky panties. Yes, that's right. She had a pair of your most expensive Victoria's Secret set down in her pants, rubbing the fabric against her clit perfectly. She pretended the dampness that spread from her pussy to the fabric of your underwear was yours as well, but it just wasn't the same. Still, the thrill was exciting.

After the came, she did what was honorary routine. She let out an exhausted sigh as she tucked your panties away under her bed in a little box with a few others she stole, including a few polaroids you obliviously gave her, not realizing it'd become masturbation material.

In all truth, post-nut clarity hit her hard. She'd always feel horrible for taking advantage of your kind nature, even if it was in secret. She hated how much she wanted you, how she couldn't keep her hormones at bay like some horny teenage boy. Her feelings for you were deeper than any of that, too. She truly loved you. But she'd rather take out her feelings in the way she knew how. She was far from a sex addict either; she didn't do what she did often. But she did fall asleep with a picture of you under her pillow once. Only one time.

And of course, tomorrow was a sleep-over day for the two of you. Ellie both dreaded and fantasized about what it'd be like to have you sleep in her bed. She wondered if you'd snore, if you talked in your sleep, or perhaps you were silent and peaceful. Even though she'd been your friend for years now, she hardly let you over. You never understood why; she was fine with coming over to your house. She just seemed to hate you being in her personal space. But for Ellie, she had the most justifiable reasons for pushing you away.

Ellie's room was always a mess, and in the center of it all would be something she simply didn't want you to see, like the vibrator on her desk or the uneven Cannibal Holocaust poster on her wall. She was a true horror fan while you were an adamant hater. You thought gore, even if fake, was just disgusting.

You were entirely different from Ellie in all ways possible. While she was seemingly awkward and quiet, you were like a golden retriever, always talking someone's head off. Ellie saw you as innocent, too. It was kind of a fantasy for her. She loved the idea of being your first, ruining you for anyone else. She wanted to make you only hers, to make you cum for the first time so you'd see it as some godly experience and be attached to her for the rest of your life. She partially assumed you saw sex as something that caused soul-ties or some shit like that. In all honesty, she would've gotten attached to you if she had the chance to fuck you.

However, Ellie's perception was extremely biased. As much as you were oblivious to her perverse behavior, she was oblivious to yours. No, you weren't some innocent girl who was too prissy to even think about sex, let alone masturbate. You were a secret control freak. Ellie fantasized about you being her sweet girl, about ruining something she didn't know was already ruined. Something that she didn't know existed within you. The idea of you being her slut was so appealing to her, while the idea of her being at your every whim was appealing to you.

She couldn't have predicted how truly different you'd be from the fantasy she had stuffed up into that murky head of hers.

You loved Ellie so dearly. She was truly one of your best friends for years now. She was always there for you when you needed her. All of those pathetic boys who broke your heart in highschool somehow found themselves with a broken nose. Ellie was like a dark savior for you, so it was natural to love her in a more complex way than a simple friendship runs. After that simple statement, not much more was natural.

You loved her, and that was obvious. But you also wanted to ruin her. No, you needed to. You didn't feel an ounce of guilt like Ellie did when it came to these twisted thoughts. There was nothing stable about the way you'd picture her in ropes while you bounced on her strap or had your tongue deep between her folds. You didn't want to just give her pleasure, you wanted to send her tumbling into a limbo between heaven and hell where she'd both hate you and need you so badly, where every time your tongue would refuse to apply any sort of stimulation to her clit, she'd feel that dizzy feeling of desperation. She'd hate you if you ever got your hands on her.

These feelings were reasoned with Ellie's behavior. While you were sweet and caring to her like a goddess to her mortals, Ellie wasn't exactly the picturesque best friend and you weren't as oblivious as you'd pretend to be. It was almost insulting that Ellie thought you were so clueless to where your underwear was running off to, as if an expensive Victoria's Secret set grew a pair of legs and left your laundry hamper. No, you absolutely knew. And you were much better at secretly fantasizing about Ellie than Ellie was about you. She wanted to fuck you, but she was much too desperate. You might’ve wanted her, but there was no pathetic horniness to your mindset. It was all so controlled. And that's the whole point, control.

Handcuffs, ropes, and belts. Physical restraint is one thing, but total mind control is another. And you had just the plan to take what you wanted from her.

—

Ellie scrambled to clean up her room. She wasn't the most organized person, and she didn't really think she needed to be. It wasn't like she had many friends to come visit her. She was fine with doing her own thing, playing Call of Duty at late hours of the night even with the strain the bright PC light put on her eyes, writing shameful journal entries, sketching photos of her obsessions(space, dinosaurs, the new editions of Starlight Savage, and most importantly, you), and obviously touching herself with extremely lesbian thoughts.

After she had mostly cleaned up the tornado in her bedroom, now she had to text you and tell you she was ready for you to come over. It wasn't long before you were knocking at her door, and that was when the inevitable sequence of events would begin.

Ellie was never much of a control freak. She thought she was, she thought that she loved the idea of just fucking some girl and making her cum. She thought that meant she was dominant in some sense, or that she was even right to assume she'd be the one in control if she were to ever actually sleep with you. That's just not how things work, though. Someone so reckless, so careless, so sensitive and unorganized can't possess a human being. Ellie was in over her head by thinking she could've kept her secret for very long.

The knock on the door jolted her out of whatever daydream she was having, and Ellie scurried to opened the door.

There you were, in all your glory. Beautiful, wide eyes that had a sprinkle of shine in them Ellie was addicted to. You smiled wide and let yourself in.

"So, I was thinking we could play Mario Kart. Unless you have other plans." You immediately requested that specific activity because you hated most video games when usually that was all Ellie did. Mario Kart was always middle grounds for the both of you.

"Oh, fuck yeah. But don't start crying when I beat your ass," She said with a laugh and lead you into her bedroom.

Ellie's room wasn't huge, and her décor consisted mostly of video games and comics you hadn't even heard of. You only recognized Starlight Savage because of the hours Ellie would spend ranting to you about Dr. Daniela Star. She had a few dinosaur plushies on her bed and a record player in the corner of her room that complimented her vinyl shelf nicely. Her PC setup was impressive, which didn't surprise you. All you could think about, however, was where your precious Victoria's Secret sets were located. For now, you would have to focus on dominating her in Mario Kart.

Ellie won about 10 times. You beat her once and it was because she ran over a banana at the last second. Of course, Ellie was being as smug as usual.

"Told you I'd beat your ass. Don't whine now." She sneered in a voice that made you want to put her in her place.

You remained calm. "Whatever. So..what do we do now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but I gotta use the bathroom. Wait on my bed, okay?" Ellie shut the door behind her, leaving you alone in her room. This was your chance.

You quickly went through her drawers first, and found nothing but her own boxers. Not that you were complaining, but those weren't exactly yours.

You got lucky. You bent down to search under the bed and your hands felt around until you felt something. it was a red cardboard box that you'd never seen in her room before. Unlike Ellie, you didn't feel extremely guilty about going through her private stuff.

Your hands made quick work of the lid and at the same time, the bathroom door swung open. Ellie opened the door, her eyes widening and her face a tomato red at the sight of you sat on the floor with her stash of your undergarments in your hands. You felt a little guilty now, but this would put your plan in motion, and you wanted Ellie too much to brush it all aside. Even if you didn't truly care.

"What the fuck, Ellie?! Are these my panties? What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?" You exclaimed, and you sounded truly offended.

Ellie's heart dropped down into her stomach. She'd never seen you so angry. You were always so sweet with her and she never felt deserving of it. Now, at least she felt like this is how things were really meant to be.

"Oh, my gosh...I am so sorry, I swear to you I never meant to-"

You cut her off quickly, standing up and throwing the panties onto the ground. "What? I could ruin your life for this, Ellie. You would probably deserve it to. I could tell everyone about this, and they would hate you. You'd be labeled as a pervert for the rest of your life."

Suddenly, Ellie was panicking. She'd never expected you to find the stash. She felt all the guilt bubble up in the form of nausea. Her hands were trembling now and she was fidgeting with the tips of her fingers trying to calm herself. Now, she was truly groveling. "Please don't tell anyone! I'll do anything, I swear to you. I will do anything. I understand if you hate me, but please..just don't tell anyone. You can leave if you want, I.." She trailed off, feeling hopeless. She felt that nothing could change what she did.

The next words that left your mouth made Ellie's jaw drop onto the floor.

"Let me sit on your face." You stated, as if it were a casual request everyone had made to their friends before.

Ellie was extremely confused by the way this was going now. She struggled to find the words to explain how she was feeling, and the ache that was beginning to gnaw at her lower stomach was inconvenient but unsurprising. All she could manage was a weak "What...?"

"You heard me. You’re gonna make me cum, or I'll post all about this to everyone. Your life will be ruined. You better get started, don't you think?"

Ellie was hesitant. She couldn't tell if this was some joke or not, and then you spoke up again. "If you're not going to do it, I can just leave and go tell-"

"No!", Ellie shouted quickly. Her voice was shakier than normal, and her face still flushed. She couldn't believe this was how she'd get to have you, with you being in control of the whole situation. Still, she didn't want to complain. "I-I'll let you, I promise..” 

-

The first taste Ellie got of you made her almost cum in her fucking jeans. Your juices tasted like something completely foreign to her, like lust and pure arousal. She gave your cunt experimental kitten licks, and you responded by putting more weight onto the girl, practically smothering her face with your cunt. God, even when she was struggling with the lack of experience she had pleasuring girls, her eagerness made up for it. You had to place your hands flat on her chest to keep from falling over with the pleasure she was giving you every time she’d whine against your pussy, vibrations making your clit practically numb with pleasure. 

You began to guide yourself on her face, slowly rocking against her mouth. “Fuck, Els..c’mon, just like that.” You praised, and Ellie put in even more effort into the task, tongue swirling around your sensitive bud and making you go dizzy with power. The way she was whimpering at your taste as if she was the one getting fucked, her own hips bucking up in the air for some friction she couldn’t get. The sight was truly giving you an ego. 

You felt the heat in your stomach from every flick of her tongue against your clit and the fire only grew into unprecedented flames as your hips shifted your cunt down into her mouth, using her like some sex toy.

Ellie didn’t even think of sex like this, like being controlled completely by someone. But the more you grasped at her chest, snaking your hands down her shirt to greedily palm her tits, the more she just wanted to please you. All she could focus on was making you cum, even though her own cunt was throbbing with neglection.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl..you’re gonna make me cum, Ellie.” Your voice was trailing off and breathless, and soon you hit your climax, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. 

Your legs trembling from above, thighs squeezing at her head and making her dizzy with the warmth of your cellulite. You were frantically grinding, pulling at her tits as if it would give you another orgasm. You cried out, and Ellie spent the next few seconds licking up your cum as if it was the gods nectar. 

When you finally came down, you rolled over breathlessly and buried your face into the sheets. Ellie was just as messy as you were, your wetness coating her chin, and her breathing coming out in soft pants. However, she still felt extremely needy.

“P-Please, can you make me feel good to..?” She asked, voice small and her words coming out in a stammer.

You paused for a moment at that. You could’ve probably done so much to her. You wanted to fuck her silly and use her all night. However, you still wanted to make a point about the stash. You had to keep up with the whole “offended by Ellie stealing your underwear” bit. So you rolled over to sit up and shrugged.

“You can hump my thigh.” You stated shamelessly.

Ellie blushed at this, and she felt pathetic for how fast and moved to straddle your leg. Fuck, it felt so good to grind her cunt against your leg-

You grabbed her hips and stopped Ellie’s beginning movements, making her whine in protest.

“Nuh-uh, not like that. Take off your clothes.” You demanded.

Ellie was naked without much thought to it. She was too desperate to fuck herself on your thigh that she didn’t care about dignity.

Her hips ground down against your soft thigh, and you’d occasionally bounce it up, making her let out little yelps. She was aware of the wet patch her arousal was leaving on your bare skin, but she was too caught up in the pleasure to care. However, when you leaned down to spit on your thigh, causing even more easy friction, she practically folded. It felt way too good to slide her cunt against your own saliva, and it messed with her head even though she was used to perverse thoughts.

“P-Please, you feel so good..” She gargled out, her voice shaky and needy.

You scoffed. “Please, what? What are you even begging for? You’re so greedy.”

Ellie’s face turned another hue of red at this, and she let out a whorish whimper, her hips picking up speed. “Be rough with me..it’d make me feel good.” She asked.

You’d fantasized about this countless times.

You didn’t hesitate to wrap a hand around her throat, and you began shifting your thigh beneath her, making her soaking pussy feel overwhelmed with the sudden attention.

“Is this what you wanted, whore? You wanted me to be rough with you?” You spoke, and your tone was so unfamiliar from the sweet, soft angelic voice she was so used to you using.

Ellie struggled to answer, and your hand tightened around her throat. She was practically humping your leg like a dog, and you could tell she was getting close. You delivered a small smack to her hip, making her moan in response.

“Answer me, baby. Is this what you wanted? To be fucked on my thigh?” You loosened your grip on her throat so she could speak.

“Y-Yes!! Fuck, I’m gonna cum..”

You didn’t hesitate to tighten your embrace on her soft throat once again, partially cutting off her airflow. You leaned forward to speak into her ear. “Better make a mess on my thigh, baby.”

Ellie didn’t need any further encouragement. With the feeling of the loss of oxygen and your ironically sweet words, she finally found her orgasm. Her body shook with the effort to release, and your thigh was coated in stickiness as she continued to ride out the high.

Your hand left her throat and your arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. You left kisses in her hair as she shifted to sit over your lap, her body warm and limp in your embrace.

You sighed and pulled her face up to give her a soft kiss, your lips massaging hers with a newfound affection. When you pulled away, she buried her face into your shoulder. You smiled and ran your fingers through her hair, loving on her as if she was some fawn that couldn’t walk. To be fair, she probably would fall over if she tried.

“Better not steal my panties again, Els."

[hoshifighting]

NERD!WOOZI WITH SLUTTY FINGERING

a/n: i KNOW ive talked about woozi hands, woozi fingering, too much already in this blog, so, nerd!woozi its just another excuse for me to write about it again. sorry not sorry. a/n pt.2: yes, this is woozi's hand on minghao's neck that's why im screaming in the title. WARNINGS: smut, small angst, fingering, body fluids (cum spit), clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, intense orgasm, teasing, quick learner!jihoon

nerd!jihoon who’s all serene and timid, always too focused on his notes, pretending he doesn’t notice your little games, but deep down, he’s fully aware. you catch him sometimes, the way his pencil pauses mid-scribble when you lean a little too close, asking for the same damn pencil again. he knows you have like five pencils in that full-of-charms bag of yours, regardless here you are.

“you sure you don’t just wanna keep it?” he mumbles, barely looking up as he hands you the pencil.

you lean forward, letting your hair fall in front of your face like a curtain, just to see if he’d peek. and, of course, he does. a quick flick of his eyes, then back down to his notebook, scribbling some bullshit about physics or whatever. boring. you wonder what’d happen if you just grabbed his hand for real this time, full contact, no pencil-between-you nonsense. would he pull away? would he get all flustered, or would he grab you back, finally drop that innocent act?

“you ever gonna look at me when i ask you for something, or you too shy for that?” you tease, leaning on his desk now, your fingers inching closer to his ruler. he finally looks up at you, a little more serious than usual, and it catches you off guard.

“you keep asking for things you don’t need,” he says quietly, “why?” he scoffs, pushing his glasses up his nose like that’s gonna hide the faint flush creeping up his neck. “you can keep the damn pencil,” he mutters, eyes glued to the textbook in front of him.

and nerd!jihoon who gets so in his head about it that he doesn’t realize the moment he fucked up. ‘cause when you stand up from your chair, reaching down to grab something you “accidentally” dropped, you do it slow. bending over right in front of him, just enough that your skirt rides up a little too high, giving him a full view.

he stares for just a second too long, eyes glued to the hem of your skirt, swallowing hard like he’s trying not to make a sound. but it’s obvious, way too obvious, and when he realizes he’s been caught, his face turns red so fast you almost laugh out loud.

nerd!jihoon who's fidgeting now, trying to pretend he didn’t just eye-fuck you in the middle of the classroom.

but nerd!jihoon’s only got so much self-control, and you’re testing every bit of it.

nerd!jihoon who, for some reason, snaps at you that morning when you meet at the stairs outside the university building. it’s out of nowhere too—like, one second, you’re just giving him that casual little smile, ready to toss some flirty comment about the weather being as cold as his attitude, and the next, he’s all huffy, eyebrows furrowing deeper than usual.

“why do you keep doing that?” his voice comes out sharp, way too sharp for someone like him, the type who rarely even speaks above a whisper in class. you blink, taken aback, half-wondering if he’s joking, but when you see his jaw tighten, you realize he’s serious. dead serious. “is it that hard to leave me alone?”

ouch. you don’t even know how to react at first, like his words take a second to settle in, but when they do, it feels like someone knocked the air out of you. your eyes harden on him, and for once, you don’t have some quick retort. you just… stare. really?—he’s just gonna blow up like that?

“fine,” you mutter, voice cold as ice. and with that, you turn on your heel and walk off without another word, you don’t even look back as you head straight to the classroom, your heart pounding in your chest. you’ve never felt this weird compound of pissed and hurt before. it’s like something just snapped inside you too.

for the rest of the day, you don’t bother glancing in his direction. you gather your stuff at the end of class, all in silence, and when you make your way past his desk, you stop for just a second, pulling out all those borrowed pencils from your bag. without a word, you set them on his desk, one by one. they clatter onto his notes, each one feeling like a small “fuck you” in its own way.

jihoon doesn’t say anything, just stares at the pencils like they’re mocking him. he opens his mouth for a split second, like maybe he’s gonna explain, but nothing comes out. you don’t give him the chance either; you walk away, not bothering to look back. it’s like every interaction you’ve ever had just gets replayed in your mind, and now it’s all soured.

the next few days are weird. hell, you stop talking to him altogether. instead, you sit at your desk, quietly pulling out your own damn pencils from your pencil case, you don’t need his anymore, not when he’s gonna act like a complete ass about it. he watches you though—you can feel his stare on you, burning into the side of your head. but every time you glance in his direction, he looks away like he can’t deal with the awkwardness he’s caused.

it’s like he wants to apologize but has no idea how to start. typical jihoon—all brain and no clue when it comes to real people.

but one evening, there’s a knock on your dorm door. you open it, and there he is, standing there with a six-pack of those canned drinks you always get from the campus canteen, the same ones you always grab right after class. his face is red, cheeks flushed in a way that’s almost… cute? but you’re still mad, still remembering how he snapped at you like that.

“hey,” he says, and his voice is softer this time, merely audible. you just stand there, arms crossed, waiting for him to explain himself.

“i, uh… i brought these,” he mutters, holding the cans out like some awkward peace offering. “i noticed you… always get these. thought maybe…” his voice trails off, and he rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “i’m sorry. for what i said.”

you raise an eyebrow, still not convinced. “really? you were a complete jerk, jihoon.”

he shrinks at your words, nodding. “i know. i just… i didn’t know how to deal with it, okay? it… messed with me.”

you uncross your arms, softening just a bit. “and snapping at me was your way of handling it?”

he sighs, looking down at his shoes. “i didn’t mean it. i was just frustrated. not at you—just… at myself.”

you take a deep breath, glancing at the cans in his hands, the little effort he’s put into making amends. he’s trying. “fine,” you say finally, stepping aside to let him in. “you owe me more than just drinks, though.”

jihoon’s eyes widen a bit, his lips twitching into that familiar nervous smile. “what do you want, then?”

you scoff.

nerd!jihoon who feels the faint taste of the drink lingers on your tongue, and he groans into your mouth, probably addicted to it more than he’ll admit. he’s kissing you back—messy, needy, and a little clumsy, but you can tell he’s losing himself in it.

you shift on his lap, straddling him properly, and when you press into him, his breath hitches. it’s like he can’t keep himself together, every kiss pulling out little sounds, his hands hover awkwardly for a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with them, until you grab them and guide them up your body, pushing them to your chest, making him squeeze your tits through your shirt.

nerd!jihoon who gasps when he feels the nipples on his palms through your shirt, his lips pulling away from yours for just a second as he looks at where his hands are, eyes wide like he can’t believe it. his fingers flex against you, tentatively at first, but then you press your hand over his, forcing him to squeeze harder, and you let out a shaky breath.

then? oh, he gets it.

nerd!jihoon, who finally acts, squeezing your tits by himself like he’s been waiting for this chance his whole damn life. his fingers dig in just enough to pull a moan from your throat.

nerd!jihoon’s catching on fast now, realizing where you want to be touched, where your breath catches, where your body melts into him.

his hands roam up your sides, slipping under your oversized shirt, and when his fingers brush your bare skin, he freezes for a second. he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath, no panties, no bra, just naked under the thin fabric. “shit,” he breathes, almost like a curse, his eyes darting up to meet yours, like he’s checking to see if this is real, if you actually want him to keep going.

you smirk, biting your lip, and press your hips down into him harder, a wordless yes, keep going.

his hand cups your pussy, and the way you immediately arch into him, gasping out his name—he’s gone. brain short-circuiting, but his body’s on autopilot now. “dont do this to me…” he mewls, too focused on the way you’re grinding into his hand, wet and ready for him.

nerd!jihoon who, once he realizes how horny you are, loses any hesitation he had before. his fingers, slender and surprisingly strong, waste no time. he’s focused—so damn focused—like he’s solving a problem in his mind, but this time, the problem is you. and he knows exactly how to handle it.

nerd!jihoon who pauses for just a second, like he’s still processing how turned on you are—how his touch alone got you dripping like this. his middle finger presses right against your clit, and he flicks it side to side—fast as hell, like too fast—and your hips jerk up into him, a soft whimper slipping out. his middle finger dips into your pussy first, just enough to feel the wetness gather on his fingertip, the way you swallow around him makes his breath hitch.

it’s like he’s testing what gets you going, what makes your thighs tremble, and god, does he know how to read your body. every gasp, every time your breath hitches, he switches it up—keeps you on edge.

he presses his middle finger deep suddenly, really deep, until you’re arching into him, your body reacting instantly to the way he knows how to hit that spot. his finger curls inside you, pushing hard, making you gasp like he’s punching the air from your lungs. he’s watching you, eyes glued to the way your hips move, like he’s trying to memorize how to make you react like this again.

"hold still," he mutters, and when you don’t, when you try to squirm because it’s too much too fast, he forces your legs open with his, his thighs pressing yours apart. “don’t... close them. i need to—” his breath catches when he adds a second finger, stretching you just enough to make your pussy clench tight around him, making your thighs shake. he presses them deep, so deep you feel the pressure low in your belly, but it’s when he starts to pull them out, flicking them up against your clit as he does it, that you lose it.

“oh fuck,” you gasp, back arching, and jihoon’s watching you so damn closely, taking mental notes on every single reaction you give him.

“so... wet. why? hm?” he whispers, like he can’t believe it, his voice shy but breathy, like he’s talking more to himself than you. his fingers slide out, slick with your cum, and without even thinking, he spits right on them—mixing the spit with the dripping wetness already covering his fingers. the sound is obscene, the slick noise of him fingering you only getting louder, wetter, messier.

and then, he adjusts.

“c’mere,” he says, voice a little rougher now, guiding you to sit between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. you can feel how hard his cock is, twitching against your ass as you settle between his thighs. his legs spread yours open, holding you wide as he slides his hand back down to your dripping pussy, his fingers diving back in like they belong there.

he uses his middle finger again—always that one—sliding it in deep, he’s too focused on you, too addicted to the way you moan when he pushes his fingers deeper. his legs wrap around yours, holding them wide open, ‘cause you’re so damn close to squeezing them shut. his voice comes out soft, right in your ear. “you’re so—fuck, so into this. just my fingers?”

he can’t believe it, can’t wrap his head around how crazy you’re going just from this—even though he’s making you drip all over his hand. but it only impulses him on. his fingers flick against your clit again, fast, precise, like he’s playing an instrument he’s mastered. your body jerks, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing, cum practically coating his fingers now. he slides them deep again, harder this time, pushing you into the bed so hard your hips are practically pinned down.

“you like that?” he asks, voice shaky, but he’s so into it. holding you open like he’s afraid you’ll try to close your legs.

his fingers are everywhere—inside you, rubbing, pressing, flicking.

“fuck—jihoon,” you moan, words tumbling out of you like you can’t control them, and his breath catches again. his fingers move faster, slick sounds filling the room as he alternates between pressing deep inside you and flicking your clit, over and over again, until you’re a complete mess in his arms.

“you’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me say something stupid,” you gasp out, barely holding onto any coherent thought, and he lets out a soft, shy laugh, like he knows exactly what you mean.

nerd!jihoon who's lost in the rhythm he’s created, only pushes harder, fingers still dancing between your thighs as he chases that sound—that sweet, desperate gasp that makes his heart race. “i think i can handle it,” he teases, but he’s definitely not prepared for the way you arch your back, pushing harder against him as your breath gets quicker, sharper.

“jihoon, please,” you whimper, the words spilling out like they’re a prayer. your body is begging for something—anything—more, but he’s holding you right at the edge, fingers moving so fast you’re pretty sure your brain is short-circuiting.

he seems to realize just how close you are. he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, “can you—can you come for me? just from this?” there’s a softness in his voice, but the way he asks it is so demanding, and you can’t help but nod.

“yes—yes!” you manage to breathe out, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“just let go. i got you.” it’s like the words unlock something inside you, and before you even realize it, that sweet ache intensifying.

nerd!jihoon who lets out a soft chuckle, shaky as hell, but damn if he doesn’t sound proud. his fingers don’t slow down though. his middle finger presses even deeper, practically curling up into the g'spot inside you that makes you pass out for a second, and you gasp so loud you’re sure anyone passing by your dorm would hear it.

“jihoon—fuck, right there!” you groan, and he hones in on that spot like he’s taking thoughtful reminders.

he bites his lip, watching the way your hips roll into his hand, how wet you are, cum dripping down his fingers like he’s proud of the mess you’re making. “i didn’t know you’d be… this into it,” he whispers, and that just makes your head spin more.

this guy. so shy but so fucking good at what he’s doing to you.

“jihoon, i’m gonna—oh my god!” you try to warn him, but he cuts you off.

“i know, just let go,” he encourages, voice softer now, almost reverent, as if he’s treating this moment like something sacred. his fingers slide back up to your clit

this is it. his eyes widen a little, and you can feel the way his heart races against your back. every flick against your clit sends a convulsion through your body.

you dissolve into a broken gasp, your hips moving against his hand instinctively as he works you toward that peak. please, please, just let me come.

and when he adds just a little more pressure, it’s like your whole body torches. you cum and cum, your body arching against him. “jihoon, fuck!” you cry out, a high-pitched gasp that fills the air as you feel everything shatter, your body clenching tightly around his fingers that they almost slip out.

nerd!jihoon who watches you, completely captivated, the way your body reacts, the way you’re lost in it. he doesn’t stop, though; no, he keeps moving, fingers working through your orgasm, gentle however persistent, making sure you feel every bit of that pleasure. he’s fascinated, eyes wide as he takes in the globs of cum covering his fingers, the slickness that only grows thicker the more he works you.

“jihoon, wait…” you manage to murmur, half-laughing, half-breathless. “s-sensitive.”

you melt on his chest, catching your breath, as his hand cups your pussy again, letting 'you' rest.

“that was—how do you even know how to do that?” it’s a genuine question, and you can’t help but admire him, the way he’s panting lightly, his cheeks flushed.

he chuckles nervously, looking away for a moment, then back at you shyly. “i mean… i just pay attention? it’s like… figuring out the math of it all, but way more fun.” his eyes sparkle, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at how nerdy he is, even in these moments.

“well, you know what they say about nerds,” you wink, reaching out to play with the ends of his shirt. “they can be really good at—”

“okay, stop,” he laughs, cutting you off.

“so, um… can i, like, do that again sometime?” he asks, his tone shifting to something softer, almost hopeful, and the way he looks at you makes your heart flutter.

“absolutely,” you say with a grin, leaning in to give him a quick peck, your bodies still tangled together.

“how about we switch positions next time? i think i could make you scream even louder.” he teases, but his red cheeks don't lie.

you freeze at his words, heart racing as you process what he just said. he’s learned way too quickly, “which one are you talking about?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice, even though your cheeks are flushed too.

“any one you want,” he replies, a in a shyly-confident smirk on his face. “i’m a quick study when it comes to this kind of stuff.” he smiles wider. “just tell me what you like, and i’ll make sure i learn it.”

you can’t help but laugh. “oh, is that so? you think you can handle it?”

“absolutely,” he says, hugging your body to him. “just say the word, and i’ll show you just how good i can get.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you do Rafe’s reaction to reader being criticized by her parents in the forced marriage au?

At your defence || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Ty for the request anon!! Sorry this took awhile 😭

Warnings: body shaming, baby pressure, ed is not implied whatsoever in this

Word count: 1,474

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"Ah, there they are," your mother beams, rising from her chair with a delighted smile. She moves swiftly toward Rafe, who holds your 7-month-old son, Leo, in his arms. You remain still, not even turning your head to greet them, a small defiance that doesn’t go unnoticed by your father as he sets his glass of scotch down with a faint clink.

You hear your mother’s cooing voice as she reaches Leo, her fussing over him overly enthusiastic. "Oh, hasn’t he just grown since the last time!" she gushes, taking Leo from Rafe’s arms and settling him onto her lap, her affection almost too much for you to bear in the moment. Your father offers nothing but a curt nod, maintaining his usual distant reserve.

Rafe’s presence draws closer. His hand, firm yet not unkind, comes to rest on your shoulder. The sensation causes you to look up, meeting his eyes just as he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss on your cheek. It's a gesture you’ve grown used to—affectionate, yet tinged with a sense of routine rather than passion. His gentle smile is meant for show, a mask for the public image you both maintain especially in front of your parents.

As he sits down beside you, the warmth of his thigh presses against yours, his hand resting on your knee. You focus on Leo, who babbles away in your mother’s lap, a sweet, innocent sound that eases some of the weight on your chest. "Do you know what you're going to order?" Rafe’s voice is casual as he flicks through the menu, his tone suggesting the same routine formality that colours most of your conversations these days.

You glance at the menu half-heartedly, appetite distant. "Probably just a salad," you mutter, though the words feel hollow, like so many of your thoughts these days. Before you can dwell on it, your mother’s voice cuts through the room, bright and commanding as always. "Darlings, I'm hosting a gala next week. You must attend," she declares, not so much an invitation as an expectation.

You don’t bother to respond right away, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. "Of course we’ll be there," he answers smoothly, already accustomed to fulfilling the social obligations expected of you both. His answer is automatic, effortless, as if this was just another item on the long list of duties you both perform for the sake of appearances.

Great. Another event. You force a smile, knowing full well what it would entail—another night of pretending. Pretending to be the perfect wife, locked in a marriage that felt more like a performance than a partnership. Another evening of tight smiles, polite laughter, and meaningless conversations with socialites you’ve long grown bored of.

Rafe’s hand remains on your knee under the table, a subtle gesture of unity that contrasts the emotional distance. You glance sideways at him, wondering if he feels the same weariness, but his expression is unreadable, composed in the way he’s perfected over time. You’d both become skilled at it—this charade of happiness.

Your mother gently hands Leo over to you, his little arms immediately wrapping around your neck as if he’s missed your warmth. The sweet gesture brings a chuckle from your lips, a sound you rarely hear from yourself these days. Rafe notices, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches the two of you, the rare moment of peace settling briefly between the tension.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper to Leo, your hand softly patting his back as he squirms in your arms. His tiny fingers soon find your family crest necklace, grasping it with curiosity. It’s a simple, innocent action, yet it tugs at something deeper within you—a reminder of the weight that symbol carries, not just for you but for the life you're expected to live.

Your father calls for a waiter, the sound of his authoritative voice interrupting your thoughts. The orders are taken swiftly, and when it’s your turn, you manage to say, "I'll have the Nicoise salad, please—" before you're abruptly cut off by your mother’s sharp tone. "Oh, no," she interjects, her voice firm, slicing through the air.

You and Rafe exchange confused glances, both unsure of what she was going to say. Her stern eyes focus on you for a moment before she turns her attention back to the waiter, the smile on her lips tight and forced. "She will have the Club Sandwich, thank you," your mother says, closing her menu with a finality that leaves no room for argument. You stare at her, lips parted in disbelief, as the waiter politely retreats.

"That’s too much for me, I—" you begin, but she raises a hand, silencing you effortlessly, as if it were nothing. "You’ve gotten far too skinny, my dear," she remarks, her tone almost casual but laced with that familiar sting of judgement. "A body like that will surely not produce a healthy baby." The words fall from her mouth so easily, so thoughtlessly, that it takes a moment for them to truly sink in

Your chest tightens, the prickle of tears stinging your eyes, but you quickly look away, blinking them back before they can betray your emotions. "What is your chef feeding you? Perhaps I should overlook his menu," your mother continues, leaning forward slightly, her concern veiled by her need for control.

Instinctively, your eyes flicker toward Rafe, cursing yourself the moment you do. It’s a habit you’ve never quite broken—looking to him when your parents begin their critique, hoping for some sort of allyship. Your parents likely notices, and you hate that you’ve given them another tell. Rafe, to your surprise, responds with a tone of calm indifference.

"We both eat the same meals, all very nutritious, I can assure you. There’s no need for concern." His words are delivered with an air of boredom, as though he’s tired of the performance your family demands at every turn. "My wife is perfectly fine and healthy," he adds, his voice steady, almost detached. You lower your gaze, staring at the table in front of you, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and discomfort at his defense.

Your mother’s hum lingers in the air, hovering between indifference and criticism, and that ambiguity leaves you restless. As the conversation continues around you, the voices blur into a distant hum. You stare blankly at the glass of water in front of you, losing yourself in thoughts that feel miles away from this table, from these expectations.

You don’t even notice Leo beginning to fuss in your lap until Rafe’s hand on your thigh gives a slight, firm squeeze, gently pulling you back to reality. You blink, looking up to find both of your parents' eyes trained on you, their disapproving expressions almost instinctual. Without a word, you begin to tend to Leo, but Rafe is quicker, reaching out with an effortless, "Here, let me take him."

Relieved, you let him lift Leo from your arms, watching as he settles the baby against his chest. Leo quiets almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room seems to ease. Rafe's hand remains on your thigh, a subtle reassurance that grounds you amidst the weight of your family’s expectations.

When the meals arrive, you glance down at the sandwich before you—far too large for your diminished appetite. The sight of it makes your stomach turn, not out of hunger, but out of the pressure to conform. You can feel your mother’s watchful gaze, an invisible but palpable force, compelling you to start eating.

You take a bite, swallowing it down even though the taste barely registers. "Mind if I have some?" Rafe’s voice breaks through the silence, and you turn to him in surprise. He’s already reaching over, transferring some of your food onto his plate without hesitation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah, of course," you reply softly, watching as he begins eating from your plate. His casual gesture surprises you, but it also lightens the mood, if only slightly. A small smile tugs at your lips, grateful for his quiet way of easing the tension that lingers between you and your parents.

When it’s finally time to leave, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Bidding your parents goodbye, you stare out at the perfectly manicured lawn, the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air. Leo is fast asleep in your arms, his little head resting peacefully against your chest.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance over at Rafe. He turns his head toward you, his expression softening. Without a word, he nods, moving his arm behind your head. You lean back against it, letting yourself rest against his warmth for a moment.